It's the Fear, and Not the Ghost (That Leaves Me Haunted)

Chapter Four

Being sixteen years old is normal. It's fine. It's normal and it's fine and it all makes sense. Hunter is sitting cross-legged on his bed, tongue between his teeth, very much not distracting himself from questions he shouldn't be having as he squints at a scrap of cloth, trying to imitate the pristine stitches that Darius left on the cloak that's laid out beside him.

"How do you think he makes it all loopy like that?" says Hunter, scooping Flapjack up off his shoulder and holding him close to the cloak. Flapjack inspects the stitching intensely, then gives a single chirp. "Yeah, me neither," Hunter sighs. "I'll just have to keep practicing. I'll get it eventually, right?"

Flapjack is spared the task of sugarcoating an answer by a knock at the door. Hunter's eyes go wide, but Flap's already nestled down, ready to be tucked neatly away until the coast is clear. Hunter slips him behind his pillow and gets up to answer the door.

"Golden Guard. Your presence is requested," says the first of the two scouts. Straight to business, same as ever. They never start with Hello, but Hunter doesn't mind. "You're to report to the throne room."

"Emperor's orders," adds the second.

Hunter lets his head tip just slightly to one side. "Oh. Right now?" They're not scheduled to meet today. Maybe he's being sent on a last-minute mission? Yeah, that's probably it.

"Right now," the scout affirms.

"Understood. Thank... you." They're both gone down the corridor before Hunter can finish; he shuts the door with a sigh. "Looks like sewing will have to wait."

There's a muted twittering from under his pillow. Flapjack pokes his beak out over the edge of the bed, then chirps again.

"I'm sure it's just an assignment," Hunter says, grabbing his cloak and draping it over his shoulders. "Maybe a briefing. It'll be fine, Flap, don't worry. I'll be back soon." He sets off for the throne room before Flapjack can protest. He counts the steps to keep from thinking as he walks.

The room is empty when Hunter arrives — save for the Emperor, who stands maskless at the bottom of the stairs, his back to the entryway, and the half-finished portal door, which hums with a restless sort of energy that Hunter can feel from where he stands.

"Retrieve a shard for me," Belos says in lieu of greeting, gesturing toward one of the many, many cases full of portal fragments that line the carpet. He doesn't look at Hunter, but that's not particularly out of the ordinary. Hunter obeys.

He rummages through one of the cases and draws out an oddly-shaped piece of golden metal. If Hunter's estimation is correct, it should fit into the empty space that's right at eye level with Belos's mask. No sooner does Hunter have it in his grip than it's caught up in pulsing red light, and Belos guides it up the steps with an almost lazy hand.

"I'm curious," Belos says as he settles the shard (which fits right where Hunter expected it would) into place. "Do you know why I summoned you here, Hunter?"

No, he doesn't. If he were only here to help rebuild the portal door, there would be scouts helping, too — dozens of them. He wouldn't be digging around in boxes that Belos could easily sift through himself. Hunter shakes his head, then catches himself and hastily says, out loud, "No."

"Mm." Belos strides toward the door, his hands clasped neatly behind his back, drinking it in with a muted reverence. "I was wondering if you might enlighten me as to why, when my scouts returned to the site of your alleged selkidomus slaying, the only creature to be found was composed of a large pile of weeds and vines, tucked away inside a cave."

The blood rushes from Hunter's face. There's a roaring in his ears. He's pretty sure his stomach doesn't exist anymore.

"Would you know anything about that?"