The Wild Hunt

Arlequin

When his eyes open once again, Dominick is laying on snow tainted red with blood, in a clearing still illuminated by the dead shining angels spread around him.

The night still goes on and the moon shines up in the sky. Big and round, ethereal, unreachable.

He finds he wants to grab it.

His hands flex and he finally feels the stickiness in them. Still a little wet, soaked with the blood of angels that weren't really angels, he discovered it when he opened them and saw the light leave their big eyes of pure bright red.

They didn't have lungs, didn't have bones or stomach or muscles, only a round, purple heart connected to every part of its body by blood filled veins.

Not even their wings were wings, closer to arms than anything else. Made filled with the bones, flesh and muscles it seemed to hide away from the rest of its body.

But the more fascinating thing of all, were their eyes.

The size of a hand, without a pupil or an iris, only two big circles made entirely of blood. And yet, once the little angel died, it seemed to lose its shine, it seemed to become thicker, to become heavier.

To become something more.

Dominick sits up slowly. He's exhausted, his limbs heavy and his back soaked with sweat. The rest of him is still splashed with blood, shining bright and dark with the light of the moon, with the reflection of the snow around him.

It's beautiful.

Around him lay many small, little white angels, their torsos open. Their eyes are missing, their hearts are gone. They're empty, like a soft and beautiful puppet of white fabric.

His preys.

                                                           H̶̡̢̼̳̤̋̂͘i̴͕̲̺̗̭̙̭͐͐̑̉̇͠ṣ̵̨͖̖̭͕̃̆

"You have impressed me, Son Of Man." That voice again, that wild and intoxicating voice. The ringing of bells and the clashing of swords, the sound of trumpets and hooves. A natural disaster singing in its wake. And tired as he is, Dominick can still feel how his body wakes up when he hears it, how he could stand up and run forever, if that's what he wanted.

Is the rider from before.

He's sitting in the snow, his back against one of the black, foreign trees that don't belong to the forest he has traveled his whole life. There's a wolf, but not His wolf, sleeping at his feet.

He's smiling.

Is not the same smile from before, challenging and dangerous, sharp like a blade.

But that doesn't prevent Dominick from feeling shivers travel his body.

"You have the hunt in your veins. I'm not surprised Fafnir has gotten attached to you." The rider tilts his head like a curious animal, with hair that moves like mercury, with eyes that break him down and put him back together, just to see what's inside.

Red and black. Black and red. Gem and Night. Abyss and Blood.

And Dominick can't help but wonder.

Wonder if what he sees is to his liking.

Wonder what happened.

Wonder what took control of his body.

Wonder who were those other riders and wolves. Barely silhouettes and shadows, screams and laughter and cheering running free -Wild- by the trees.

Wonder...

But he can't ask.

The knowledge plants itself in his mind once again.

Just as he knew how to wait, even when his soul felt like it would break free from his body.

How he knew when to follow the calling of the winter.

How he knew how to run.

Frenetic, desperate, free.

                                                          W̵̱̺̑͝ͅï̷̲͖̼̟͜l̷̡͎̞̐͊d̵͎͈͋̔͝

He knows then, that names are important.

Names hold power.

If he wants one, he must offer his first.

"D-Dominick." His voice is raspy and hoarse, his throat sore after howling and yelling and laughing for hours and hours, almost all night. It hurts, but, somehow, it's a good pain. A pleasant pain. "My name... is Dominick."

The man nods in approval, his smile growing. He is pleased by his respect for the rules. Rules he doesn't know, but he can feel. He can follow.

"My name is Arlequin. Leader of The Wild Hunt." Something cracks in the air when the rider -Arlequin- bows his head for merely a second. A show of respect, from one hunter to another, from a predator to an equal.

A gesture he didn't have to make, but that he chose to.

And that means much more.

And Dominick wants to say something, anything at all.

He wants to ask who those people and creatures were.

He wants to ask who is he.

He wants to tell him how his name feels like an entire being inside his head.

How just thinking it makes him unable to think in anything else, makes his heart beat out of control.

Makes his soul R̴̩̰̜̥̔̔ö̴̺͕̞́̓̀͝a̷̠̝̖͕̐ŗ̵͈̂͛͆̅.

But his eyes keep going out of focus, his eyelids keep falling and falling.

The exhaustion has won the battle and Dominick falls back down into the snow.

"In the tenth moon after this sunrise, The Hunt with travel the Dead Fields." The night becomes blurry little by little, the trees fusing and becoming one big blotch of ink up high. But Arlequin's voice remains crystal clear. He can hear every breath intake like it was right beside him. "Find us, if you wish to follow that which sings below your skin."

And then.

He sleeps.