Eight Intertwined

168 - Betrayal

Therion had never liked sunlight. 

It was to be expected. As a thief, he was at his best when he was moving through the shadows, using the darkness to hide his face and his intentions. No one could catch him if they couldn't see him coming. Therion had grown used to slinking through casts of blackness and treating them as the shield they were capable of being. Light was dangerous. Light could expose the worst, sharpest edges of a person, and Therion could not let it expose him. 

That day in the Cliftlands, the sunlight had been unbearable, and it seemed to stab through each layer of clothing just to find an excuse to pull Therion to pieces. His bruises were not on full display, but they did not need to be. He could feel them, and if he had to guess, he would have assumed that at least a few broken bones were mixed in with the mottled black and blue. It hurt to breathe, but Therion forced himself to anyway. He couldn't give up. Not yet. 

Darius had been ruthless when he saw Therion that morning. It wasn't out of the question for Darius to be violent. As a matter of fact, he always had been even if it wasn't with Therion. He was brutal ruthlessness, and the rage with which he breathed seemed to always flow out beneath his fingertips when he needed it to most. Therion had started as his equal years ago, but slowly but surely, the rage that governed Darius had started to guide Therion's path too. If he had a leaf for every time he had been left bruised and scorned at Darius' hands, he would have been able to leave the thief's life behind long ago. And yet, he never could. Darius would never let him. 

Therion could barely remember how the fight had started. It was too hard to think around the blooming agony in his abdomen where Darius' boot had likely cracked a rib. Therion couldn't quite recall how they had gotten out onto this ledge either. It had happened at some point during another of Darius' episodes, he could only assume. They had fought many times, though he supposed calling it a fight would have been an understatement. Darius was years older and stronger than Therion, and even though Therion knew how to avoid danger with his speed, Darius' raw strength always won out. He had tried and failed to defeat Darius more times than he could count, but he could never quite close that gap between their skill levels. Therion doubted he ever would. 

And he probably wouldn't survive long enough to see. 

Therion hissed as he pressed one hand against his ribcage, a futile attempt at support that would not come without medical attention or divine intervention. "Why, Darius?!" Therion yelled, unsure of where he was finding the air to scream with in the first place. 

Darius was entirely unbothered by the glare Therion was casting in his direction. "It's simple," he shrugged. "You remember that night we humiliated the Ciannos, don't you?" The Cianno crime ring was a powerful one, and Therion and Darius had been gunning to either join it or overthrow it one day. Most of the time, their goals tended to skew more toward the latter. How could they call themselves the greatest thieves in the world if there was a group out there better than them? It wouldn't have been right... So they would just have to find a way to pull the world apart until they stood at the top. 

Therion pressed his lips together as strictly as he could. "Of course I do." Years later, Therion would learn that the Ciannos fell soon after he did. Darius ruined everything he touched, and Therion would never be the only one. 

"Good!" Darius exclaimed, the word echoing in the cliffs loudly enough to somehow overpower the wild squirming of Therion's heart in his ears. "You told me they'd come for revenge, and they did. More specifically, they came to me asking for a favor. If I did what they wanted, they said they'd find a nice, high place for me in their midst. That's why you have to die. They want you dead, and so do I."