Chapter Text
Nothing is guaranteed in life. That’s why you have to be spontaneous, go where you want, act on whims, fall in love, eat sweet things, meet plenty of people- whatever the other things were that contribute to 100-percenting a person’s playthrough of being alive. If only I cared. If I did, I would accept my dorm mates’ invitations to LAN parties. I would visit other realms so that my brother can see all the world has to offer. Act on my feelings. Let myself have them in the first place. Order that overpriced mountain of pastel sugar that tastes better to a camera than it ever would in my mouth. Go to class in person. But those things could never happen for me. Even if I entertained any of these bucket list entries- the obligation to my bloodline would be breathing around the bend like some awful, hulking minotaur. Anxiety sours any and all experiences I’ve ever had. All it is, all the time- think, think, think, feel, feel, feel. It’s never worth it in the end; no warmth of hands, no exquisite taste, no journey far away could ever change my fate or steer my course away from where I must always return. Because in my life, everything is guaranteed.
Well, that is except one thing. Whispers crawled throughout the STYX facility in the wake of my brother’s death for years like plagued rats. The researchers themselves scuttled around me for years, hurriedly speeding away whenever they saw my light creeping around the corner of where they gossiped. I could always hear them, though. They spoke of my family’s curse; of how the fates never could have predicted the horrific goring of Ortho by the rogue test subject. Some tiny part of me wants to believe that they did kill Ortho with the intention of guaranteeing beyond a shadow of a doubt that I would be the next Gatekeeper. At least with that explanation I could deflect the blame off myself. Fat chance of that, though. My brother died because of my negligence- because of my selfish, idiotic attachment to possibility. Even at that age I knew there was no escape from our destiny, no Elysium beyond the gates of STYX. But I let Ortho, in all my love for him, allow me to dream- to yearn. Because it was Ortho, so full of hope and optimism, so antithetical to me, it had to be true. We could have had a normal life if only we took the leap, he said. His words were my gospel. That day’s daydream cost him his life. If only I had been just a bit stronger, a bit smarter, a bit less naive, a little better at telling him ‘no.’
Even now as I walk the halls of STYX my eyes sometimes deceive me- it takes a few seconds to realize that I can’t see the faint pink tinge of blood that resisted all attempts of washing out for years after the incident. The stain is long gone now, but the stain on my mind has burned the image into my retinas, likely for as long as I’ll live. It was so pink- the linoleum had drunk up what remained of my brother and held onto it as a merman would a raindrop in Scarabia. The blood was too thick; the consistency that only spurts out of ruptured arteries. There was just so much. I still have trouble accepting that the body of such a small boy could have possibly contained that much blood.
‘Aw, come on Idia! Just one bite, please? Pretty please?’
My late brother’s voice ripped me free from my thought loop. A little automaton hovered over my right shoulder, watching me as one waited for an animal in a zoo to do something exciting. The fresco of shredded organs and pulverized matter climbing the pressurized doors was replaced with a sad bowl of cereal against the sterile white of Ignihyde furnishing. Unfortunately, the little red puffs of cereal had steeped just a bit too long in my hesitance and distended themselves in a muddled pool of pink milk- a pink too close to the aforementioned stain for comfort.
If I were to put one of the soppy lumps into my mouth, it would disintegrate around my teeth into a grainy, liquid-leaden porridge of corn flavored sugar. I could practically feel every chunk sliding around on my tongue. Would the milk taste like diluted blood? Logically this was impossible, yet my body reacted as if it couldn’t taste of anything else. I loathed myself for my inexplicable irrationality. Imagining the taste and the texture was enough to sew my fists to the tops of my thighs. I dispelled my nausea by bunching and unbunching the fabric of my pants until I couldn’t think anymore. I couldn’t bear to look at the cereal again, or else I’d throw up- I just knew it.
As though reading my mind, my robot chided-‘You’re not gonna throw up, Idia. You didn’t when you ate cereal last time. I even found your favorite when I was off the island…’
‘I know, Ortho. I just-‘ I released a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Although his intentions were angelic as always, the memory he was accessing of me eating cereal was one from when Ortho was still alive over eight years ago.
‘I just need some time, I guess.’
The android zipped around in front of me, looming over the bowl and pushing his face grill up close to my own. He expelled the pre-recorded sample of a huff, crossing his arms and worrying his luminescent eyes with a pout. ‘But you said that two days ago when we tried to have the fried chicken! And then you didn’t even make it through a bite without spitting it out.’ The hurt in my brother’s voice made my heart ache, but it couldn’t make my stomach hungry. Nothing did, anymore.
I could barely make eye contact with him when I said, ‘I’m sorry, Ortho. I’m just not really hungry today.’ I hated having to hurt him. I know that he worries about me constantly. Even before his singularity event he did, superficial as it was. His concern was authentic now, but it couldn’t put the flavor back in food- couldn’t make the textures palatable.
His irises flickered briefly before their backlight dimmed to a pale, unlit brown and fell downwards from the gaze we shared.
‘You’re never hungry.’
He sighed the sigh of a dejected eight year old boy and uncrossed his arms to move the bowl of pink-grain soup from beneath us. Nothing was said as he drifted from the room to dispose of the offensive liquid, leaving me still clutching the fistfuls of fabric in my chair. Across the table from me was another, empty. Once the sound of the running water filled the silence, I rose from my seat to go back to my room.
I couldn’t remember the last time this week that I had managed to eat anything that wasn’t a handful of gummies here and there. In regards to cloistering myself in my room and attending class remotely, it was true that it was because of my social anxiety. Between myself, Ortho, and the headmage, though, the lethargy from my malnutrition contributed more so to my absence. Most days I hadn’t the energy to even push my body up from my bed. If I did, I needed Ortho’s assistance. Whether or not I could make it through the dormitory without collapsing was a different story, though. It was so embarrassing. God, I’m such a loser.
All day, every day, I can feel the embarrassment, the shame, the helplessness, the fear- all stewing inside me near my stomach. I wanted to eat so badly. For Ortho first, for me second. I could care less if I wasted away- at least STYX couldn’t have me that way. But somehow I feel as though the curse would find a way to keep me teetering over the threshold of life to hold me to my familial duties. That or my fate would find a way to employ me even in the realm of death.
If something were to happen to me, I could only imagine that Ortho would feel the same way I feel about his model’s death. I wouldn’t wish that everflowing cesspool of guilt on my worst enemy. Well, maybe I would, but I’d rather not think too hard about Ortho being leaden with those feelings. One dead Shroud is enough.
It wasn’t always this bad. Of course after Ortho’s death my appetite vanished to the point the doctors were surprised I managed to grow to my height despite my pitiful diet of prescribed nutrient blocks. I had been living on nutrient blocks and my small range of safe candies ever since then. Only recently had my tolerance for the calorie dense nutrient blocks suddenly evaporated and my body with it. The only safe foods I had left were energy drinks and gummies, and it wasn’t like I could stomach eating entire bags of the stuff to make up for the calories. I assumed my stomach had shrunk in size over the years of my avoidant eating habits.
I had always draped the body I was so ashamed of in the biggest, baggiest clothes I could find to avoid stares. Even clothes that were tailored to me, like my NRC uniform, complimented my bones about as well as a bedsheet over a fork. Not to mention wearing anything but a thermal hoodie was a death sentence because of my anemia. I avoided suspicion my whole life this way; though underweight it was never to a point of visible concern so long as I kept myself as covered as possible. But now my diet had eaten away my body and moved up to my face which had become noticeably and concerningly gaunt. I know they meant it as a joke, but some of the Ignihyde guys told me the other day that they didn’t know it was possible for me to look any more dead than I already did. I was indifferent- Ortho didn’t think it was so funny.
Lucky for me it was way too late at night for any of the other students to be wandering the dormitory halls. I regarded the faint purple glow cast across the white columns of Ignihyde. Multitudes of my gangly shadow ran from every light source in the corridor and away from me because of my own faint glow. Even my hair had been affected by my malnutrition. Usually my flames are an obnoxious blue, but it’s since died down to an indigo flicker, if you could call it that. You could even see my un-cursed hair through the dull plasma. My whole life I could only see it clinging to my collarbones in the shower. I had once taken a hand mirror in with me when I was 13 to see what I could look like if I were a normal boy. A normal, wet boy, that is.
The opinions of other people were the last object of my concern as a child. When I hit puberty, though, my hair became the thing about myself I loathed the most besides killing my brother. I remember lifting the mirror to see an ugly little runt of a boy, face twisted and teeth gnarled by an ancient curse; starving, grieving. My hair, black and bloated with water, was plastered to my ghastly face. It never really grew past a little below shoulder length for reasons unbeknownst to anyone. The second my head wasn’t in contact with water, the flames licked their way out from my scalp and beyond the tips of my actual hair. People always think I have long hair because the flames reach down to my knees in some places, but in reality it’s mostly curse-fire. I think most people assume I don’t have any real hair on my head. Rumor has it I go bald if I get wet. Telling people otherwise wouldn’t cure all disease or bring about world peace (or relieve me from my fate,) so I don’t bother. Let me have my mysteries and keep my secrets.
On really bad days I could see the slight waves of my head-hair and I felt something akin to normal. My inner monologue says ‘this is like, crazy bad,’ but my heart secretly enjoys it. The worse I get, the closer to normality I get. Since the flames are fed by blot, the recent dimming must have something to do with my body’s ability to break down the blot to give the fire. I think Ortho must have caught onto this as well and out of concern for me overblotting again, increased his tenacity in getting me to eat by tenfold.
I hadn’t been outside of Ignihyde for two months counting today. That means the Headmage couldn’t see me and raise any concern to my family. I’d like to keep it that way; I would honestly rather starve than deal with that guy- or my family. I had to fix this before I hurt Ortho. I thought the idea of hurting him alone would bring my appetite back; I didn’t know what was wrong with me.
My room’s door couldn’t have come soon enough; my body was already feeling like it was giving way from the short walk from the dining area. I fell into the plush of my swivel chair as I would into the arms of a lover. Not that I would be capable of that sort of thing, anyway. A heaving sigh dispelled the black fog that had begun creeping its way towards the center of my vision along with the familiar vertigo. Drawing my knees up to my chest in my gaming chair I dissociated for a few minutes before pressing the power button on my computer with my bonier-than-ever finger. As the fans whirred to life I heard the door slide open behind me. He had to know how sorry I was, how much I loved him, how much I wanted to be better for him- how I had always wanted to be better for him.
‘Ortho, I-‘
‘Roi de Ta Chambre, please excuse our unheralded imposition on ta chambre.’
I whipped around, heart in my chest, to meet a Cheshire smile hung beneath feline green eyes. The mischievous gash of a grin was wiped from Rook’s face the second he was able to see mine. The usually perfect, million thaumark mien to his right fared no better. Contrary to my previously ever-mewing schema of him I had in my head, Vil’s mouth was tightened into a grimace poisoned with what I assume to be pain or disgust. Guess I could take some pride in that.
‘Seven… Idia,’ an utterance fell from those perfect lips. I refused to believe at the time that the emotion that had warped Vil’s eyes was a knowing sadness. I hate being pitied. I don’t need anyone else confirming what I already know about myself.
‘Your jacket is drowning you.’
Nevermind.
‘What are you doing here?’ It came out more as a threat than it did a question. I could feel my eyes boring into them whether I wanted to or not- this was my room, after all.
Rook spoke for Vil, who was still in disbelief at what I had wasted away to. He probably thought I couldn’t possibly have wasted away any more than I had before. ‘A certain marionette came to Pommefiore to beseech Vil of his knowledge regarding nutrition.’ Said marionette peeked out from behind Vil in the doorway.
‘I’m sorry, Idia… I didn’t know what else I could have done,’ Even though I programmed him with no such ability, his voice wavered with tears. If robots were to be able to cry, I had no doubts Ortho would find a way to be the first. I sighed into my hand, hiding my eyes from the intruders. ‘I would have happily worked with literally any other solution, Ortho.’
He puffed up, stomping one of his tapered appendages on the floor and bundling his fists at his sides. ‘But that’s the thing, Idia! There are no more solutions. I’ve run every simulation and tried every single path of action I’ve computed to try and get you to eat something, to help yourself, to make you feel better, to get you to tell me why you can’t eat- really, I’ve tried everything!’ Ortho’s ferocity shocked Rook and Vil, their attention finally ripped from my gross sickliness and onto him.
‘You’re literally the world’s most prodigious programmer and you created the most powerful machine learning system to ever exist. I’ve made combinations of every element, every chemical, every agent in my brain to come up with the cures for hundreds of diseases. I’ve drafted policy documents that would end all conflicts between nations of Twisted Wonderland in my daydreams during lunch breaks. I’ve solved problems that don’t even exist yet. Every hypothetical, every theory- you made me so that I could see everything forever for all time. I can solve every one of this world’s problems-‘ his voice cracked, ‘but I can’t solve yours.’
It was my turn to break, Pommefiore be damned. I knew my mouth was hanging open dumbly like a piranha. Against every instinct in my body, my eyes welled up and I felt the patter of fat tears in my lap. God, I’m such a loser. My legs moved on their own to shakily lift myself from my crumpled stance in my chair. Ortho’s name fell off my lips on its own. I only made it a few steps before the dizziness hit. Rook and Vil moved first, but my brother was faster. My knees caught the first half of my fall and Ortho the second. Still reeling, my little brother held my shoulders as we knelt on the carpet. He knew my knees would need to be iced for the new bruises that would accompany the dozens others that peppered my legs.
‘Ortho, you don’t need to solve a thing… You need to worry about yourself, okay?’ I found myself smiling through my brain fog at the little robot. His eyes were yellow saucers, wide with adrenaline having only caught me millimeters before my head smacked the floor. ‘You’re your own person now. You’re not a virtual assistant anymore, remember? You’re too good a brother to me already to be held back taking care of an adult.’ I managed a chuckle despite my nausea. ‘I’m sorry I’m such a loser. I’m a terrible excuse for an older brother, aren’t I?’
I knew Ortho would shake his head no, and he did. I felt dumb for even saying that- I don’t want his pity or that of the other weirdos in the room. I continued before he could tirade me with counter arguments and examples pulled from a memory bank with more storage than any commercial supercomputer available on the market. ‘You have schoolwork to worry about and friends to make. You were always better at living than me.’ The unspoken words ‘even after you died’ hung between us like a miasma, unable to be seen by Rook or Vil. We could always hear things between us that never had to be said. Brothers work that way, after all. Or at least we did.
‘You don’t need to be parentified, not now, not ever. I love you too much to do that to you, so please, Ortho. Worry about yourself. I’ll make it all work out, somehow.’
Ortho shifted to hold me close against his technomantic heart, pulsating blue with an impossible beat. He pressed his warm silicon forehead to my cold one. I reveled in the warmth of the magic beneath the skin I had so carefully manufactured to feel close to human touch. ‘I know you will, because you’re my big brother. You always do.’ I felt the metal of his fingers move to the sides of my face. ‘But I really think you need help this time. From humans.’
Rook and Vil finally advanced from where they stopped between the door and where Ortho and I were huddled. Squatting on his heels, Rook interjected, ‘I fear Monsiuer Marionette is right. We can feel hunger, after all.’ The oiled leather of his shoes swam in and out of focus as I slipped into half-dissociation. I was only upright enough to remain conscious because Ortho held me up. Vil looked down from on high at us, the same somber disgust wrought into his mask-like face. It melted away a bit when he saw the way Ortho was looking at me.
‘You can run all the simulations within and beyond the realm of possibility, but nothing can replace the human experience. You have an amazing little brother, Idia. In seeking us, he’s proved himself to be quite the machine. It takes a real human condition to be able to accept when you need to abandon pride and ask for help. Even some men with blood will never be able to do this in their lifetimes.’ Ortho won one of Vil’s priceless smiles for a few seconds before his face fell back into seriousness.
‘Your brother came to me inquiring about nutrition, but when he described your condition I knew what we’d be dealing with. I have a feeling it will take a long time and that we’ll be needing help from other sources that aren’t us. He couldn’t find a solution because there is none.’ Ortho’s head whipped back to meet Vil’s eyes, but Vil continued ‘it’s not a solution- it’s a journey of sorts.’ Groan. Even in my half-dead state, I cringed.
‘For now though,’ Rook spoke the last bit for his housewarden,’We're here to gladly offer our assistance.’
Vil finally stooped to our level beside us. He said something to Ortho, but I could barely process what they were saying at this point. I was too dizzy, too nauseated, too sleepy, too depressed, too fatigued, too ashamed, too foggy, too guilty, too hungry. Taking off one of his silk gloves, he added, ‘Normally I’d add an obligatory if you’d allow us for politeness’ sake, but I’m afraid your condition negates entertaining the possibility of you rejecting us. Which we know you would if you could.’ He pressed the backs of his slender fingers to my forehead. They were cool, but they felt so warm against my comparatively frigid skin. ‘You don’t seem to be in any state capable of fighting us off, though. Lucky for us.’ He was 110% correct. What a tool.
The last thing I remember before I woke up an hour later was seeing myself sway in the crystals of Vil’s eyes like amethysts and a stupid exclamation tumbling from Rook: ‘My- Roi de Ta Chambre isn’t bald under all of that fire!’