The interior of Castle Thorburn is much as it has been for as far back as Felix can remember. The Thorburn family has made it their home for the past seven generations ever since General Morrigan Thorburn took the throne upon the previous king’s behest, long believed to be one last petty slight against his greedy, grasping heirs.
Under Queen Morrigan’s rule, the war effort succeeded in many pivotal campaigns, laying the groundwork for Phyleris’ eventual betrayal of the Crown and the end of the war. The Thorburns have reigned ever since, with Frederik being the most recent to hold the throne. Flint, despite being the eldest, had no interest in ruling and preferred to follow in the footsteps of Morrigan as the leader of the nation’s military. Felix, too, had no interest in ruling, though it is true that he was never particularly considered for the position, being the youngest.
Heirlooms and artifacts are displayed throughout the keep, tended to by the countless servants that keep the place immaculate. Kattelox, after all, is a land of great pride and Halcyon is the nexus of this sentiment. Between the end of the war, the lingering prosperity of being victorious in the conflict, and various well-received policies both domestic and foreign, King Frederik and the Thorburns as a whole are well-regarded by the different castes of Loxians throughout the land.
Thus, the castle is kept up to a high standard in reflection of that perception–something that can be tangibly pointed to as proof of concept. Of course the Thorburns rule fairly and just, simply look how clean and beautiful their home is!
What foolishness, Felix thinks.
He walks through the halls and up the stairs toward his quarters, which are on the third floor. The guest rooms are on the second floor, on the other side of the castle, so with any luck he’ll avoid the others–both the expedition members and his brothers–until he is inevitably summoned when Flint wears down Frederik’s patience and the meeting is called.
A few servants and a guard or two politely greet him as he makes his way to his room, but they are familiar enough with him to know that stopping for any kind of extended conversation is a poor idea. He is not often rude, necessarily, but he dislikes idle chit-chat, compared to his brothers, who are far more conversational and open.
Perhaps this makes the servants see him in a negative light, but he is not mean. It certainly isn’t his intent to be, anyway.
One of the many reasons I had no interest in the throne, he muses. He has no patience with keeping up appearances, let alone with suffering the complaints of the average person.
With relief, he reaches the door to his chambers and pushes it open. He wants nothing more than to have some time to think over the events of the expedition, to revel in the quiet and–
And there is a child sitting in his plush desk chair, turned to face the door in anticipation of his arrival.
“Welcome home,” the child says. He looks to be around the age of six, perhaps seven, wearing a small schoolboy’s suit, like one one might wear when attending a prestigious children’s academy: A black blazer and tie and shorts, dress shoes and thick socks. He is pale, with a messy mop of black hair and icy blue eyes.
Soulless eyes.
Familiar eyes.
“You, how–who in Kel’s name–” Felix stammers, caught completely off guard.
The child sits down the little puzzle box he has been playing with onto Felix’s desk, back in the place where it always sits. The trinket was a gift that Professor Rhys had gotten for him for his Birthday some years ago, citing it to be “neat.” He hasn’t touched it since putting it together, mostly to appease her incessant questioning on whether or not he had done so yet.
“Wrong,” the child says. “I am Faloth, not Kelathorne.”
Felix feels a chill run down his spine and his pulse quickens. Normally he would laugh at the child’s words and think that this is some form of prank, but considering what he experienced at the Heart, considering this child’s soulless blue eyes and the pointed teeth just visible when he speaks, considering the cold, monotonous tone that thinly veils a mixture of irritation and playful amusement.
Faced with such an entity, Felix steels himself, trying to calm down, as he simply asks, “What are you doing in my room?”
Faloth furrows his brow and replies, “Waiting for you, obviously. Why else would I be here?”
“No, I mean–why are you here? What do you want?” Felix asks, glancing back at the closed door to his room, then around his chambers, trying to think of some way to signal someone discreetly.
Faloth notices his wandering gaze and frowns.
“I’m here to speak to you, of course,” he says, tone disapproving. “To you, specifically. Though I would enjoy a snack, if you are intent on having anyone else join us.”
“So you mean me no harm?” Felix asks, incredulously. The futility of alerting someone is not lost upon him, though, so he turns his attention on figuring out what this thing wants.
Faloth smiles a little, the expression eerie with the combination of his childish face and his Monteith features. “No, but I fail to see how it matters whether I do or not. Your options do not change, either way,” he says with a touch of glee.
Like a predator playing with its prey.
Like a child, cruel for the sake of being so.
Felix takes a deep breath and leans against his desk–his seat is currently occupied, after all. “Alright, so you’re here to have a discussion. Let’s have one, then,” he says.
“No,” Faloth says, rolling his eyes in irritation. “I said that I am here to speak to you, not with you. This is not a discussion, this is a message.”
Gritting his teeth a bit, Felix decides to hold his tongue and instead says, “I understand. What is it you wish to tell me, then?”
Faloth stares at him for a few tense moments, debating on whether to take offense to his curt tone or to let it go.
He decides to let it go.
For now.
“We have been paying attention. You are the only one who seems to understand the gravity of the situation,” Faloth explains.
Felix relaxes a bit at the compliment. “Well, it should be obvious that causing a power struggle over suddenly-discovered societal advancements in the wake of millenia of war is a foolish idea–”
“Oh, that,” Faloth says dismissively, realizing that Felix is talking about the technologies found within the facilities. “We don’t particularly care about that.”
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“You–you don’t?” Felix stammers, surprised.
“Not particularly. It will take you eons to figure out how to use anything you find,” Faloth says with a shrug. “No, I mean the contents of the GIX. The ‘vault’ you found.”
With his pride wounded a bit over Faloth’s comments, Felix warily asks, “What about it?”
“You are right to be worried about what will happen if it is opened. What is contained within the GIX should be left alone, for everyone’s sake,” Faloth says.
“I agree. Whatever could be in there will just be fought over, regardless of what it is,” Felix says.
This causes Faloth to smile once again. “Very good! It might not be possible to make every one of you who have become aware of it–thanks to you–not want to open it, but you can hopefully make it so nobody has the ability to do so. That is what we hope for, of you, at least.”
Felix thinks about these words, then asks, “Why toy with us like this, though? Would it not be easier to just kill those who know about it?”
“A fair question,” Faloth says, standing up from the chair. Felix is surprised to see just how small the child truly is–he barely comes up to Felix’s waist and has to glance up to maintain eye contact. It is unsettling, considering the gravity of the discussion and what exactly this child could be.
“We are not all in agreement on how to handle this situation. Some of us seem to think that you should be free to make your own mistakes; that we shouldn’t interfere. Some of us think that it is too important to leave up to the chance that you all won’t foolishly doom yourselves,” he says, then pauses briefly. “Some of us are simply bored and want to see what happens, regardless.”
“Opinions always differ,,” Felix says, knowingly. This forces a chuckle from Faloth.
“Yes, I suppose you do understand this, at least. We hope that you will do what is in everyone’s best interest, then,” Faloth says as he begins to walk toward the door.
“Wait, tell me–what is in there?” Felix asks.
Faloth stops and flatly says, “No.”
“Why? If it’s that terrible, it would help to know,” Felix persists.
“Here I thought you were not so ignorant,” Faloth says with a sigh, turning to face Felix with a scowl. “Simply do as you are told.”
“Why must you be so cryptic? Merely tell us why you do not wish this–vault, this GIX, opened!” Felix practically shouts in frustration. “If nothing else, tell me, so that I understand the importance of this decision.”
Faloth stares at the ground, seeming to consider this for a moment. Or, at least, Felix wishes to believe that he is considering his argument–in reality, Faloth is trying to think of how to explain his reasoning to something so stupid in a way that it will understand.
“You have pets, yes?” Faloth asks, sounding irritated.
“I do not, no,” Felix answers.
“Not you,” Faloth says, staring with those empty eyes. Full of disdain, but with a twinkle of amusement, of playfulness swirling about within. “Humans. People. Your kind.”
“Yes, many do,” Felix answers, feeling as if he has been admonished–a feeling he hates. Especially from someone–something–that looks so much like a child. “Dogs are common, as are cats, but many animals–”
Faloth cuts him off, clearly uncaring for further explanation, “When an animal does something wrong, you simply punish it, to teach it that it is bad, yes? You do not explain why to the animal, for it is too stupid to understand.”
Felix frowns, understanding, and says nothing.
Faloth takes no chances. “You are functionally pets. Animals. At best. Understand?”
“Yes, I understand,” Felix says with a sneer. “But–”
“Even if any of you are capable of understanding,” Faloth interrupts. “Someone will still be stupid enough to think that they need to possess what is within the GIX. No matter what it is. There are always fools who think that they must be in control, that they can control anything.”
Felix’s mind goes to his brothers, to Flint, who will want to control whatever is in the GIX, dangerous or not. If, for no other reason, to keep anyone else from having control of it.
“So, you see, knowing what is inside will only result in curiosity. You need not know what is in the box–it is best if you do not know that there is a box. Do you understand?” Faloth asks.
In understanding, unable to argue with the logic of the small monstrosity in front of him, Felix merely nods.
“Good. Here, this will help,” Faloth explains while holding out a small vial. To Felix, it looks like a simple glass bottle that a potion would be held in, except for a few small differences: The glass is reinforced by the ubiquitous metal-like material that the Monteith constructed many things with; one end has a strange device that, when pressed to something, causes a needle to shoot out with surprising force, much like a simple poisonous needle trap; and the content of the vial itself, which is a thick, shiny black liquid, different than the viscous black goo that the Monteith seem to bleed.
“What is this?” Felix asks, taking it carefully.
“It is a syringe. We used to manufacture them in the ARC, though this is one of the last from before the facility fell into disuse,” Faloth explains, though mostly to hear himself talk, as Felix has no concept for much of this information. To give him something that is useful that he can understand, Faloth adds, “Use this when you require help. Simply put that end against the flesh to inject its contents.”
Felix stares down at the vial–the syringe–hesitantly. “On myself?” he asks.
“No, on who you wish for help from,” Faloth says in exasperation, rubbing his face with his hands. He mutters, “Ignorant creatures.”
Choosing to ignore the biting words uttered under breath by the child-monster, Felix turns the syringe in his hands over and over, staring at it uncertainly. “Thank you, I think,” he says softly.
Suddenly, there is a knock at the door.
“Lord Felix, King Frederik and General Flint are waiting for you–”
Felix and Faloth both turn their heads, hearing the voice coming from the other side of the heavy wooden door. Felix begins to call out, to tell them that he understands and to leave, immediately, but the child-thing is faster. In an instant, Faloth is across the room, though Felix doesn’t even see the movement before the door is being pulled open.
The man, one of the many castle servants that Felix realizes with a sense of regret that he doesn’t even know the name of, has just a moment to look down at Faloth curiously before the child reaches out and grabs the front of his shirt. With a small tug, the man is yanked into the room, completely losing his balance as he tumbles to the floor, and the door is closed behind him.
“Ah, what service! I am starving,” Faloth says in his monotonous, child-like voice. His small hand grabs the servant’s neck and lifts him up, though only so far off the floor. The man’s legs kick frantically, trying to get purchase in an attempt to wrench himself free of the child’s grasp. Yet it is like iron, just gentle enough to keep from crushing the pitiful man’s neck, but strong enough that there is no visible effort to keep him held aloft and to prevent his screams.
“Stop! Put him down!” Felix shouts.
“‘Put him down?’” Faloth echoes in amusement. The analogy of these creatures being like ignorant, stupid animals crosses his mind. “Allow me to make this a learning experience for you, Lord Felix.”
The child smiles with a mouth far too large, full of too many teeth, all of them far too sharp.
“I am about to devour this poor, stupid creature in spite of the fact that I like all of you,” Faloth explains, as if to an actual child. “Keep in mind that what awaits you in the vault–does not like you.”
Faloth’s mouth opens, like a chasm appearing from a seam. Felix looks away in shame and fear, hearing the servant trying to scream despite the small hand gripping his neck. A moment later, there is a crunch, sickening and wet, which silences the choked cry.
“Best not be late for your little meeting,” Faloth says as he continues his meal.
Shivering slightly, unable to bring himself to look at the monster in his room as it devours his servant, Felix Thorburn fumbles open the door to his room and quickly leaves.