Scars

“Oh, these? There’s a reason a lot of spellcasts wear gloves,” Wurthen murmured, inspecting his hand. Small treads from acid, burns, and other experiments gone wrong coated the pads and palm of his hands, once-torn skin leaving permanent marks upon them. He never noticed them really, but now he was feeling self-conscious as Dante’s form looked down at him.

“Never thought about that. I guess wands and sticks are more expendable than hands, right?” Dante smiled, his brows furrowing a little in his typical ‘concerned smile’ look. He couldn’t help but look down at his own hands too; his hands were fairly normal, but his hardened claws were chipped and scratched from use.

“Do you have any scars, Dante? Not to be pushy.”

The softness of night shone into the inn room the two shared. One could hear the chattering of crickets through the cracked window, gentle breezes snaking their way in to only rustle the curtains and loose hair. The room was a bit dusty, as the inn was not of the highest caliber, but the nostalgic scent of old wood and paper was comforting. The duo sat on the edges of their beds, facing one another.

“Well…” Dante frowned, thinking. Scars never meant much to him, they were common for adventurers. Besides, the few he had were from old memories gone past, and weren’t important to him. His tail twitched for a moment in thought.

“I broke my nose once falling from a window, trying to fly. Not a scar though.” He laughed awkwardly at himself, a little ashamed at how he was in his youth. Full of energy and had no sense of danger.

“I.. I’m not too surprised,” Wurthen quipped, unable to stifle a small laugh with Dante. Dante’s always told late night stories by the fire, talking about his youthful adventures. It’s a bit of a shock how much he got around, given his pampered lifestyle.

Good memories were interrupted for a moment with a knot in Dante’s stomach. An old memory dug itself up from the grave, and Dante’s fumbling smile faded. “I do have one scar, actually. It’s sort of like an old lesson to me.” Dante hesitated for a moment before lifting part of his loose shirt gingerly, a slash-like scar crossing over his stomach. It was quite faded, but one could tell it was deep and painful from when it was inflicted. Dante dropped his shirt only a few seconds after raising it.

Wurthen’s face twisted in faint worry; he’s seen that mark before, and he felt a little guilty bringing it up now. He had honestly forgotten it as time has passed. He prayed that Dante wasn’t thinking that Wurthen set him up to talk about it.

Dante continued, seemingly unaware. “I got it a couple years ago… back when I was still at home, and my parents were alive. I was out with a good friend, Rava.”

- - -

Dante snuck out again. Being stuck in his family’s temple was drab all day, especially having to be monitored constantly. He never went far anyways; the local Hybrid town around his home was his favorite place to go, thriving with culture and humbleness. He felt so much more in-tune with his fellow Hybrids than he ever would in that temple, he felt.

“You’re going to get in trouble some day, friend.” Rava warned, his firm words accented by a flick of his tall ears.

“You’re the one to talk, you’re encouraging me to.” Dante spoke softly, his teasing light with his quiet tone of voice. “Besides, I leave the temple a lot anyhow. Massa is fine with it as long as I come back before sundown,” he mentioned, the thought of his fussy attendant popping into his mind. The duo paced their way down the busy path, crossing over the center of town, the marketplace. Hybrids from all over the local vicinity came here to sell what they could for their families; home recipes, strange trinkets, blankets and accessories, even foreign traders bringing in odd goods and and fancy words. The roads were almost always full of people, children running about with ruffled feathers and fur, old housewives talking away.

Rava and Dante were quite the contrasting characters. Dante was quite noticeable from a distance; he towered over nearly everyone, and to top it off, his hair was a naturally bright pink, long and a little unruly. His grand wings and tail, matched with the rumored-to-be-lucky 4 horns, made him a sight to behold. Despite this, Dante always tried to be humble about his figure, almost always failing at deterring any compliments anyhow.

Rava, on the other hand, fit in well with the society he was raised in. His tall fox-like ears gave a few extra inches to his height, despite otherwise being fairly average. Most of his hair was cut short, except the large amount kept up in a tight ponytail. His robes and staff indicated a Hybrid missionary, paired with a long, thin tail curled from under his clothes.

The two chatted as they explored the area. Most locals would be concerned as to why the Prince of Dragons was wandering around town with a commoner, but Dante’s wings were tied and hidden under his cloak, pink locks tucked in his upped hood. A few gave him tentative looks, but most knew not to approach royalty without a reason. Some even knew Dante to be a frequent visitor from the temple, knowing his intentions.

A bit of silence held over them, Rava appreciating Dante’s curiosity of the area. He was observing the scenery with a childlike whimsy; he saw children running between conversations, bustling of people around stalls. A small smile formed on his face under hood. Dante enjoyed being with his old friend, if only for that he wasn’t fussing or submitting himself to Dante at every turn due to his lesser title.

Dante made a slight detour over to a food stall that he noticed, unable to resist his hunger. Before Rava could quite catch the situation, a rice ball was shoved up against his mouth, catching the fox by surprise. He looked over to the dragon for a moment, his usually friendly smile decorating his face, encouraging Rava to take the ball and bite into it. It tasted a mix of cool, savory vegetables, mixed with a pinch of fruity sweetness. The rice was soft and freshly cooked; Rava couldn’t help but salivate at the lovely taste.

Dante handed a handful of coins to the stall manager, who was a dainty yet shriveled old lady, her breed best guessed at a sheep. One could tell her bones creaked as she reached out to accept the payment, the fluff around her face and arms turning grey and frazzled.

“You have such beautiful hair, young boy. You must be proud to cut it at the end of the month,” the older lady mentioned, an aged chuckle passing her wrinkled lips.

“Thank you, miss.” Dante blushed, tail giving a light flick. Despite being hidden and tied behind his head, the curling locks past his ears were light in the wind. Dante, after a moment’s decision, got his own rice ball, it being of a salted-meat variety, his favorite. A gentle hand-kiss as a way of thanks, and the two were off, talking between bites.

“So, Dante…” “Yes?” “I was curious, given you’re royalty, have you met the Hybrid Sovereign yet?” “Well, I honestly don’t know much about the Sovereigns, except they replaced my family as reigning deity,” Dante thought, for a moment regretting his wording, thinking he came off as bitter.

The two continued their conversation, mostly wandering from place to place, exploring what there is to see, mostly for Dante’s sake. For a moment, Rava’s ears perked up at the sound of something interesting. A clever little smile grew on his face. “I just overheard someone saying a Human was selling candies on the other side of town. Want to pay them a visit?” Rava mentioned, playing with the dragon’s interests; he knew Dante loved sweets, and exotic culture was one of his favorites. Dante usually couldn’t control his excitement at the idea of worlds and people he could never even imagine real.

Dante grew curious. Humans always were the quirkiest of all the Factions, according to most people. His tail unable to resist wagging a little in joy, Dante grabbed Rava’s small wrist excitedly. “C’mon, don’t tempt me and not tell me where it is!” Dante teased back, mouth still full, familiar with Rava’s way of speaking.

Rava and Dante split away from the main crowd, weaving between tucked-away stalls and derelict buildings, making their way deeper into the edges of town. Much of the town was connected with itself, only the larger pathways being distinct directions to one place. Weaving down a string of halls and overgrown paths was technically never the wrong direction.

The two squeezed out from between two buildings, finding themselves by the residential district. Just a little farther south and they’ll find themselves at-

There was a scream in an unfamiliar direction, and the two swerved their heads. The premonition of something was crawling up Dante’s spine, and his heart sank.

Tense bodies and anxiety rose in response to a crowd of what appeared to be Humans, spreading chaos in their path. Weapons of all kinds were drawn, some even already bloodied. One could see in the distance the hustling of Hybrids, people being pushed over, threatened with blades at their throats. Ahead of the group was a distinct leader, one giving loud commands in a foreign voice.

Aside from the chaos that was being held, Just from a quick look, one could tell this person is off. A tall, shaped body indicated a woman, dressed almost all in tight, black clothing, with a sack of items thrown across her back. One’s eyes as they explored her form quickly would notice the hilt of a short weapon by her side. The woman herself was quite decorated from wear and tear; torn lips, cuts and scattered hair, fading skin from exhaustion. Her well-kept clothing disguised her withering body, and with shifty, glaring eyes, one can guess she’s seen the worst of it.

Dante wasn’t really sure what compelled him to jump out in the road in front of the gang; perhaps his sense of justice or protective nature, but regardless, the streets went silent as there was a standoff. Rava stayed behind in fear, indecisive as to help or stay cowering.

Despite every fiber screaming in Dante to just run, eye contact was made. The air seemed to freeze as the group stopped in front of him, his body acting as a roadblock. Murmurs were tossed around within the group, before the woman dismounted her mount, feet kicking up dust as she made her way over to him. She seemed completely unabashed of her ideals, as she came within touching range of the dragon. The woman’s eyes shifted upwards, sizing up the creature. She immediately reached across her waist and grabbed her weapon, the two Hybrid’s worst nightmare, and pointed its sharp end at the larger being. Her dusty, torn lips frowned. Thin air was broken as she spoke.

“Move or die,” the woman spat through her thick, foreign accent. She adjusted the bag of items on his back and twirled her dagger, almost to mock. She gave a cocky smile. One could see the same trinkets that one would find in the market in her bag, presumably stolen. Dante’s eyes were glued in fear at the devilish glint in the knife as her eye contact dominated him; though Dante refused to move, only swallowing nervously.

The woman snarled. Who did this pink stuffed animal think he was? She had an agenda, and if killing who was in her way was apart of it, so be it. Her grip tightened on her blade.

“I said, MOVE!” In a flash of a moment, the cloaked woman lunged forward to her pink haired target, a plan of attack already formed in her mind. Quickly dispose of him and move on. A deep plunge of the knife forced its way into Dante’s stomach, jolting the dragon’s adrenaline as he was forced to wail in pain. Somehow, Dante’s body almost seemed to act on its own as the pain sparked and bit it’s way into his body, reflex causing the dragon’s tense muscles to reel back and land a bone-cracking punch directly into the woman’s face. She was caught off guard; Pain was returned in the form of a large fist, and the lady reeled back as blood immediately leaked onto the floor in crude puddles. Grip was lost on the blade, and it clattered to the floor as a darker pool of blood accumulated at Dante’s feet. The slew of people at the scene cried out, some in alarm, some in fear.

Shuffling of the woman’s group was heard,with the clear hiss of steel being drawn. Dante’s fight instinct cowered away into hiding as eyes were laid over the bloodsoaked shirt, resisting the urge to gag as he felt the wound gush and sting. He turned to Rava in panic, both struck with terror, unable to make any move. Shaking limbs started as Dante’s instinct led to him picking up the smaller Hybrid and dashing away from the wounded assailant down the alleyway they came. A cry of an angry command echoed across the scenery.

- - -

Dante idly traced where his scar is, unaware of his movement. He winced a bit at the memory of that pain. “It’s bad memories I guess, but by this point, I’ve taken worse wounds,” he laughed awkwardly once more, the few scraps he and Wurthen got into flashing in his mind.

“That’s awful Dante, how were the invaders resolved with?” Wurthen frowned, concerned laced in his gaze. He’s heard of dark things related to the underground clashing of Factions; Hybrids used as show pets, Humans enslaved for labor, Otherworlds killed for their rare parts.

“I managed to get away. I got all my clothes and Rava bloody though.” His face changed a little, recalling the worry Rava had that his parents would be upset at him.

“The commotion was picked up by the guardsmen. The Humans were hustled out of town, some even arrested. Though, their leader got away… we never figured out their intentions. There were plenty of casualties too, I heard.”

“Yea, including you being one,” Wurthen said, lightly joking. A quiet yawn from the boy made Dante snap his attention to the smaller Human. Dante never noticed he was laying under the sheets, orange hair placed softly against the aged pillow. He was attentively listening, but the night was crawling on, and the sun was rising soon.

Wurthen shut his eyes, taking in the silence for a moment. He spoke “Life’s pretty tough, sometimes,” and was silent after. Dante watched Wurthen, half-expecting his eyes to open back up, half-expecting the boy to fall asleep. A small tail flick from Dante and Wurthen’s slowing breathing made Dante cave in to bed for the night. The dragon kicked off his boots and socks, rolled over in bed, and untucked his leathered wings. He didn’t realize it, but the recalling of his story made him tense. Laying down in bed relaxed all his muscles, and he felt he could breathe again.

Dante pulled out his favorite book, one he had since a few years ago. It brought back more pleasant memories of Rava, this time with less stabbing. He faintly recalled that Rava went back to buy him the candy the two were after, and tried sneaking in through the window to give it to the bed-ridden Dante. He smiled.

Scars happen, but we recover, he thought. Rava supported him all that time, and continued to for the years to come. His heart fluttered a little, not out of love or any emotion he could discriminate; Memories of Wurthen seemed to almost compare themselves to Rava, and he felt calm. Friends always made him feel safe.

Scars hurt, but they heal.