And We Got Older
BABY
His parents had always said they wanted two children. Their first born had been a new and exciting journey, filled with plenty of the unexpected. Their second, though... they had been fully prepared for Fánaí when he was born. The little baby Satyr, a tiny, fluffy, thing, had been swaddled quickly in warm, handmade blankets, and held close to his mother's chest. There he had essentially been covered, too, in her Runefrost Cloak, the symbol of her leadership and responsibility.
It hadn't taken long for news of the Painted Satyr's birth to circulate within the cozy little village. Before long, many members of the village had flocked to their home, bearing gifts and good wishes. His older brother, still quite young himself, had proudly shown off the little Satyr bundle, a slumbering little pile of brown fluff. Somehow, the tiny Painted Satyr managed to sleep through all of the commotion - though those who came to visit spoke in hushed tones, it still ought to have been enough to disturb him. Even when the infant did wake, he seemed content just to stare at all the new faces. It ought to have been overwhelming for such a small, new baby... and yet little Fánaí seemed to take it all in stride, content in his little bundle of warmth.
TODDLER
The little Painted Satyr wobbled unsteadily on his hooves, swaying dangerously. His mother stood behind him, arms outstretched, ready to catch him should he, indeed, topple. He had seemed to grow so quickly, especially if you asked his parents. His horns - nubby little things though they were - had begun to grow in, and he was getting taller every day. It had only been a matter of time before he started walking... he had learned to crawl so quickly, and as soon as he was mobile, he was a little terror. He was a curious Satyr, and wanted to get his nose into everything. Wanted to explore every single nook and cranny, wanted to learn whatever he could. Though he wasn't quite speaking yet, he was growing closer every day. Mostly he simply babbled nonsense, but his older brother swore he could understand everything he vocalized.
For a moment, it looked as if he were, in fact, going to topple over. At the last moment, however, he caught himself and rebalanced, continuing to trudge forward on stubby toddler legs. His mother let out a light laugh, unable to help herself - but little Fánaí either did not hear or did not mind; his determined expression did not falter for even a moment. Even at a very young age, he had a set determination about him. He was ready to do whatever it took to meet his goal, even if he could barely formulate that goal into understandable words in his mind.
Finally - finally! - he reached his destination. The worn but comfortable chair in the center of their sitting room, turned to face the fireplace. It was his mother's chair, where she often sat. Sometimes it was his brother who sat with her but, these days, it was typically Fánaí, as his older brother was quickly outgrowing such things. He clutched at the cushions of the chair with one furred and one patch covered hand, victorious. He turned his red gaze to the fire, mouth hanging open ever so slightly in a childish expression of thought and concentration. His mother had taken a moment to cheer for her son, but he didn't quite hear her excitement. He was focusing on something else.
He reached his fluffy hand out towards the fire, palm open, a light laugh on his lips. His mother stopped, frowning slightly as she watched her child. Again, he didn’t seem to notice. A few gurgled words at his lips, and the log, almost nothing left of it, burning within the fire, grew. A few branches stretched off of it, and the flames licked at the new, green wood that sprouted there, crackling around it.
“Oh! Fánaí!” he mother said with a clap of her hands. “Your first aspect!”
PRETEEN
“Again, Fánaí.”
The Painted Satyr - taller now, horns sprouting a bit taller, lanky in build - frowned, eyes narrowing as he concentrated on the space before him. He let his eyes drift shut, completely shutting out the world around him. It was easier that way. He had learned to do it some time ago, and it had been a rather helpful skill to develop, he had found. It made it easier to learn new skills, to focus on what it was he needed to do. Ever since that day… it hadn’t even been that long ago. A few months, perhaps. But ever since then… he had needed to be able to narrow his focus, had needed to be able to shut everything else. Otherwise… otherwise it was simply overwhelming. The grief, the confusion, the utter sense of loss… if it enveloped him there was simply no recovering from it.
So instead of feeling it, he simply shut it out.
This time he didn’t even need to open his eyes to know that he had been successful. He could see the bright light through his eyelids, through the wild white hair that covered them. He had done it - he had summoned light from seemingly nothing, and it danced brightly between his hands, one covered in fur, one soft Satyr patch. “I did it!” He said, a surprising amount of emotion slipping into his voice, his eyes widening. “Do you see it? I did i-” Before he could finish the sentence, however, the light between his hands flickered, dimmed, and disappeared completely.
The Satyr across from him, his grandfather, frowned. “You need to focus, Fánaí. Don’t let yourself become sidetracked with perceived success. The moment you start to celebrate is the moment that you open yourself up to attack or failure.”
Nothing seemed to move him. Fánaí supposed he shouldn’t have been so surprised - he had lost his parents and older brother, but his grandfather had lost his son in law, his grandchild… his daughter. He knew they were both in pain, no matter how they hid it. Even so… he fidgeted with the Runefrost Cloak that hung around his shoulders, running one hand through the warmth of the fur that lined it. He could feel the boost to his frost aspect that the cloak provided… but it did nothing to ease the trials of learning the light aspect. It was close, it was within his grasp… he just needed a little bit more. He could do it. He knew he could. And so he adjusted the cloak around his shoulders, making sure it wouldn’t fall in his way… and he tried it again.
And again. And again. Mixed successes and failures, over and over, until night fell around them.
TEENAGER
He clutched the pocket bloodseeker in a shaking hand, Runefrost cloak wrapped tightly around him, protecting him from the chill of the Boreal Valley at night. Even that wasn’t enough to stop his shaking. But it wasn’t the weather, wasn’t the sharp chill of the wind as it tugged at long, wild white hair.
Fánaí was taller, now. He had grown into his lankiness. Perhaps not as tall as Vordt the Betrayer or as tall as Guðrún, but he was at home in his 5’8” height. His horns, too, had grown in fully - or nearly fully. Antlers, really. He had wrapped them in the colourful, magic lights with which he had decorated the village. At first he had used the ones that didn’t quite meet his standards, keeping those ones for himself and using the others as gifts and to decorate the village with. But now… he had nearly perfected his craft, and he had replaced his own lights with improved ones. It had only been a few years, but… he had grown, and he had learned.
He wasn’t nervous using the pocket bloodseeker anymore, but it still wasn’t an entirely comfortable process. It brought back so many memories of his father, using the heirloom to help his mother find those lost in the snow. Even now, years after that tragic event… they weren’t images he could properly deal with.
As he had done so many times before, he pricked a finger on a sharp blade of ice, letting a few drops of blood hit the trinket in his hand. It responded immediately, seeming to absorb it into itself as it began to glow in the same colour as the blood he had offered it. The runes seemed to pulse with it, and the hand spun around the surface of the magical compass. Once, twice, three times. Back and forth it went, in a way Fánaí had never seen it do before. Eventually, though, as it always did… it slowed to a stop. He frowned for a moment, turning to face the direction in which the bloodseeker pointed.
Back towards the village he had come from, back towards the warm, inviting lights. For a second, he felt his heart lurch. He was going to be sick. And then… then a calm fell over him. He couldn’t help but laugh. Of course. Of course, that was exactly the way fate wanted it, wasn’t it? A small, almost cynical sort of smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and he shook his head. He should have known.
As he trudged back through the snow, his path illuminated by the glow of the fastener on his cloak and the lights at his horns, he shoved the pocket Bloodseeker into his pocket.
Had he continued to hold it, to look at it, he might have noted that it didn’t cease to glow when he made it back to town, and it didn’t cease to point in a solid direction - beyond the cozy little village, and further on, towards the Temple of the Moon.
YOUNG ADULT (PRESENT)
He stood on the ship, gripping the side, watching as the Celestial Seas passed them by.
Appearance wise, Fánaí did not look much changed from his teenage years. But beneath the surface… if one were to look a little closer, they would notice a more solid self assurance in the way he held himself. They would notice the hint of tiredness lingering around his eyes. And they would notice that the sad aura that seemed to follow him around had lessened ever so slightly.
Though he was no longer in the Boreal Valley, though he was aboard a starship that would take them further away than he had imagined going in a long, long time, he still wore his mother’s Runefrost Cloak on his shoulders. Perhaps… perhaps it was a form of comfort for the Painted Satyr. A reminder of where he came from, of who he was, of what he was capable of. The idea of leaving it behind… he knew it would have benefited the village in his absence. Knew the runes and the magic woven into it would have been a boon. And yet… there were so few things that meant so much to him. The cloak draped over his shoulders, the pocket bloodseeker tucked into his pocket, the staff in his hand… even the little baby dalon hidden within his cloak. Though the baby void creature threatened to slip out and make its presence known at every turn, though it was constantly drawn towards trouble (and dragging Fánaí along with it)... it had grown on him in a way he had been unable to anticipate.
And then… then there were those with him.
Vordt the Betrayer - who, it turned out, wasn’t much of a Betrayer after all. Enyo Talonclaw… who had helped him see that. And then there was Deimos. Deimos, the assassin loyal to the Temple of the Moon. The silent browbird who was such warm, comforting company. A soft warmth spread across Fánaí’s cheeks at the thought.
Perhaps it was best if he simply focused on the adventure ahead of them.
ADULT
It is difficult to say what the future holds for any of us, is it not? And yet… if one were to look into Fánaí’s future, they would certainly find a Painted Satyr who had grown by leaps and bounds, a Painted Satyr infinitely more powerful than the child who had had such large responsibilities and expectations thrust upon him.
Taller, somehow, than he had been as a young adult. With a new form - a strong, centaur Painted Satyr. Antlers still strong and proud, draped in the lights he had made - but adorned with a new light. An ever glowing lustrum soul above him, glowing in tandem with the colourful lights tied to his horns. And ever more light! From his lips, a vibrant aura breath, almost seeming to glow with the light he carries within him.
And if one paid close attention, they might even notice that his magic prowess, too, has grown, along with his form. For Fánaí, under the tutelage of those like Aurelian and Vordt, has found himself possessed of new aspects - aspects he uses, of course, for the benefit of others. Time and Astral - strong, rare aspects that ought to be handled with care.
But Fánaí has found himself with that sort of power from a young age, though he never once asked for it. Who better than a somber Painted Satyr versed in duty and responsibility to wield it?