FATELESS: A Boy’s Bonds

The Fateless

 

The Fateless.

Those who have the power to alter their destiny, going against the flow that all others must abide by.

I sat on my bed, processing this information.

Zakarot lounged within my favorite chair, regarding me from behind a veil of impenetrable shadow. When he spoke, his voice lacked all of its previous lightness.

“They have been given many names throughout history, none of which are legitimate. Some called them devils, others believed that they were reapers—servants of Lady Death.”

“What do you call them?” I asked.

"I call them as they are." Zakarot said. "Cultists. Zealots. Sycophants. Whichever you would prefer. For convenience's sake, we’ll call them Apostles. Their foot soldiers are called Disciples, such as Mrs. Beckett."

“What are their real names?” I asked. Then, I added: “Starting with the man from the vision.”

“Their real names don’t matter anymore,” he said. “Each Apostle inherits the mantle of their predecessor, gaining all of the power that comes with it. Over time, the mantles change them. They lose themselves, sacrificing everything for their master."

"How?"

Zakarot shrugged. "Mantles have power, Zavis. As one grows in strength, the titles they are given by others become more important than their own names. The expectations placed upon them may become shackles, or blessings.”

That didn’t really make sense to me, but I nodded as if I understood.

“And you mentioned a master,” I started. “These…monsters work for someone?”

“Not someone, something. A being born before Death, before the Warden’s rays shone upon our world and Lord Night’s rebellion led to the eldest twilight. Sprung from the primordial soup, it exists on a spectrum greater than our comprehension. No-one, not even the Nine, are aware of its name nor origin. Most of them aren’t brave enough to find out.”

I had never been a particularly religious person. Sure, I acknowledged the Nine…in the same way that I acknowledged the moon. They existed, tucked away beyond the stars and barely relevant to my little life. My family was religious, though.

The people of Geimhread didn’t have the luxuries that those down south had, so most traditions such as fasting were lost on us. That didn’t mean northerners lacked faith, however.

For some, their faith was all that kept them going in this bitterly cold world.

Being someone who suffered due to his brother’s blessing, I’d never put much faith in them. Most of my thoughts regarding the gods would probably lead to Templars knocking on my door if I lived anywhere else.

In spite of my personal views, however, I knew that they were worshiped for a reason. The Nine were ancient beings representing the aspects of creation, bound to their respective domains so that their creations may have free-will without the tyranny of deities being held over them.

Which was, apparently, all a bunch of malarkey.

If the Apostles’ so-called master was a being older and greater than the Nine, a being feared by our own pantheon of gods…

I felt overwhelmed, out of my depth, as if I was hearing something that never should have been spoken in my presence. This was probably how fish felt when humans plucked them from their homes and set them onto the dinner table.

“What…” My voice cracked, and I cleared my throat. “What does it want?”

Zakarot shrugged.

“I call it the Demiurge, our world’s twisted creator. Nobody quite knows what it is, nor where it is, but we do know that it doesn't appreciate its work being threatened. It can’t interfere with our world directly, and so it moves through proxies. The Apostles, who eliminate threats to its story. They’re the reason most of the Fateless end up being killed as children.”

My face probably went pale. “Like me.”

“Exactly, though you’ve been fortunate so far. The fact that you live in relative obscurity has kept them off your trail until recently. But they know where you are now, who you are. One of their Disciples failed, so now they’ll send someone better. Stronger. Someone who can kill you and everyone you love, effectively wiping you from history like dust in the wind.”

“They’re going to kill everyone in the village,” I said.

“Yes.”

“My mother, and Abel…”

“Yes,” Zakarot repeated.

“Father, Lara?”

Zakarot didn’t respond, but the implication was clear.

With that finally out there, I leaned back and stared up at the ceiling. It wasn’t so long ago when I’d opened my eyes and stared at this ceiling with relief. Having been rescued from that blood-splattered forest floor, reunited with my family. It was perhaps the happiest moment of my life.

But now, I could only picture this ceiling engulfed in black flames. My family members strewn across the ground, that man’s awful laugh cackling over them, covered in my mother’s blood.

“This mission of yours,” I started. “Does it involve this…Demiurge? Are you going to fight it?”

“Fight it?” Zakarot snorted. “That’s a bit like fighting against the sun. No, my mission is to free everyone from its control. To do so, its followers must be stopped.”

“The Apostles,” I said, nodding. “How many are there?”

“Twelve,” Zakarot answered, a little too quickly. “There are twelve mantles. When one dies, their mantle is passed to a successor. So usually there are no less than twelve Apostles, and many more lesser Disciples. Those ones take less power to create, because they’re disposable.”

“If that’s the case, then how do we beat them? And what’s stopping this thing from taking control of someone else? One of my family–”

“Your family is safe,” Zakarot replied. “…In that regard, at-least.”

His voice carried a tone that made what he said seem obvious, but my confusion must have shown through.

Zakarot elaborated. “As a Fateless, fate and its master have no control over you. The closer you are to someone, the further they stray from the intended path. Meaning that once you’ve significantly altered the fate of another, they can’t be turned into Disciples.”

“So, I can make them Fateless?”

The spirit considered that question for a moment, then shook his head.

“It’s not the same. Any changes they make can only be made because of you. They’re still characters in the story, whereas Fateless like you and I aren’t. Every step we take, every word spoken that wasn't supposed to be, sends ripples throughout the Demiurge's story. Changing things in unpredictable ways. I should also mention that being disconnected from fate comes with its share of problems.”

“Besides being hunted by evil cultists?”

Zakarot ignored me. “For all of its faults, fate offers reliability, order. It’s no miracle that humanity hasn’t gone through any wars during the modern era. Shedding the chains of destiny will leave you open to unexpected twists and turns. For example, your brother might have lived a full life if it wasn’t for you. Your presence is the reason he dies within the next moon. If you’ve ever thought that your luck was shitty, this is why.”

“If I join you…” I swallowed, wrestling against a lump in my throat. “Can my family be saved?”

“That’s why I’m here.”

My eyes widened. I hadn’t expected such a confident answer. Suspicion rose from deep within. Was Zakarot really on my side? What if he was working for the Apostles? Maybe none of this was even true.

Maybe the spirit was listening to my thoughts, because he hastily clarified.

“I swear on my soul that I will not allow your family to be harmed. Even if I have to sacrifice all that I have, their fates will be changed.”

“You would go through all of this trouble? For me?” I asked. “We don’t even know each other.”

Zakarot was silent for a time.

“We made a contract. You are my anchor, and therefore the most important person alive. I’ll do whatever I can to help, provided that you agree to help me.”

“And if I don’t?” I asked. “You’ll leave?”

“I will leave,” Zakarot answered. “And the future you’ve seen will come to pass. You will survive, but everyone you love will die. Left with nothing, you will come to regret your choice. Until the Apostles hunt you down.”

“And what do you get out of this?” I asked, skeptical. “You said that you’re Fateless, too?”

“That’s right.”

“So…does that mean the Apostles killed you?”

Again, Zakarot didn’t respond. I continued.

“You’re pitting yourself up against something that even gods are afraid of. That obviously takes commitment. I figure that this must be a vengeance thing, right?”

I could feel the spirit’s eyes boring into me from beneath his drawn hood, as he thumbed a finger against his knee. Then, when my anxiety was nearly at a head, he responded. “I made a promise. That’s all.”

“To who?”

“Myself.”

I wanted to ask more questions, but didn’t think that it would be appropriate. If I was a ghost, I probably wouldn’t want some kid prying into the details of my life.

“There are more Fateless in the world,” Zakarot said, swiftly changing the subject. “It would prove useful to recruit them, before the Apostles find them. Which means that you’ll have to leave home.”

Zakarot straightened, brushed off his robes, and approached me.

“And you’re going to have to be stronger. Much stronger. It won’t be an easy journey; if you accept, then the experiences awaiting you will make that flight through the forest seem tame by comparison.”

I bit down on my lower lip, the taste of metal filling my mouth.

Anxiety, fear, restlessness.

In all my times dreaming of something like this, I never imagined feeling this way. Not a single trace of excitement could be found within me. Memories of being chased through those woods, of falling from that cliff, made me tremble. The thought of going through that again filled me with irrepressible dread.

To leave my home behind was something I’d dreamed about, but never really considered.

Could I actually do it? Whether I be Blessed, Fateless, or something entirely different, did I have what it takes?

I thought back to my mother’s smile, my sister and father crying over my shoulder. A room full of people who love me, people I’d been disregarding for too long. Maybe I wasn’t born into wealth like other people, maybe I was given the short-end of the stick when it comes to big brothers.

But they were my family.

It didn’t matter whether I was ready. All I’d ever wanted was to be loved, and they were the ones who loved me. If I had to betray that love, leave to fight against these Apostles and whoever else….

“All I want…” I started, clenching my fists. “Is to be strong enough to save them. I don’t want to be looked down upon anymore.”

The black-eyed Apostle’s voice rang through my mind with vivid clarity: ‘You ain’t putting up much of a fight, though. To think that those guys were scared of a little baby.’

“If you can promise me that, then I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll accept the terms of our contract, and help you change the future.”

Zakarot loomed over me, silently staring before nodding. “Very well, Zavis Invidia. I promise to make you the strongest there’s ever been, and in exchange, we will free this world from the Demiurge’s influence.”

He appeared in-front of me, his hand outstretched. I didn’t even think about the consequences of touching him again. We shook hands, and I felt a strange tingling in the air around us.

“Rest for now,” Zakarot said. “We’ll speak further once you’ve regained your strength.”

And with those final words, the robed spirit vanished into thin air. I gasped in surprise, before remembering that he was a ghost. He could disappear whenever he wanted.

Finally left alone to my own devices, I allowed myself to sink back into bed. The exhaustion I’d been fighting off since my parents left rushed into me at once. As the world began to vanish beneath heavy lidded eyes, the last thing I saw was a familiar ceiling.

I’ll save them.

All of them.