Their Prophecy

Communication

Half a mile had flown by the girl before she managed to rip herself from Zechariah's hands, the balls of her bare feet dragging the mud up beneath her as landed, glaring up at him with the most feral expression he'd ever seen her wear.

Reaching outward, to console his outraged link, she took a pointed step backwards. "Do not touch me!" It was a hiss of malice, of outright hatred. Seething, venomous--when he knelt before the child, he felt his patience wearing thin, his eyes narrowing with intent. Startled by his closeness, his expression, her voice changed, eyes falling to the ground. "Y-you do not have to touch me." It was a mumble and as he leaned closer, he watched the liquid start falling from her small eyes. Gritting her little teeth, she tilted her jaw away from him, intentionally creating a curtain of curly blonde hair between them. "I don't need you."

Zech frowned, watching her wipe at herself, looking every bit the child her form suggested.

Sad, weeping.

When he took her small wrists in his hands, pulling them away so he could take a better look at the little girl, to confirm that she wasn't harmed in any way, he felt her trembling. Her white gown was covered in dirt and he grimaced at the sight of red smears tattering the thin fabric.

Frightened.

He could feel that Ana was frightened. It was muted, hard to read. Link or not, she'd managed to put a mental barrier between them and he couldn't read her thoughts as he once had, couldn't see her very clearly anymore. He hadn't known when this frustration had started, where this constant evasion and anger was coming from. Where had it started?

"L-let me go."

It was a plea, he knew.

She'd lashed out at him once. It was a violent motion, one that probably would have killed him, were he anyone else. He'd snuffed out her tantrum quickly though, unperturbed by her raw power, aware that he was made to neutralize it. She couldn't rip essence from him, nor was her small form capable of keeping up with his.

He hadn't trained in the Guard for years to be some push over.

Child prodigy or not, she was still just that: A child.

Snuffling, crying, she gave him a pathetic look. "I hate you."

Now that emotion he could deal with. Hatred was common for his kind and, taking a seat on the grass, he thought perhaps she thought so little of him because of his breeding. He'd thought she might have seen his memories, his bloody past as a hounddog for a mad man. Before he became Cronan's guard, he'd stood beside Ezekial. It wasn't a period of his history that he was proud of.

"I hate you," she repeated, voice shaking. "I really hate you!"

When he pulled the child to his chest, she crumpled into him, sobbing against him. With a sigh, he thought about the nightly songs, the mushrooms, the odd creatures she surrounded herself with. She was cosmic and terrifying, stronger than any creature he'd ever witnessed before, and the elves could sense her strangeness. It was no wonder they would try to drive her away, destroy her. She was new, foreign, and they had all assumed she was dangerous, bad.

She was dangerous. Was she bad?

Resting his palm on the back of her head, pulling her ever closer, he hummed softly.

She was too young to be something evil, too young to understand right from wrong.

Not good, not bad--she just was.

And she was persecuted just for being.

Openly alienated.

Attacked.

As the cries turned to deep, even breathing, he knew the child had fallen asleep. Overwhelmed by the events of today, soothed by his mere presence, her slumber had come on fast.

It was a reminder that she was incredibly young.

Growing. Learning.

She was already so strong, capable of utilizing startling violence, and she was but a child.

What would she be capable of as a rebellious teen? An inexperienced young adult?

Guide her, the adults had decided. Teach her. Hold her hand through this.

Glancing down at the small girls' hands, he saw that they were stained red.

What they were doing wasn't enough.

If these creatures continued to mistreat her, she would inevitably begin to form ugly emotions like humiliation, resentment, and hatred. From that would spurn vindication and wrath. At this rate, the evil they all feared, the monster they were all avoiding, would be one of their own making.

Rising to his feet, he saw creatures peek out from the shrubs, two noteworthy ones gazing at them from behind trees. With a sigh, Zech felt wary about the ever constant presence of the faerie and augur, both looking upon the girl from afar with obvious concern.

When mythical and cursed creatures unite, the situation must be critical.

"She is safe," Zech managed.

"She is hurt," the Augur stated.

Zechariah was certain he hadn't found a scratch on her. Still, watching the creatures approach him, slowly at first, then all at once, he knew it wasn't her physical form they were concerned about. Emotionally, the girl was being abused by the tribe. Damaged. As the animals dropped their gifts at his feet, he watched the faerie transform into a butterfly, landing lightly upon the girl's blonde hair.

He blinked and the Augur was standing just before him, his form always the same in Zech's presence, ever uncomfortable. "You must heal what you've broken."

Zech was taken aback. "Me?"

"You hurt her."

Blinking up at the creature, the man felt a sense of revulsion. "She was just attacked by elves."

"That's not what injured her." Tall, too tall, the creature seemed to loom over him, its smile poisonous. "You must take responsibility for yourself. Thoughts, emotions--they are not a one-way street in a link."

Staring up at him, Zech felt his jaw tick. "What are you going on about?"

"Zechariah, you must fix the link," the Augur stated coldly. Staring at him, the old man's eyes began to turn black. Like two voids, staring deep into his soul, reminding Zech of what it was, what it was capable of. In a voice that was much too deep and high and loud but hushed all at the same time, it repeated: "Fix the link."

A tremor ran through the man and he took a measured step backwards.

Away from the cursed being.

The only one capable of fixing this link, Zechariah knew with an incoming sense of dread, was the small creature in his arms who had just shouted how much she hated him. Despite his ability to physically intercept her rage and squash her powers, he wasn't capable of controlling her mind, of forcing his will upon her. As long as it was what she preferred, her mind would be closed to him, an impenetrable fortress holding all of the answers he desperately needed to get through to her within it.

"Communication," the augur stated blandly. It almost looked unimpressed with him.

"What?" Zech wondered aloud, shooting the thing a wary glare.

"You know," it said with a vague hand gesture, "talk to the child."

Talk to her?

Frowning, Zech turned his back to the creature then, releasing a vague sigh as he began his journey toward the girls' parents. Away from the being spewing nonsense behind him.

Of all the sage advice the cursed creature of millennia could have imposed upon him, that was what it chose to offer? Zech might have laughed at the absurdity of it all, were the situation not so incredibly bleak.