Reconnaissance

Her voice, soft but firm, threaded through the stillness. Her words, though gentle, held truths that pierced through his cynicism. Mariah went on to reassure him, her empathy palpable, reaching out to him in this dark moment. Both in her wordage and her actions, her slender paw gently grasping his own from the dirt; her presence grounded him.

‘Do you want to try and figure out why, together?’ She asked, her voice clear and steady, and it made him pause and think. He’d told her of the night Aurelia died… but had he ever explained how deep this pain ran in his memory? No, he had not.

‘I won’t live my life in fear of what may or may not happen.’ Her eyes lingered on his for a moment before she moved forward, starting to straighten a flipped working surface near her. Mariah’s actions were purposeful, not waiting for him to respond or move, but he sensed a silent invitation for him to join her.

‘Now are you going to help me, or shall I do it alone?’ She asked firmly, without looking back at him. The brute huffed, lips pulling into a hard line as he grit his teeth and moved. Her determination spurred him into action, and he found himself at her side, brows furrowed again as he contemplated his next words while his paws tended to the messes.

As they worked to restore order to the den, Caedes felt a sense of purpose returning. A calmness that lacked the numbness he had felt initially. Each piece they picked up and set right was a small step, like she’d said. With Mariah by his side, being here seemed a little less overwhelming.

As Caedes continued to methodically gather the scattered remnants of his den, his mind drifted further back, deeper into the labyrinth of his childhood. The things he had not told her, only hinted at. Maybe… It was time to tell all. He’d already let her see him at his worst, what was more shame going to harm?

His voice was detached as he began, as if recounting a story that belonged to someone else, but the weight of each word betrayed the scars that still lingered on his soul. “I was very young when I first learned that not all wounds or afflictions are visible. Not because I was raised to be a healer.” Caedes explained, his emerald eyes unfocused as he spoke. This had to be done. “My father, Daedalus, was a kind, and softhearted man. Ordinary, his only talent being that of a medic. But he was always scared, haunted, never truly living. He had an illness of the mental sort — that made him see, hear, and feel things that were not there. Despite this, he tried to be a good father.” It was easy to talk of these things, the life he’d had before that day. His lips curled upwards as he spoke, a bittersweet smile, eyes far away as he deftly sorted through the broken containers. “My father was born that way, but for me it was normal. I never really knew what was true and what was his imagination. But I think… I want to believe that he had held onto reality in his youth. He taught me about herbs, about healing. He spoke of his life, his mother, his father, and how he came to be a slave of the Saxe in the past. He was taken as a political hostage when he was a yearling. His mother and father never got him back, their pack fell before they could reclaim him. He never came back into contact with any of his kin, and all he had was Astrid at that time. The mate to the Sultan. She taught him, raised him, became his mother for all intents and purposes. My grandmother.” Caedes' voice was soft, low, sentimental despite the reality of the story.

“My father… he is many years old, but his mind.. he is— much younger. I was born when one of the Saxe’s, an aunt to Sephiran, took a liking to him. I do not think my father had much cognitive capacity for consent. I doubt my mother offered a choice to him in the first place.” He paused, his hands stilled. “I hate my mother. I am glad she abandoned me to him when I was born a runt.” Caedes growled, shaking the thought of his mother away from his mind.

He was silent for a while, musing, fingers setting the salvageable shelves back into place. He supposed telling her those details would only serve to have her sympathize with his father.. but that wasn’t such a bad thing. Perhaps Astrid had truly succeeded in getting him to forgive Daedalus.

“A normal day. This day’s memories in my head I can not get rid of, my father and I went out to gather herbs. It was supposed to be a simple task, something we had done many times before. But that day was different. He froze for the first time, his eyes wide with terror at something only he could see. Muttering, crying. Then, he snapped. Unlike anything I had ever seen from him before.”

The memory of his father's eyes, wild and unseeing, sent a shiver down his spine. He wanted to avoid her eyes, but he was locked into her gaze as he continued. “In his madness, he turned on me, like a rabid animal. He attacked me with our old herb collection knife. I could not move, I could only cry and beg, and scream. His fingers that had always trembled except when he was doing fine medicine work, steadied.” Caedes’ face grew impassive, the memory sending an ache throughout his body. But he continued, and gods did it feel good to speak his pain into existence. “He carved these scars into my flesh. Meticulously, over hours, until he was satisfied with the results. He was completely mad by then, blaming me for things I did not understand. He said it was my fault, that I was the reason for his torment. That I was not real.”

Caedes' voice wavered slightly as he relived the pain, both physical and emotional. But this was reality, and he would not run from it like he would in a dream. “Later, I found out that these scars completed a picture I had no idea about. My father had been driven to madness from the day I was born, by the belief that I was his father, a replacement for a Caedes Messorem I had never met, who bore the very same name and scars. The very same appearance as me. A twisted legacy, a nightmare I had no choice but to inherit.”

He clenched his jaw, his gaze dropping to the ground as he continued. “I spent weeks bedridden after that, cared for by Astrid, and Kaino. They were my only solace at that time. When I finally recovered, my mother took an interest in me for the first time. She saw me not as a runt, but as a potential warrior. She ripped me away from Astrid and my father, who never recovered his mind. My grandmother is probably still trying to cure his mind, even now.”

His tone grew colder, more distant. “She trained me relentlessly, pushing me to the brink. That was what it took to become a Saxe, for me. I had to prove myself, to endure pain, to transform from a broken boy into a true-born Saxe. Maybe it was the only way I would have thrived as I have. And not dwelled on my pain like now.”

He looked up at Mariah, his eyes hollow but resolute. “You asked me why I would want to be a Saxe. I do not believe I ever had a choice.” The silence that followed was heavy, but there was a sense of release in sharing his story.