Pet: Revelations - Prologue (Patreon)

Remus

With each day that passes, I lose a little more of myself to my memories. They’ve come back to me with a vengeance, tainting every portion of my existence. As I stare into the black vacuum of space, I slowly come to acknowledge the way my chest squeezes, and my heart beats erratically. I know instantly why. It’s the reaction from spending centuries of my life in a vacuum—being trapped, growing older and more cognizant with no sense of life moving forward, and no way out. It was torture, plain and simple—torture by the woman who was supposed to protect me.

Now that I’ve been released, I remember every moment of it.

I remember every dreadful second I spent in the dark, begging my father to save me, and for my mother to release me. I remember losing my sense of time and sense of self. I remember wanting to die, but having no access to killing myself. Not only do I recall my time in her prison, but my time outside of it.

Every moment of hatred in my mother’s eyes dances across my memory, taunting me as it threatens to drag me deeper into this swirling pit of emotion. There were multiple times over the years that I came close to breaking her mental block. And every moment that I did, she would resort to the cruelest ways to control me once again, this more recent time being at Iris’s expense.

Every second of my existence has been a manipulation. I’ve conquered entire galaxies for my mother’s obsession with Xyrannis over her children. She turned me into her perfect weapon, killing even those I grew close to because it affected her hold on me. At this moment, I barely know who I am—what I am. Every part of my existence has been a lie. Now that my free will has been returned, I don’t know what to do with myself.

I feel myself drifting further and further from a place of stability with every breath that I take. Happiness, sadness, even anger—these emotions are elusive to me. They are trivial in the grand scheme of things. There is more to concern myself with when it comes to those who are left in my life. Ezra’s health has barely improved, and Xion’s mental state continues to deteriorate as she goes through the same identity crisis as me, if not worse, due to the loss of the man she loved. I can now empathize with that feeling now that my memories have come back. There was someone in my life I cared about before Iris.

Unfortunately, my mother got to her.

My siblings have been broken both physically and mentally, along with the bond we once shared. The trust between us has been shattered, our relationship damaged. I don’t know how to begin to fix it, especially with Ezra. My feelings towards him have become hesitant now that I have come to understand my mother’s manipulations more. I’m curious how much of myself truly cared for him. I have been avoiding him for that very reason, the fear of my true feelings keeping me paralyzed.

Now, to even begin working on these damaged relationships, I have been dragged into whatever Kuron claims is my birthright. I scoff to myself at the irony. I’ve been pulled from one manipulation to another. I know there’s more to his story than it simply being my birthright. His hatred for my mother and Ezra is palpable, and yet he spared them and agreed to allow Ezra access to the care he needs to heal.

Kuron is desperate for my return, and I won’t know why until I set foot in my true homeworld. Already, he has begun teaching me the ways of our kind, the ways that my mother kept from me for fear of my strength. His excitement at the speed I retain the information is more than enough to show me that I am not returning somewhere intact. There are problems waiting, and he expects me to take them on just as my mother did.

I’m pulled from my thoughts as Iris moans behind me. The sound is enough to quiet the chaos in my mind as I step away from the glass to find her. She’s lying in the center of the bed, her body curled into a ball as she sleeps. Even in her sleep, she cannot find peace. Her brow is furrowed, and a light sheen of sweat has appeared along her forehead, some of her hair slicking to her face.

She’s having a nightmare.

I quietly sit on the bed next to her, but it doesn’t disturb her. She is deep in her nightmare. I slowly reach for her face, gently brushing her hair away as I feel for the disruptions within her body. The longer I watch her, the more I feel my own body calming. It has become an important part of my routine, watching her sleep. My fingers linger against her cheek as I feel for more than the disruptions—I feel for her life force. It’s so short, so fleeting compared to mine. And yet, she would throw that quick blip of existence away in the name of those she cares for.

My fingers drift to the necklace she keeps around her throat. It caught my eye when we first encountered one another. I had seen humans rip one another’s throats out for less valuable objects. It was a strange thing for a human to have in a blight. But she clung to it fiercely, even challenging me for it when she realized it was missing.

Her family’s photo was that important to her. It held a memory of them she clung to as if it were the very breath she needed to live, even if it was tainted by death and destruction. It was a fascinating thing to me at the time to watch her. She held such out-of-place emotions for the situation she was in. Now, however, I am intimately aware of just how deep her loyalty runs for those she cares about—me included.

Her breath has calmed as I continue to heal her. She doesn’t react as my hands drift lower, the thin shirt she wears riding up to reveal the scar left behind by my mother. I can’t breathe each time I think of that moment. My hand drifts lower, finding the center of her stomach. I grow nauseous as I think of the moment I saw her again, unaware of who she was to me but aware of the condition she was in.

I’ve been left to mourn this loss alone, and I will bury it deep in my mind before I ever let Iris become aware of it. I knew our bodies were compatible. While the chances of her conceiving were low, I was still always mindful of the window when we would have sex. I knew the night I left, the chance was there, but I couldn’t have imagined I wouldn’t return in my right mind. I never could have predicted I would be the one to take that from her—from us.

I gently pull her into me, letting her head settle in my lap as I continue to stroke her cheek. Her face smooths as her nightmare seems to evaporate. I want to destroy everything my mother has ever cared about for what she has stolen from me. Centuries of my life, the life that I could have had with Iris.

My touch stops as my mind begins to wander. Iris is a physical reminder of everything that was lost. She is the only remaining connection to any emotion. My anger, my despair, my desire for revenge all exist when I am around her. I am reminded of every emotion I don’t want to feel.

I tried to be someone she could be proud to love—someone she wouldn’t feel such crippling guilt over loving. It was a fantasy I let myself fall into. That isn’t who I am. In reality, I am someone who would set the world on fire if it pleased me. The only thing preventing me from doing so is her.

She is my moral compass, my desires, and my intentions.

My fingertips suddenly tingle with warmth as my touch drifts to her throat. I don’t know this feeling, as instinct overcomes me. This happens often when I am near her lately. It’s a stronger feeling than the urge to bond. It’s too destructive to compare. It is a desire so strong that I know I need to move away.

I clench my fist, looking away from her as I attempt to compose myself.

The peace I once had, watching her sleep, has been taken from me and replaced with this. I want to replace the bond we once shared, but I know I am changing, and I don't know how it will affect her this time around.

I am careful not to jostle her as I stand, pulling the blanket over her. The divide between us has grown and will continue to grow as time passes. But I will always cling to the very essence that is her. She is the only thing I have ever chosen for myself. She is the only thing unaffected by my mother's manipulations. Bonding with her was an impulsive choice that I made, and had never made before.

I shift my attention to the pendant in her hair as she rolls over, and it forces a small smile to ghost my lips. It has become a part of her as much as her necklace.

I have become a part of her.

Regardless of what I am to face, I will ensure it stays that way.