My brother was born a Dávoln. A mistake. Same difference.

That was what they always said anyway, whenever his back was turned. For, in a world so full of lies, one thing will always ring true: That we are an act against the gods, and for that, we deserve to die by the Cearte's hands.

"I'm not killing my child! He's still in there somewhere!"

My mother wildly clutched at the babe in her arms— so Human if it wasn't for his wolf-like ears and long canines in an otherwise toothless mouth. The floor was still littered in the blood of the birth, sweat and tears glistening on her ragged face, but she was a mother now, and she refused to let the exhaustion consume her. Not when her child's life was at stake.

"Lyra! This is madness!" my aunt– the town's midwife– cried. She reached to snatch the babe again, but my mother only ducked out of the way, pressing her back against the wall to watch them all with fearful green eyes. Before her was her family: Her sister, her brother, her husband, the last standing there shakily, sacrificial knife in hand.

"No," she whispered, shaking her blond hair frantically. "Cedric, please."

"He has a Demon in him," my father had argued, throwing a hand to gesture at the black, crescent moon mark adorning my brother's right temple. "And not just any Demon. Tachir'." He looked at the knife in his hand again, eyeing the trinity knot adorning the golden hilt. The symbol of the Cearte. "I have to kill them. It's the just thing to do."

"Cedric," she began again, reaching out to place a hand upon his own. "Look at me."

He did so, grey eyes meeting hers. There was fear in them, but she looked harder, deeper, for something more than that. "I don't need you to be a Cearte right now. I need you to be a father."

He looked back down at the child, the worry in his face still apparent, but finally, he let go, knife falling to the floor with a clang. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

My mother held my brother tighter, feeling his warm skin against hers, and the painful, empty ache of him no longer in her womb. Nine months, she had carried him, waited for him. The very idea of someone taking away her Cynwrig... She nodded fervently. "More than anything."

"So we are simply to support you in raising a monster then?"

My mother twitched, nearly forgetting those she shared the room with. She glanced back up at her sister glaring at her with crossed arms. "Even if your son is in there, what says he would be powerful enough to stop Tachir' from coming loose and slaughtering us all once again?"

"What if I taught him to control it?" My father asked, placing an awkward hand on my brother's head, half a pet, half a pat. "I've... worked alongside Demons before. We'll teach him to be better than that."

My aunt tapped an angry foot against the floor. "Then go and ask the Council. See what they say, but if they agree to something like that—" She waved pointedly at Cynwrig. "Then don't expect me to ever take part in raising it. I at least respect Akasha's will."

She'd left soon after that, not bothering to clean the birth, nor tend to my mother after. No. Only abandon her to hold the child and rock both him and herself.

"I'll go," she whispered. "I'll go."

A week later, she staggered to the heart of the village, hardly able to walk, hips tied together as she made her way to the Council of Elders. At her side, she was followed by her husband, in her hands, she held a basket carrying Cynwrig, and in her heart, she held hope that somehow, the Elders would be understanding. The laws on Dàvolns weren't as strict then, but still, they were a godless race. If they turned her down...

She lifted the blanket off the basket for a moment, watching the babe's eyes closed peacefully in sleep, unaware of it all. I'll run. I'll leave Durne and travel to the abandoned mountain passages. Anywhere he'll be safe.

The Council was gathered around a single table, the ancient men and women– nearly in their forties– watching her with stern eyes, faces obscured in masks, all to keep out the Dust. One man stepped forward, drawing a scarf down from his mouth to speak.

"Lyra Myres. You have requested this meeting to demand to keep your child, despite them being an act against the Cearte, under the gods' orders. Is this correct?"

"Yes." She nodded.

"May we see their Dávoln mark then?"

My mother reluctantly lifted the basket.

The Elder pulled at the thin sheet clothing him, looking at the mark resting on his temple. The man then drew a sharp breath, causing my mother to nearly drop him as he violently flung the blanket back, the look of disgust on his face revealing that he wished she had.

"This is no ordinary mark!" he hissed. "That's the symbol of Tachir', the wolf Demon! Do you not remember how they nearly wiped us out years ago? We're still recovering from that massacre."

"Considering I'm the one with the battle scar, I'd say I remember the day quite clearly," my mother had replied in a calm, even tone. She'd figured that the thin, clawed lines running from her nose to her ear had made that apparent, but it seemed the man needed things stated in a more simplified manner. "-As I also recall that I was the only one able to send them to Astren. So, if anyone is fit to care for him, it would be me."

The Council broke into excited whispers at this, but the man hushed them with a single hand. He turned to my father. "Cedric Myres, Human Cearte of Lorne, is there a reason you did not sacrifice the Dávoln to Akasha? A body is not meant to have two souls."

In response, my father dropped a knee, dark hair covering his expression as he bowed. "I mean no disrespect to the Goddess. However, is it not against her idea of balance to punish an innocent for a sin he did not commit?" His head raised then, giving the Council a determined look. "My wife and I shall tame the Wolf Demon within him, and raise him as a Human. As the town's Cearte, I promise no harm shall come to the people here." He reached for the basket, pulling his son closer. "Any of them."

A silence held the air, and the Elder turned to the rest of the Council. Each held a coin within their palms, one side showing the three-pointed knot of the Goddess, the other, the rose emblem of the Cearte. The Will of the gods, and the Will of man. Normally, they were to align, but that day formed a break, each one placing the coins down on one side or another, casting their votes. The man who'd spoken before gathered them on a flat plate which he brought forth, showing the golden coins to my parents.

It had come down to four knots, five roses.

My mother's hands had trembled, but she still bowed her head graciously. "Thank you."

"There is one condition though," the Elder continued, returning the plate to the table. He faced them both, and there was no give in his next words. "The boy shall grow to be a Cearte and serve us, or he shall not grow at all."

And so my family carried on, my brother training in his father's footsteps, his days spent helping around the village of Lorne, and doing whatever he could to gain their trust. A few would always be bothered by his wolf ears, the unwavering feature of the one that had taken them down so long ago, but it was as my father said. Cynwrig maintained control over his Demon, only allowing them out at night, when they were alone in his room. It was only there he'd dare to shift to his other form, with nothing more than wooden furniture to tear and destroy. Mainly, the Demon stayed quiet, never doing much, as if they didn't have to. As if they were waiting. But eventually the tension died down, and while life was never truly normal for them, my family fell into a simple routine, ready to try for another child.

They did, and all was well, until I was born dead.

I was told I hadn't been breathing, my skin a ghastly purple. Sickly. My mother had clutched me to her chest, sobbing against my cold, lifeless body, when there came a heartbeat. But it was strange; it would go too slow, or too fast in uneven paces... as though it wasn't sure how to be Human.

A symbol appeared on my left arm, of a black snake winding around a sun, a moon, and at the very end of my hand, the tip of the tail wrapped around a single star. It was the mark of two souls sharing a single body. A Dávoln.

"What do you want to do?" my father had asked, a wary look on his face.

"I'm not asking the Council again," my mother choked, her tears dripping onto my skin. "They will never allow for two."

Instead, I became my family's little secret. I wore long sleeves to cover my Mark, I was taught from a young age not to talk too much, lest someone see my ever-present fangs, and most times, the only one to talk to anyway was my Demon, Eldrazi. But truth be told, I liked it that way. He was kind, funny, and between him and my brother, I didn't need anyone else.

I was content. Another mistake.

Cynwrig was the one with control over his Demon, not me. I was the one who let Eldrazi loose beyond the eight hours I needed to sleep at night. Sometimes scales would appear across my face, words coming out of my mouth to bicker with my father in a voice so far from my own. I had to be hidden, kept inside or I would be caught. So why was it the older I got, the more I heard banging sounds from Cynwrig's room, so late at night, or the sound of chains getting yanked on fervently?

Eldrazi never made me act out like that. Perhaps he'd ask me to steal an extra slice of cheese off the counter, or borrow my hand to coat the walls in ink before scampering away from my angry mother with a laugh, but... nothing violent. Nothing like the angry tension that filled the room everytime Cynwrig would argue with my parents, swiping out a clawed hand to smash something in a fit of rage, a wolf tail appearing behind him just to flick in annoyance before he slammed a door covered in scratch marks.

It simply didn't make sense to me. He was better than that. He would become a Cearte one day, while I needed to be hidden away. I picked at the edge of my sleeve and reached for my bond with Eldrazi, the familiar warm feeling hitting me as I wordlessly asked the question in my mind.

"''s just dangerous, Gav," he'd answered, a deeper voice ringing out as the image of a tan-skinned man with pointed ears filled my thoughts. He pulled a hand through his wavy, brown bangs in worry. "Back when I was alive, back in Ulnter, Tachir' was an assassin who wiped out 'undreds of us, includin' myself. I know ya love Cynwrig dearly but... sometimes it's better to leave them both be."

But I couldn't. Even if I was a mistake, I wanted to be there for him, support him, no matter how evil his Demon was. So on the Solstice of Child's Season, right before my tenth, and more importantly, Cynwrig's eighteenth birthday, I snuck out of the house. His final trial to become a Cearte was that day, and I refused to miss it for the world.

Fitting wording honestly, in hindsight.

In the village centre lay a ring, surrounded by a single fence. I wasn't meant to be out. It was bright out, far too many people here to watch my brother become the first heathen to serve as a Cearte, but I wanted– no– needed to watch the sword duel between my brother and his master: an Eunsi with long, blue wings along his back. My hands gripped at the wooden railing while I watched the swords clash with eager eyes. Back and forth they went, lunging, dodging...

Until the Eunsi knocked the blade clean from his hands, the point stabbing deeply into the soil beside him. His master flicked his feathery ears down with a sigh. Perhaps he would've seemed disappointed, if it wasn't for the cynical smile to follow. "Maybe next year... oh wait. I suppose that was your chance, wasn't it, Dávoln?"

He turned his back, reaching to grab his own blade once more, and even as young as I was, the intention of what the Eunsi planned to do with it next was clear. My brother only stared in disbelief at the sword beside him, breathing heavily. He had practised so hard, and failure meant certain death from the council. Tremors shook through him as his lips fumbled to try and speak. But he couldn't. Both he and I could only watch his Master draw closer, his claymore raised with the intent to slash my brother through, and I stood at the fence, throat ashen and eyes force open in horror.

A loud, hacking chop rang out through the courtyard.

It was followed by a scream loud enough to wrench my head back up from where I'd tucked it against my chest in fear, and when I did, the ground was stained in crimson.

And yet, my brother stood, the sword biting deep into his left wrist– far more than for it to be anything more than a sacrifice– and yet, a strangely confident smile playing at his lips.

"Ah. Silly little Eunsi. Don't you know I have revenge to enact and missions to complete?" He wrenched his wrist off the blade, letting it hang limply at his side. In fact, all of him was limp as I watched him stagger unnaturally, like a puppet loosely strung. "However am I supposed to follow the Goddess' Will if you take away my only vessel, hmm?"

I watched as my brother leaned to the side, silently taking hold of his sword lying in the dirt beside him, and it was then that it hit me. That it wasn't my brother. It wasn't my brother at all, and my heart began to pound as he rose up to full height, that wry, twisted smile creeping across his elegant face.

The Eunsi stared at the Demon, backing up one fearful step, then another, but Tachir' matched each one, my brother's eyes glinting a predatory gold. A battle cry cut through the air, and with one smooth motion, he thrust it at the Eunsi as if it were a spear, slicing the air before piercing him through the heart with deadly accuracy. Screams rang out from the crowd around us as the master plummeted to the ground, completely still.

And yet, the Demon only dusted off my brother's hands. "Well, there you have it," Cynwrig growled, his voice strangely higher, pleased. "You've won your trial, boy. Now in return, I have a certain snake to find."

The words sent a wave of fear through my bond, Eldrazi's energy squirming somewhere within my chest, but I barely noticed it through my terror as I watched my brother's face twist, contort into someone I didn't know. "Cynwrig!" I shouted, tears staining each word. "Change back!"

Wolfish ears perked up, and my brother turned from the bloody, feathered scene to find me still clutching at the fence. He crept closer, and I stumbled back, dirt scratching at my palms as I crawled back from his growing form becoming more and more wolf-like as his eyes glinted yellow beneath dark, brown bangs, fangs showing as he crooned out to me.

"Well Eldrazi. It seems we meet again. Then again, you knew what was coming, didn't you?"

"Gavin." I felt a tug at the bond, like a string within my soul as Eldrazi clamoured for control. "We need to run."

Heart pounding in my ears, the familiar itch of scales crawled across my cheekbones, followed by a long, serpentine tail extending behind my body as Eldrazi lent me his speed. I wasted no time in turning to run, my feet pounding, arms reaching...

A razor sharp pain tore through my arm as claws wrapped around it from behind. Instantly, my hands felt warm, wet as I looked over my shoulder to find Cynwrig– no– Tachir' giving me a sickening smile.

"I'm going to kill you, permanently this time. No more running Eldrazi. No more escaping Astren. You've evaded it long enough."

With a cry, I wildly tugged from his grasp. It burned, his claws leaving what would eventually become a deep scar down the underside of my arm, but I needed to leave. I didn't know why he wanted Eldrazi dead, but my younger self did understand one thing. If he went, then I went too.

Tachir' lunged forward, reaching to grab me again with a growl, but I dodged, taking off towards my house. Tears streamed down my face as I called out for my mother, my father, for anyone to save me from the large, dire wolf that Tachir' was slowly becoming behind me. Finally, the front door of my house came into view, and I burst through, slamming it behind me.

My mother was already there, waiting. In moments, her thin body was pressing the front door closed behind her, and her fearful green eyes landed on me. "Gavin. Get in the closet." She gestured to the same one I hid in whenever Cearte came to check our house every year.

"But..."

"Just do it!"

As I locked the second door behind me, I heard first come crashing down, then my mother telling Cynwrig to calm down, to come back, but it was futile. He wasn't there, and now he wanted me dead.

I pressed my face against the crack in the closet door, nearly screaming as the wolf swiped at her. My mother jumped back from the attack, grabbing for her sword. But, though she was a strong woman, warrior, and mother, she did not have the heart to send her son to Astren, and I watched her get relentlessly slashed again and again, blood cascading along the walls of our childhood home.

Instantly, I was flinging it open, running to her side. Her blond hair, so like my own, was now matted in red, the loving body I'd held for so many years torn to shreds. A beast-like cry left my throat, tears streaming down my face as I turned to the wolf slowly turning back to the body of a Human teenager, completely shaken.

I glared at him. Despised him. "How could you?"

His hands shook, chest rising and falling heavily. "I... I—"

Whatever he was going to say, I'd never know as he swallowed his words and ran. Where to, I didn't know, nor did I care. The pulsing in my mother's chest was slowing, and I needed to save her.

Frantically, I rushed to my aunt next door, begging, crying, tugging at her sleeve to lead her to my mother. She was the village's best apothecary, so good that everyone said that she might be the first Human to use magik, but my mother was fading fast, and though she pressed bandage after bandage against her wounds, in the end, there was nothing she could do.

Instead, my mother spoke softly up at the ceiling, death hanging on her every word. "Please," she whispered faintly. "Please take care of Gavin for me..."

Tears were streaming down my face, wails escaping me again and again, but as much as I wanted to curl up into a ball and weep at my aunt's side, I found myself being launched forward, my hands reaching to desperately grab at her stained white top.

"Lyra!" Eldrazi shouted, his deep voice bellowing from our chest, so unlike my own, child one. "Lyra! Don't just leave me 'ere! I can't take care o' your son! You can't just trust me with 'im. Please!"

My aunt jumped back, scrambling to give us room as Eldrazi clutched at our mother's chest, our other hand wiping at the wet scales along our cheeks. I remember barely being able to see through the amount of pain in our chest, but the pain was broken by a gentle, loving touch, and our head was bent down so she could look weakly into our eyes.

"Foolish son of mine." She gave him a broken chuckle. "I always trusted you. Now watch your Human for me, all right?"

Those words were her last.

But that wasn't enough for him, and I was too stunned to stop him from grabbing her body again and again, screaming for her to get up. I just let him have his way until a hand dug sharply into our shoulder, wheeling us around.

"You!" My aunt cried, blond hair a mess as she came up right to my face. "First your brother, now you? Why did no one tell me? You're the same as him. It's your fault she's dead! You and Cynwrig..." Her teeth grit, brown eyes narrowing with hatred. "You're all monsters! You should've died the moment you were born! If you just listened to the gods' Wills, none of this would've happened!"

Her screaming caught the attention of the surviving neighbours, then more. Before I knew it, those around me whom I'd known, respected and loved since childhood turned on me. People who had just lost family and friends grabbed weapons in revenge, filling the front door frame of a house that I would never live in again.

I ran to my room, locking the door behind me. It was a mad dash to grab my bow and loaded quiver from my desk, the rapid beating of my heart only echoed by the pounding of people forcing their way in to kill me. There was a bang as the door tore off its hinges, but by then my feet were balanced on the edge of the windowsill... and we ran.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hello hi. Awgy here. Welcome to the eighth draft of Murderborne, except with a better title and hopefully better content this time. Fun fact, the only thing that isn't changing is that this is still in omnipresenst POV, not third. Pray for me.

But anyways, prepare for a wild ride and as always, thank you for reading ^v^

~Awgy™