To the world, he was an anomaly. To Grisha, he was a miracle. To Drüskelle, he was a witch. To The Darkling, he was his son. To himself, he was a monster.
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2023-20234
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six - living feels like a curse
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435 | THE LITTLE PALACE, OS ALTA RAVKA
Lukas Valtheos-Kiriganwas sure that the world hated him. Burying his mother and sister felt like a cruel thing. Perhaps this was some sick joke that the universe was playing on him, he thought. Maybe he would wake up, and everything would be back to normal.
At only ten years old, he never expected them to die. They were heading to Ketterdam, their mother's homeland when a Drüskelle ship attacked. Neither of their bodies were found.
Now, in the vine-covered forest, Luke watched as two empty coffins were lowered into the ground.
When Luke received the news, he didn't know what to think. He could picture when his father called him into his study, kneeling before him and placing his hands on either side of his face. He just sobbed into his father's kefta for what felt like hours. Finally, he lifted his head and pleaded that they were buried somewhere lovely, not in some old graveyard.
Many Grisha were there, all in their colorful keftas. General Aleksander Kirigan, his father, was the only one in black, although Luke thought he'd never seen him in anything else. He wore his usual red kefta with green embroidery, the same color and pattern on his cloak.
Luke felt his little finger twitch under his cloak, longing to clasp his hand in someone else's. His uncle, Henrik, stood on one side of him, his hands behind his back, head down, and eyes solemn. To his other side was his father, face stoic as ever, hiding his emotions as he stared at the Ravkan priest speaking.
It felt odd having a Ravkan priest there. None of them were too religious, rarely going to the chapels. The words were not spoken in Kerch, and there were no mentions of Ghezen.
Finally, Luke poked out his hand from under the garment, the cold chill of the autumn air hitting it before he moved aside the fabric of his father's cloak, grabbing his warm hand.
Aleksander's head shifted at the feeling of his son's cold hand in his. He looked at him momentarily before returning his eyes to the priest.
"May the Saints receive them," the priest said, listening as everyone echoed his words. But Luke stayed silent, fearing that if he opened his mouth, he would start sobbing.
The world seemed like a desolate and cold place now. He would no longer have a mother to hold him after a nightmare or a sister to chase around the palace, tormenting her with a cricket. He felt as if he would no longer have any happiness left.
