Chapter Text
His name is Calder Kerian, and he is so, so angry.
Angry at life. At the world. At everyone he’s ever known, ever lost.
None of it is fair and it never has been. It’s not fair that everyone hates him, that nothing ever works out for him, that none of his friends like him. Did they ever like him? Did they just put up with him out of platonic pity until they got sick of him? Probably; he was certainly a pitiable child. Both stupidly optimistic yet utterly hopeless, somehow. A happy idiot up until something went wrong, only to act like an overly emotional brat who cried like a toddler at the drop of a hat. Fucking pathetic.
How did he never truly realize back then? He’d had moments where he felt as pathetic as he was, sure; but it never truly set in until he got older. Never truly dawned on him that he needed to stop being so soft to make it in the world, to curl up, all sharp edges and venomous words, around the vulnerable parts of himself.
His ex moirail, probably, now that he thinks about it. They were closer than close back then, something that was most likely only genuine on his part; he didn’t deserve for that sort of kindness to have been real. But it felt like it was at the time, and so he believed it. Every kind word, every compliment. Every little reassurance when he was upset, was crying or frustrated or angry.
He would never forget those, never could forget those. “It’ll be okay, tomorrow will be better.” That was a phrase he heard oh so often back then, back when he could always trust in having someone there for him.
But it only. Got. Worse.
Out of his exes, Occeus Coliad was the bigger liar in his eyes, and the one who tore his heart into little shreds when he left. That’s not to say that things ending with Serpaz hadn’t stung like a bitch at the time; she was the one who helped him through things after all, not to mention the obvious of her being his kismesis. But it was easier for him to move on there, still somewhat bitter or not. Were the feelings there not as real as he’d thought at the time, at least romantically, or was it simply harder to get over his first heartbreak than his last?
He’d never truly know, most likely. All he knows is that he’s still not over it either way, and that it still stings, like salt poured in an open wound. Contempt still sits in his chest, heavy and hateful and ever growing, acidic as the blackened sea that surrounds his hive.
It’s enough to wear him out, leave him feeling wearier by the day. But he would never admit to this fact. What’s the point in doing so when he has no one to admit it to anyway? Besides, admitting to such weaknesses only opens one up to others preying on them, at least in his mind. And so he simply keeps it all in, lets it seethe, until it inevitably comes spilling out in the form of whatever hateful words he decides to hurl at someone that day.
Hopefully there would be a way out of this soon, however. A supposed game, or so Murrit claimed, one that would change everything, change their lives, their world, one important enough to risk their lives for when the time came. And as much as he’d been horrified by the thought at first, well… He couldn’t say he was as hesitant anymore, not when there was finally a higher goal, a higher reward, within his grasp.
And so he’d remain angry, let his emotions further fester. Because soon, soon, something would come out of everything he’d been through.