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[Captive] Blood on Your Hands (Castor and Ceraskia)

[Meta-R] Tangled Threads [Castor and Caedus]

His world had been calling to him. It was not in distress nor was it under a need for him to be there, yet it called to him. It wanted him for the simple sake of wanting. Day and night for three rotations of earth. By the time the sun had vanished over the horizon on the third rotation, Castor left his brother the usual message and left the place of his physical birth. His soul carrying him to where he belonged.

The warm air of a summer that would last for a year greeted him. The smell of flowers that had once been non-native now adapted and changed to withstand the world's climate. Soft and fresh, the petrichor still lingering as his boots crushed the grass while he strode towards one of the mountains. Clouds had dispersed, and a few floated slowly in the distance, edging towards the further mountains where they would cover the peaks with a fresh snowfall. The lush valley was a cradle, and in it's center his people had once been safe, and had thrived. Now only the scattered ruins remained, stones toppled and green having grown in the cracks. His world had been left for dead, yet there was anything but death. Bones had been preserved under ice, under magic that had been laced with sorrow and anger. Armor barely rotted had lingered stagnant, a reminder of what had once been, and what was the final legacy of his people. Yet it was vibrant in growth. Flora and fauna had reclaimed what people had left behind. It had provided a hope for a return. A home for the one who would be reborn. His world had lived, waiting for the people that had given it it's name.

A race of warriors, a race of devout soldiers, all ready to take up arms to defend and protect their own. A people full of passion, brought down by fear and anger and hate- crushed by a force driven by a lust for power that had no claim for what it sought. A power he'd forever deny those that would seek it.
The Castorian Crystal was his heart. It was the soul of his people and all they had stood for, all they had been and what one day, they would be again. He was it's sword and it's shield. Sailor Castor was the soldier of powers that demanded his faith and dedication. Prince Castor was the fortress that housed and would remain standing even in the face of uncertainty. That was his duty. That was his role.

To be a royal was to bear the burden of a world.
To be a royal was to be a tool.
To be a royal was to be a prisoner.

A prisoner who would never forsake their chains, not even when offered the sweet freedom of release.
The freedom of death was fleeting, as yet another life would begin, and a new life, a new prisoner would simply replace the old.
The fate of a royal was to be bound for eternity, and yet Castor as he spread his wings and launched himself skyward up the mountainside, it was a fate he would never relinquish to another. Fingers dug into the side of stone, a flicker of pain flashing in his face as he once more launched himself upwards. Wings that could not fly- he was flying on clipped wings. Earth bound. Grounded. Freedom forever denied.

It was odd as this calling carried him to such a place, a place he knew that filled him with dread, so he'd avoided. Dread meant memories. Dread foretold of things he didn't wish to remember but would need to. His planet demanded. He would comply. He was bound to his duty, to his world, and to the chains of his station. Freedom was never by choice. It was forced upon him. He would see his memories, and he would see what his world wished of him, wanted from him.


At the peak Castor found himself looking over the valley, the castle, the place that had once been his world and home to his people, the center of his heart. It was an echo of what it had once been. Yet it was at this place he saw something new. Something that he felt himself loathe.

He watched his king tell his past self the price, the need, the reason for it.
"You must be willing Castor. You must be ready to sacrifice anything for us. For this world. For the crystal, the life of your very soul. Our souls." He looked at himself. He was a child. Barely 17. Yet the memory went on.
"Yes sir." He was so young, and yet he was answering like a soldier. Not a prince. His laurels rested on his brow yet there he was, not yet even a man. An adult. To his people he was, yet in his own eyes? A child.
"You were asked to give us your legacy and you gave. You were asked to die for us, and so the day you awoke we buried one of our sons."
Apollon. The innocent who was Castor, and who lived in him even when he'd renounced his name. He would always be Apollon. Just as he'd always be Castor.
"You have given us much Castor and now as our prince, we must ask you give us one last thing." The King held out a dagger. As Castor watched his past self take up the dagger he could remember the regret, the shame and agony. Why?

The king's mouth moved but Castor already remembered what the demand was.
"Your blood." Bile rose in his mouth as he watched the memory in his mind's eye. Blood to show how far he'd go. How close to death he'd walk for his world. How much he would give up. For his people. The ultimate show of devotion, the ultimate sacrifice. It would be from him. His world would demand nothing less.
He didn't want this yet- He felt his world bring him there. He knew what it wanted. It wanted him, his blood, his devotion. The ultimate price for the ultimate power.

The memory faded away like mist. In its place Castor became aware of the pedestal, and the recollection that the dagger remained sheathed in the small hallow, the blade immune to rust, it's edge of beetle shell, the hilt of stone.

The echo of a dozen lifetimes, a dozen calls to sacrifice, a dozen screams of death, of begging and pleading. A woman's scream. The scream of a mother. Kill his blood. Kill his kin. Castor was to be devoted to his people, to his cause. There could be no distractions.

Inside, Elzo realized what his world was asking of him.

And he fled back to the arms of his brother, weeping to know that no matter his feelings, he would need to do this, if he was to ever hope to see what he dreamed of.

To see a place that he might one day be able to call home.

He was trembling as he held her in his arms. She was tiny. Just a few months old now, and yet she was still to him, so small and delicate. He didn't know if he might drop her. If he might hurt her. She was wrapped in the pink and lavender fleece blanket to protect her from cold, and even when he'd brought her to his world, with it's wind howling down from the mountains and waves crashing on not too distant rocks by his castle, she hadn't woken from her slumber.
She's just slept quietly, fussing only as he moved her blanket to make sure she remained protected from the elements. The tiny hat she wore covered the fine white hairs on her head, and he smiled when she moved closer to him. Aurora Xanis. She was only 5 months old.

Five months old and on her way to die by her own father's hand.

The walk up the mountainside was nothing new, he'd done it once a week ever since the first memory. Desperate to recall an instance where it didn't happen. Where it wasn't needed.
Yet each memory played out the same. Each time he recalled the blood cascading down the blade. The feeling of a tiny heart beat slowing so quickly in his hands. The cry of pure pain and a loss. Yet each time he'd done it. His people would cheer, celebrate. His king would bless him, thank him for pain.
Thank him for killing an innocent child because his world held no mercy for it's senshi.
His world did not teach with a gentle hand. It was a world that had raised warriors. His was the world that had demanded the strong to withstand it's might. To cast aside the weak. Compassion, love, mercy- all had it's place. Yet there would always be decisions to make. Sacrifices to be made. Life for life. Power for power.

Nothing would come without a price. Nothing could be given freely. You had to earn all you hand, to fight for all you would own.

Castor was a world of choice, a world of freedoms in so many ways- but it was a world that did not shy from pain or suffering. It was a world that would not shield itself from the cruelties and injustices that life would give rise to.

Castor would not allow it's senshi to live without knowing the greatest of sufferings. It would not be bound to a soul that could not stand under the onslaught of pain, of destruction that hail would bring. It demanded a senshi who would no matter how crushed, how injured, how deeply they suffered, would stand, would rise again and again and fight. A senshi that would face the howling winds, that would look to the sky and ice lanced their skin, and dare the world to do it's worst, for the senshi would not fear the pain or agony they would endure. Castor would endure.
Castor would survive.
Castor would overcome.

Each step was mechanical, the smell of salt in the air as the wind carried the ocean up until all that was left was salt and grass from the valley. To a place where land rose to the sea, and the sea waited until it would rise and fall with the winds and tide.
Rocks clattered underfoot as steel and leather greaves pushed against soil and earth, sending the senshi further up and away from the city that was all but ruins. From the castle- from the home upon his home. The sky was the shimmering soft white blue, and the clouds that rolled so far off shore swirled about in a hazy dark grey. A storm that was vanishing on the horizon.

There were no boars snorting on the rocky slopes, curiously approaching him to see what food he might carry, even after years of being abandoned their docile domestication still encoded to their DNA. There were no beetles, clattering and threatening with hisses ready to spit acid for his disturbing their herd as they roamed. Not a single owl flew overhead watching in silence, ever waiting for a figure that would never again appear.

There was no life here. The greenery fading away as he walked to the stone pedestal. To the dagger that he'd left in the crevice.
There would be no crowd in the valley below, waiting for the stain of red to drip down the rocky cliff side. There was no king to recite the demand and deed. There was no brother or sister nor mother or father to steady him as he laid his child, to lay Aurora on small hollow crafted for her. Crafted by hundreds, thousands of lifetimes before her. It was her place. It was always her place.
A soul born to be sacrificed.
A child, born to die for the sake of another.
Born again and again and again- all to satisfy the demands of a world that would never remember as anything more than the child of Castor.

He looked at her, so small, sleeping soundly in her pink and lavender blanket. Her tiny hat slipping to show the fine white hairs on her head. Her little nose that was from her mother, who had chosen death before ending the chance of a life for another. Her tiny hands reaching for him as he pulled away, catching his cloak and tugging with all her might.
To stay in his arms, to be warm and safe in his embrace.
She wanted him to hold her.
She wanted to be held by her father, a man who had brought her to his world to die.

Castor moved with a gentle touch, prying away each tiny finger before tucking her in her blanket, shielding her from the wind that howled in anticipation of what was to come. From the cold that would freeze the red blood to the grey rocks, marking for any to see and know that a price had been paid.

She moved as she lost his embrace, as his warmth was denied to her. As his protective arms no longer held her close.

As he lifted the dagger from the crevice and looked upon her, and she was left alone, her fate born of her blood and soul.

She cried out, begging for him, for the comfort of her father's arms, for the chill of his world to stop stealing the heat from her face, from the howling winds to not beat against her skin and drown out her cries to a place devoid of any who could comfort her.

She cried out, begging for the man who had brought her to die.

She cried out, as Castor drove the dagger into flesh, and the stone was stained red with his blood.

[AWA] Cold and wet? Perfect combo! [Sliev/Castor/Anakeion]

[PRP] Gutters and Trash (Gev/Castor)

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