The hope that he might have outfoxed a goddess was short-lived. If Darien was really egoistic his ego would probably suffer a major blow of AK-49, deflating and disappearing into the world of nothingness. However, the Hekan was not
that egoistic and the only effect that Maat's words had on him were clenched teeth, slightly narrowed eyes and the cogs in his brain going into 5th gear. Maybe that was the reason why Darien didn't put that much emphasis on the last sentence, because in his mind vampires were still somewhat zombies, lacking life in the definitions that he knew. While he was wrecking his brain for answers that might bring them closer to the Feather of Truth and the key, Rowena took precedence, truly outsmarting the godly entity. Upon hearing that stopping Rowena's heart was possible, he shot her a surprised look but before he could act, there was the almost unnoticeable twitch in her features as she tried to suppress the pain.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down. What the hell do you think you're doing?" He asked her, still shocked but managing to step closer and place his hand on her lower back. He understood her reasons but the suddenness of her actions threw him off balance. Once she started to fight for air, Darien's expression went completely still and tense. Knowing why she was doing what she was doing didn't change the fact he didn't like it one bit. Seeing Rowena simulating her own death somewhat pained Darien as now he could imagine what it would be like if she were to truly die. As her feet collapsed under her, Darien eased her fall, almost holding her.
"I think that's enough Rowena," he said resolutely. Maybe she heard him through the curtain of fighting against her own body because soon after, she was breathing regularly and was standing up as if nothing has happened. "Can't tell that I am too happy, but yeah, I guess the honour is mine." The reply came as if he wasn't even thinking about it properly and was more concerned with other things. Yes, facing the Feather of Truth was definitely on his mind and suddenly he felt unsure whether he wanted to continue. He knew that his life was far from honourable and good. He has done so many questionable things that he rarely dared to think about and now he would have to reveal all that. Yet, Darien didn't really have a choice but to follow Maat obediently. Upon feeling Rowena's hand taking hold of his, at first, that motion unsettled him even further. He appreciated the supportive gesture, squeezing her hand ever so slightly in response, but he wished Rowena hasn't done it. It made the trial seem even worse. The major issue he had was that if Rowena was to see what would go through his head, she might as well go and chop her hand off as to cut all ties with him.
Due to the involvement with his own thoughts, Darien paid little attention to the surroundings and took a proper notice of what was happening when they arrived at the central room with an altar. A heavy boulder pressed down on his heart even more so that Darien could have started to simulate his own death. Executing Maat's order to the letter without feeling any specific excitement about it, Darien could feel the cold stone hard against his back. When the goddess started chanting, the Hekan watched her intently as if at any point she could turn into a tentacled beast. Soon enough, Maat's prayer, or whatever the hell it was that she was doing, produced a white feather surrounded but dim glow. It floated right above Darien's torso before it submerged into his chest. For the first couple seconds nothing was happening and Darien started to wonder whether the whole trial was painless, the feather just doing it's job without interfering with his consciousness. Once again, he was proven wrong. The bolt of sharp pain, spread like lightning through his chest all over his body. Darien shrieked out in surprise and agony, before his consciousness clouded over and he was transported back through the time.
Darkness. Cold. Fear. Distant sobbing. He was trembling. He didn't know what was going on, but his despair was genuine. Another thud of falling body. A child somewhere in the row tried to run away. Squelching. The shivering intensified as he felt the vampire closing in. He was just a child, innocent and so full of will to live. He didn't want to be shipped off to the city and die there. He wanted his mommy. Where was she? Why didn't she protect him now? The child next to him collapsed, stench of pee filling the air. Sharp features of the vampire's face so close to his. He wanted to run, but couldn't. His body wasn't responding. The eyes...grey and cold, like that night. Focused, searching his soul. Goosebumps graced his small arms and tears started to stream down his face; he was sobbing without being aware of it. His head started to hurt. It was as if something, some creature was expanding within the limits of his skull. He yelped out in surprise, his eyes widening. Blackness. Then the face was gone, and he was left with that coiling feeling inside his brain.
Darien's eyes were tight shut as if he was trying to get rid of some image only he could see. His teeth were clenched so hard that he bared them like a dog. His breathing was faster, deeper. Whatever Darien saw was causing him great discomfort. Then he went still, his features easing, but the anxiety did not leave his body language.
He was alone. Sitting in the shadows of something that looked like a library. He was reading some text written in ancient Egyptian. There would be no one coming his way trying to talk to him. Almost everyone looked down on him, either ignoring him altogether, or joining the bullies. The only companions he had the endless strings of letters and hieroglyphs. They considered him a weakling. 'Pussy' was what they called him on a regular basis just because he refused to fight and fend for himself, afraid he was too weak even if he mastered magic. All the physical and mental torture caused him to question the gods that they introduce and were making them believe in. He'd much rather suffer his whole life being looked down on than serve entities that were so careless with their subjects.
He breathed out in derision, defiance, his head falling to a side. Once again, his muscles tensing as if he was waiting for some major blow.
Dust and blood mixed together. It caused him to cough. He was confused, not sure what has just happened. There was shouting. Before he could look around to see what has happened, someone tackled him hard, pressing his face against the ground, shouting at him not to move or he'll have his head ripped off. He hit the floor with his face and the impact started a nose bleed. He wanted to writhe free but was unable to move. Fear returned to seize his body. Had he just killed someone?
He clenched his hands into fists, his back arched slightly. If there were straps tying him to the altar, he was trying to get rid of them. The visible will to fight was obvious until his body went limp, his breathing becoming shallow. Death might have been hovering over him, for all the audience could tell.
Speeding through the night in a stolen car. Blood pouring from his wounds threatening to bleed him out. "Hold in there...We'll fix you." Said a voice that he knew. Victor. Yet there was something odd about his voice. Sharp turn, he fell from being propped up onto someone, the pain causing him to growl nearly losing consciousness. "No," he managed to breath out, attempting to sit upright despite the deep wound in his side. He shoved away whatever they were trying to give him, but the hand was persistent. Then he lost it.
When he woke up, he was in the headquarters of the Rebellion. He felt no pain, he saw no wounds. Questioning how his brother's managed to heal him remained a mystery, yet he guessed that some life forcers might have a hand in it. Standing up carefully, he left the room in search for others, in search for information. It wasn't long till he found one of the brothers. The look on the guy's face said it all. Something went wrong. After demanding an explanation, what he was told sent him back to his old self, to the one who he was his whole life. "Victor's dead." Once again, he was alone and afraid, doubting the cause they were fighting for, but most of all, he was angry and doubting himself for failing a dear friend. From that point onwards, he would constantly torture himself into being a better person, a better leader. That was the last time he lost someone under his watch.
Darien knew that after that event, he became pretty much a fanatic. Hating and despising vampires almost as much as he hated himself for not protecting Victor. His life was full of mistakes that he regretted. Full of actions he was forced to do but if put in the situation again, he would do the same thing. Yet the feather did not stop at his far past, it searched through his recent history as well. Meeting with Rowena, feeling disgusted just by thinking about having to work with her. Fighting the need to kill her every waking moment. The masquerade when he had to admit that Rowena was beautiful in that sumptuous dress, when she made the step forward that threw him off balance and ignited something that he hoped was dead. Their night in the car. The pleasure far more deeper than primal needs. He saw it all. He saw himself changing from the man full of hatred, self-disregard bordering with self-harm and will to kill anything endangering him. He was changing into a man who was beginning to find the good in the world in places he never thought he would venture into again. His very being was transforming into someone he might have been long time ago only if his destiny was a bit kinder. He saw it all. The willingness, the purpose to live and protect not only himself but those he cherished; the inner need for reassurance and stability that he lacked throughout his life. He needed to feel safe and for him the Book of Thoth presented that. It was not the knowledge and the power it had that he was after. It was the answers that it offered. Answers that would ultimately help him change the world into one were he could live without his past.
The feather emerged from his chest. It was still glowing as Maat placed her hands on either side of it, her expression focused, reading the message the feather was conveying. Darien also regained consciousness, feeling dried tears on his temple, his muscles strangely aching as if he had tensed them too much. He didn't know how much he had given away and he didn't care. The revelation that the feather forced upon him strangely opened his eyes and he saw the bigger picture. The picture that no longer concerned only him and his needs. Yes, he looked different, as if he had changed inside and was not exactly the same Darien like the one who laid down on the altar not that long ago. When he sat up, Maat was just dropping her arms to her sides, the feather disappearing. The Hekan didn't know whether he passed the test or not and even if he didn't, he could live with that. His head was hung low even when the goddess spoke, not in defeat, but in patience.
"Your past is stained with blood and actions that are unforgivable, yet you show a potential to change. Under the rough, trivial and conceited exterior, a new person was now revealed to you. Hold onto him, because he is the reason why I am going to give the access to the key."
There was no smile on Darien's face, just one or two nods as he straightened up and slid of the altar to stand on his own two feet.