Chapter Text
His name was Jack von Pyroscythe II, really he was a young boy with bright blue eyes and pale skin, he was a boy who had been cursed with his father’s daunting name.
His parents hadn’t much cared for their only heir. Jack’s father whose honor in which they had been named treated his only child with cruelty and blatant disdain. Jack rarely felt his name never truly fit him, rather he felt as though it belonged entirely to his father. Their mother was no better, the second they hadn’t needed her for survival she had cast them in the arms of the nearest servant. Jack hadn’t remembered the last time she had even looked his way without blatant disgust, let alone love.
At the ripe age of seven, Jack was shipped off to a boarding school high in the snowy peaks of Germany and half-way across the country from the manor-house. Jack stood at the edge of the train station, their tiny hands wrapped around a suitcase red from the biting cold.
The other boys were offered tearful goodbyes, their mothers assuring them they would eagerly await their return home, and would send letters every week. Jack had none of that— the last time he had seen his mother she had glared down at him in the front entryway of the manor-house and told him not to fuck up. To keep the family name above water.
When the sorrowful goodbyes had concluded Jack hoisted their bags higher over their shoulder and wrapped their cold hands tighter against their suitcase. He wiped the tears from his eyes one final time before beginning the trek towards the school.
The boarding school hadn’t been bad, even if their heart ached for home— they’d always loved their parents despite their blatant disdain for them. He’d made a few friends, mostly other boys who’d rather sit in the library than outside playing war with sticks, soccer, or when the snow left a grand white pelt over the school, snowball fights.
Jack had always felt a need to please their parents, they had tried their best to show them— show them that they were worth loving. Once, it was his second year of school, fall break, Jack had stolen his father’s hunting rifle. They had trudged into the woods intent on bringing something back, even if only a rabbit. When he came back empty handed with his father’s prized rifle and a few less bullets then his father had originally counted. Their father had yelled himself hoarse while poor little Jack cried until their eyes were dry, red, and itchy, they had only wanted to prove themself worthy of their parent’s love.
By his third year at the boarding school Jack had steeled himself against the pain of his parents indifference. They didn’t allow themself to cry as they shoved past the tearful goodbyes of the other students. Jack stared down at the path that led to the dorms, so focused on ridding himself of the envy of the other kids he hadn’t noticed the footfalls of another, not until they jammed a bony elbow into his side. Jack looked up bewildered at the boy who had rammed them. He was a scrawny thing like the rest of the boys, but he was tall— taller than Jack by a good few inches, and his muddy brown eyes were mean, his smile curving into something wicked. Jack swallowed nervously as the boy began his speech, “Where’d your parents go? Why didn’t they come?” Czeslaw asked too vindictive for a ten-year-old. He leaned over slightly to meet Jack’s wide blue eyes. “Did they not love you enough to come?”
Jack took a rattling breath and trudged on faster, leaving the vindictive boy snickering behind them. Someday his parents would love him, someday when he proved he was enough they would wrap him in a hug so tight and warm it would make up for the decade they had ignored him.
It was the first day of his fourth year, three hours until lunch break, eight until he could curl up in his bed. Jack sat in the center of the classroom wearing the school’s dark brown uniform, their hands curled into balls hidden by oversized sleeves, their quill forgotten. The chatter of the teacher had succumbed to a ringing sound, Jack closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
They had been perfect. He had been their perfect son— his grades? Perfect. Their manors? Exquisite— he’d even kept his elbows from the table. They never asked for anything!
It had been one slight mistake, one crack in his memory. One goddamn ruined book and one forgotten candle. Otherwise they had been perfect!
His cheek still smarted from where his father’s hand had met it days prior, a bruise marring his perfect skin. “Jack.” Called a distant voice, Jack’s eyes shot open. Sister Pascalina stood before them with a piece of chalk pressed between her fingers, she looked cross.
“I’m not Jack.” He said mournfully, he rubbed his fingers over his face, digging into his eyelids until it hurt. The ringing cleared and Jack realized what they had said, panic shot through them with a shiver.
“What?” The teacher asked, confusion pouring over her expression.
“I’m not Jack.” He said again, heat rose over his cheeks. They desperately wanted to stop talking, there were far too many eyes on them. “Don’t call me Jack.” He couldn’t stop himself, he chewed his lip, ripping until he could taste blood. They were not anything like that cruel man.
A few kids snickered, only aiding in his embarrassment. It was too late to take it back, a name shouldn’t have even mattered. Their name was Jack von Pyroscythe II and it would remain their name until the day they died, and then it would be carved into their tombstone until it crumbled, forgotten into rubble.
“Then what would you like me to call you?” Sister Pascalina asked in a whisper, kneeling beside him and pressing a warm hand over his shoulder. Their brain shot to her touch and they shivered— it had been so long since touch hadn’t meant punishment.
“Anything else.” He said in no more than a whisper. By now the entire class was watching, silently giggling at their outburst. Jack clenched his hands tighter, his knuckles turning white, veins shifting over bone, nails digging into his palms.
“Okay.” She said, her hand left his shoulder as she stood. “Mr.Pyroscythe will you come up to the board? Help us solve this problem?” Jack stared at her for a long time before nodding and unfurling their fists.
That’s how the name Pyro had been born. Mr.Pyroscythe to Pyroscythe and then eventually shortened to Pyro. It felt different enough, like he wasn’t carrying his father around on his shoulders. They finally felt some of that weight leave their burdened shoulders.
However, Czeslaw had made it his mission to ruin Pyro’s life. He would chase after Pyro with sticks, ripping and tearing his homework when Pyro was too exhausted to continue running and gave up like a lamb to the slaughter. Other times he was openly hostile, always bringing up his lack of parents at drop offs imploring as to why Pyro hadn’t packed for holliday breaks. Sometimes the other boys would join Czeslaw’s villainous antics, as it was easier to avoid Czeslaw’s wrath when they aided in it.
By their last few years of school Czeslaw had realized that rather than just tearing apart Pyro’s work he could copy it down before tearing it to shreds, reducing his own workload significantly. Pyro had tried to tell the staff of the bullying, but they paid them no mind, after all they were competing for Valedictorian and what boy wouldn’t make up lies about their competition. It was no help that Czeslaw was the picture perfect student in class. So perfectly attentive and bright, his work never late. His head never resting upon the desk after pulling another all-nighter to rewrite his torn homework. It also didn’t help that nearly the entire student body had turned their gaze from Czeslaw’s torment.
Every time a paper was ripped from his grip, every time he was shoved into the nearest snow bank, every time he was berated for his ill performance in physical education, or lack of present parents Pyro swallowed his protests instead he counted; three more years— two more years— one more year.
Pyro’s jaw fell as they were the one awarded valedictorian. His heart had nearly stopped in his chest. He stood up from his seat among his peers, his hands shook but still a smile overtook his features. Their parents hadn’t come to the graduation but when they showed them their diploma, when they discovered that their son had achieved valedictorian, they would finally care. He would get his hug, they would pat his shoulders and regale him with praise tell him how proud they were of him. Their mother would tell them how much she adored them.
Czeslaw tried his best to ruin Pyro’s elation by fixing him with such a glare— a promise of cruelty. But Pyro didn’t care, it didn’t touch him where his heart had floated among the clouds, it was all over it would be the last they would see of their tormentor. In return Pyro offered him a broad shining smile.
They had been riding the same high all the way home on the train. That shining smile never left his face— he had won, he had finally beat Czeslaw despite everything. Their parents would be so proud, all they had faced would have been worth it, the bullying, the sleepless nights— everything would be worth it when warm arms wrapped around them.
“What is this?” His mother said, staring over his diploma. With great distaste she passed it over to her husband. Pyro’s father gave it an uninterested glance before casting it aside, directly into a bowl of gravy.
Pyro shot up from their seat. He grabbed the piece of paper holding it as if a single jostle would turn it to dust. With abundant care they wiped off the gravy with their shirt. “I graduated, I was valedictorian.” He said, his voice creaking, tears slipping from his eyes. “I worked so hard for this.” They whispered as they sank into their seat.
His parents gave him an appraising look, as if confused as to why their grown son had broken down crying. “Quit your whining Jack.” His mother said. “It’s unsightly.” Pyro bit down hard, the thick paper of their diploma crinkled under the force of their grip.
Anger flared through his mind, but he bit down the words, “I’m sorry.” His voice trembled with rage as he wiped away his unsightly tears. Their graduation hadn’t been enough, their hard work hadn’t been enough. Nothing was ever enough.
Pyro sat back staring daggers at his untouched meal. They folded their hands over their lap, their diploma tucked safely away. “I want to go to college.” He said his voice barely more than a broken whisper. They felt eyes on them, burning through them like paper under a flame. Like his homework— burned by Czeslaw.
“It’ll do you well.” Their mother said. “And get you out of my hair.” Pyro nearly snarled, he nearly attacked that evil woman he called mother.
They wanted to scream, but resigned themself to a controlled “Thank you, mother.” His voice still shook with a forced calm. Inside they were tearing down walls, shredding everything that had kept them sane over the years.
College wasn’t any better. As if by a cruel fate Czeslaw had followed him into college. The bullying didn’t stop. It didn’t matter when they begged administration for help, as Czeslaw’s parents had dumped so much money into funding the college that their son’s torment had meant nothing.
Pyro sat on the edge of a lake a half mile or so from the campus. A small outcropping of trees hid this section off the park from view, it was a place Pyro often came to clear his head. They often found themself staring into the inky black water. A lantern and the silver moon his only light.
As the cool damp air surrounding the lake settled into their bones bringing with it a sort of clarity. His final thesis lies abandoned on the damp grass beside him, it was here that he could almost let his parents go. They could almost allow them to hate them, forget about their disdain of a son where they studied miles away in the capital. Almost.
This was the place Czeslaw had finally left him. No longer would he taunt them about their parents lack of love, tear apart their assignments, or whisper threats with breath that stunk of liquor. No longer would Pyro be deemed weak, after all it was not he who had slipped into the lake— hitting his head on a rock and drowning whilst unconscious.
Pyro nearly laughed at the thought of it. Their bully vanquished by the lake they had come to adore, Pyro would be free to graduate and finally leave behind the terror that had been Czeslaw.
As the moon rose higher in the dark sky Pyro finally returned to his lodgings. Their bags were already packed and they would be rid of the capital by the afternoon. Within the week he would finally lay eyes upon Oakhurst, for the first time after months of research. They wondered distantly what would await them upon its blood fed lands.