Chapter Text
It was a bright day in summer, the longest summer he had ever seen, and Albion was going to die.
He tore through the woods, his heart hammering wildly in his chest. The man was behind him; he knew it. Leaves and branches crunched beneath Albion’s feet. He doubted his trail would be hard to miss. How long had Albion been running? Seconds? Minutes? Hours? Time seemed to blur together in never-ending terror ever since the man arrived in his lands.
One day, he appeared out of nowhere, with an army behind his back. The man had two odd curls on his head, wore strange clothes and spoke an even stranger tongue. Albion’s brothers had fled the moment the man came. Far away from his grasping hands, who wanted to place them in his collection. They scrambled back to their lands and hid behind walls, leaving Albion to the man’s mercy.
The branches of the trees surrounded Albion, pulling at his hair, clothes, and skin as if telling him to embrace his fate.
Stay with us, they seemingly chanted. Take your last breaths of freedom before your time is up.
Albion couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Albion had run wild through these forests for as long as he could remember. He didn't want to become another of the man’s little provinces. He didn't want to lose his freedom. He didn't want to fall under anyone's control…not when he knew how cruel others could be. You couldn't trust anyone but yourself. It was a lesson hammered into Albion each time he faced his brothers’ terrible anger. But a small, nasty voice inside Albion’s mind spoke: You will fall any day now. Give up.
Albion bit his lip hard, trying not to cry. If he started wailing, the noise would draw the man’s attention. And it would lead to his capture. In his panic, Albion didn’t notice the tree root until he tripped and landed flat on the ground.
He slowly sat up, though his vision was blurry. He whimpered as his head felt as though it was splitting open. Blood roared in Albion’s ears as he forced his broken body forward desperately. He staggered through the forest before he collapsed on the roots of a large oak tree. It was a strange tree that stood out from the rest with its bark as white as bone and leaves as red as blood-stained hands. A face had been carved into the trunk of the great oak, its features long and sad, the deep-cut eyes red with dried sap and strangely watchful.
It was funny, in a sad way, that made part of him Albion didn't know existed burn with grief. He was bloody, beaten, and broken, lying in a mess of blood and dirt. Yet all he could think about was this strange tree.
Albion sniffled. It was fitting that he would spend his last moments of freedom with this strange tree. They were beings who didn’t fit in, the outsiders nobody wanted.
He felt tears bubble up and prickle behind his eyes. An overwhelming feeling of despair and hopelessness came over him. It washed over like a tidal wave, threatening to drown him. At that moment, Albion knew no one was coming. He would be taken to become another of the man’s provinces, and no one would save him, not even his brothers, who hated him at first sight.
Alba, whose anger was a terrible thing when roused. Tuaisceart, who was cold as stone to him. His twin, Deisceart, whose wrath could rival Alba's. Cymru, who never gave him more than a passing glance.
He didn't know what he had done to earn their hatred. They were horrible to him for as long as he could remember. They threw sticks, stones, curses, and kicked him. Albion was kept alive because they were blood. Only that connection saved him from being left for the crows.
The realisation fractured something in Albion’s heart. His loneliness and fear opened up like a festering wound that refused to close. Was he so unlovable that no one cared for him? Was there something he did to make his brothers hate him so much? Or maybe…the problem was him.
He felt hot tears trickle down his cheeks, and what was the point of wiping them off or pretending? There was no one to laugh or see, and Albion was so…tired. He let them fall and watched as they left dark bruises on the bone-white tree roots.
Perhaps it was desperation, or he was half delirious from the blood loss. But as Albion stared brokenly at the oddly watchful eyes of the strange tree, he prayed.
“Please…”
Albion knew it was pointless to pray, but what had he left to lose? So he begged, even if his chest ached and his voice was an almost soundless whisper, to anyone who would listen. From the deities he half-remembered his brothers teaching him about, the far-flung ones in the east, to the mysterious nameless ones.
“…j-just this once…”
Loneliness was an old companion of Albion’s that he had never managed to shake off. It would press over him like a thick, suffocating pelt until he couldn't breathe.
Albion wanted someone who loved him. Someone who would take him far from this lonely land. Someone who would be his…family. He dreamed of having someone who gave hugs like he had seen human parents give their kids or warmly welcome them home. The life he so desperately wanted, but seemed to be forever out of his reach.
Distantly, Albion felt the air hanging heavy with an oppressive weight, like a thousand eyes were suddenly watching him. It was ancient, powerful, and more visceral and raw than anything he felt before. He could vaguely feel the anticipation of something just waiting to be unleashed.
“…send me someone…to p-protect me… S-someone to be my…f-family…”
Albion watched through his blurry, rapidly fading vision as tears of red sap dripped relentlessly from the sad eyes of the strange tree. There was a stirring sensation in his chest, warm and searing. Something was crawling under Albion’s skin. Something alive. Something other.
“Please…just g-give me someone…who’ll…l-love me… I don’t…w-wanna be…alone.”
Then everything went black.