Vathis: Ashes of the Forsaken

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Devour or Be Devoured

Aeron's body moved on its own.

There was no hesitation.

No thought.

Only hunger.

His hands lashed out, clawed fingers aiming for his father's throat. His mouth parted, saliva pooling at the edges of his lips. His body knew. It knew that Malik was food. A feast of power, of knowledge, of something far beyond mortal flesh—

And yet.

Malik caught his wrist.

Effortlessly.

"Pathetic," Malik murmured.

Aeron couldn't move.

His hunger screamed.

But his father's grip tightened like an iron vice, twisting his arm until something snapped.

Crack.

Aeron choked on a guttural howl, pain blooming through his body like fire.

But the hunger—the hunger didn't care.

Pain meant nothing.

All that mattered was feeding.

His broken arm flopped uselessly at his side, but his other hand swung up, his nails aiming straight for Malik's eye.

This time, his father slapped him away.

Aeron's body flew.

His back slammed into the stone walls of the ruined temple, bones rattling, his head spinning from the impact.

He tasted blood.

But that only made the hunger worse.

"Still so weak," Malik sighed.

Aeron's vision blurred.

He tried to push himself up—to lunge again, to rip, to devour, to kill—

But his legs wouldn't move.

"You don't understand it yet, do you?" Malik continued, stepping forward. His voice was calm, almost gentle. "The hunger does not make you strong."

Aeron's breath hitched.

"It makes you desperate."

His father knelt down beside him.

"You are nothing but a starving dog, Aeron. And starving dogs are useless."

Malik gripped his jaw, forcing him to look up.

"Do you want to be a god?"

Aeron's entire body trembled.

The hunger wanted him to say yes.

The part of him that was still human wanted to say no.

But Malik—the monster that had birthed him, the man who had taken everything from him—already knew the answer.

"Then stop thinking like a man."

---

The Feast of the Forsaken

Aeron's father shoved him down onto the bloodstained floor.

"Eat."

Aeron flinched. His stomach twisted.

"You are weak because you hesitate." Malik's voice was steel. "You let your conscience chain you. But conscience is a lie."

Aeron's fingers curled against the stone.

"Hunger is truth."

Malik gestured to the corpse.

The remnants of what had once been Selene.

"You already started, didn't you?" His father smiled. "Then finish it."

Aeron's heart slammed against his ribs.

A choice.

But was it really a choice?

His hunger was unrelenting.

His father was watching.

His body wanted more.

And worst of all—deep, deep inside—so did he.

His hands shook as he reached forward.

He grabbed what was left.

And he ate.

Again.

Again.

Again.

The taste was worse now.

Bitter.

But he kept going.

Because he had to.

Because if he didn't—his father would kill him.

Or worse.

---

The Death of Aeron

By the time he finished, his body was different.

His nails were longer.

His skin was paler.

His hunger was endless.

Malik watched with satisfaction.

"Good boy."

Aeron felt nothing.

No sadness.

No rage.

Not even guilt.

Because there was nothing left of him to mourn.

The boy who had once loved Selene—the boy who had dreamed of freedom, of happiness, of escape—was gone.

All that remained—

Was Gluttony.