reunion

The woods have always felt familiar to Orion; he’s a hunter, after all. That being said, he hasn’t been to this part of the forest in a long, long time. It’s nighttime and the moon casts an almost mournful glow through the branches of the great oak trees that tower above his head. Something hangs in the air, but Orion can’t quite put his finger on it; his memories of this place have been subconsciously repressed and he feels them slowly start to unravel as he travels further along. A river rolls by with quiet yet fervent motion, almost as if mimicking the emotions of the hunter that stares out from its bank.

Instinctively, Orion closes his eyes and mutters a name softly under his breath: “Hydra.”

“Orion,” a sardonic purr loudly echoes from somewhere in the treeline. Rodents skitter out from their hiding spots in the bushes, frenzied paths almost as frantic as Orion’s heartbeat. He desperately tugs at the sheath on his belt, scanning the forest with keen eyes, and waits for any sign of movement. A cicada murmurs against the oak of a tree. Wild eyes flash from somewhere off in the distance as a wolf saunters through its nightly hunt. Water churns through the creek and flows against the fish that swim by. A shadow sprouts from the riverbed, perfectly still in the silence of the night.

And then the shadow bolts.

There is barely enough time for Orion to raise his dagger up in defense before a savage force crashes against him. The feeble grip on the blade is lost and Orion hastily rolls through the mud to avoid another fervid strike to the ground where he’d previously been. Hysterical laughter bubbles up into the air. Orion can’t fight the chill that seeps into his bones, goosebumps peppering his skin as that familiar terror creeps up his spine.

“I can see that you’ve remembered your training,” an amused voice hums from the shadows, “but, don’t forget that I was the one who taught you how to dance.”

A palm strike plants itself so firmly in the center of his chest that Orion chokes on his breath. The moment of distraction leaves him vulnerable to the glint of steel–an attack that he doesn’t have time to defend. It’s not a perfect swing, but Orion still gasps in shock as the tip of a dagger bites into his cheek. He stumbles back, grasping the trunk of a nearby tree, and waits for the next attack. It doesn’t come. Instead, he hears the sound of more laughter and the rustle of leaves as his assailant seemingly slinks their way into the branches above his head.

“Hydra, now is not the time for games,” Orion snarls into the air as he lurches away from the tree. He quickly becomes self-conscious of the bow hanging uselessly from his shoulder; while he’s no match for melee combat, he can’t shoot at a target that he can’t see. Cautiously, he raises a hand to flick away the blood creeping down his cheek. The smell of iron is thick in the air and Hydra has him marked like a shark would track its prey. Another amused hum rolls through the air.

“You never did like games, did you?” A twig snaps above his head and Orion twitches as brambles shower down on him. “Always strung up like that neat little bow you carry. Always preparing for the next battle.”

There’s another snap, lower, to the left. This time, Orion lashes out with an arrow, roaring out as he stabs into empty air. He catches himself against the same tree as before, glaring up to see nothing but the full moon beaming through the branches.

“Little did you know, Orion,” the name is spit out like acid, “that love, too, is war.”

A hand closes around the back of Orion’s neck. He doesn’t even have time to scream before there’s a blade to his throat, pressing so tightly against his skin that he can feel it slip between rings of cartilage.

“Miss me?”

The question is uttered like a sin; Orion can hear all the emotions weighted behind it. Hydra leans closer–close enough that he can feel their heartbeat pelting against his shoulder blade. Unspoken conversation lay ripe in the air, but Orion’s too frozen with shock to force anything past his leaden tongue. Laughter rumbles against his back once more, big and hearty and only a little strained.

“Chin up, stranger!” Orion feels Hydra’s hand travel up from his neck to fist a handful of his hair, harshly yanking his head to look over his shoulder. His Adam’s apple bobs tensely against the dagger to his throat as Orion stares into those bright green eyes that he’d once remembered so fondly.

Hydra returns his gaze with a look shrouded in lustful mania. 

“It’s been a while since we’ve been this close.”

Orion uses the opportunity to forcefully jab an elbow down into Hydra’s abdomen. There’s a startled wheeze and a slash of a blade, but he manages to dash away with nothing more than another shallow cut along his neck. Hydra regains their composure, chuckling breathlessly as they warily scan the surroundings from their hunched position. They slowly straighten and look out melodramatically over the shimmering reflections in the river.

“It’s been a while since you’ve held me in your arms,” Hydra purrs theatrically. “It’s been so long since I’ve felt the gentle caress of your breath against my skin.”

A twig snaps somewhere closer to the riverbed; bark shatters off of an oak as a throwing knife snipes it perfectly in the center of the trunk. There’s a huff of annoyance.

“It’s been so long, Orion,” Hydra huffs again as they slink over to the tree and rip the knife out of the bark like nothing ever happened. “Hasn’t this break lasted long enough?”

Despite himself, Orion mutters sorely under his breath. “As if it’s just a break.”

The bush he’s using as cover instantly explodes into a flurry of sticks and leaves. Orion curses himself before grabbing at a knife on his belt; a well-timed kick catches him in the sternum and he abates his movements in lieu of bringing up his armored sleeves as a shield. Hydra lashes out with maniacal chuckles bubbling from their lips. This time, the strike gets deflected against Orion’s gauntlets, but he still winces against the bruises forming on his wrist. Just like every one of their fights, he has to be on the defensive; despite being named after a hunter, he always feels like prey when he’s up against Hydra.

“C’mon, little hunter, every relationship has rough patches!”

“Rough patches!?” Orion yells incredulously as he dodges another blow. “You act as if each of your heads hasn’t been in another man’s–”

He can only manage a startled gasp to finish the statement. Cold, sharp metal sinks into his skin like butter and Hydra’s hand is clenched against the nape of his neck in a silent command for attention. Orion chokes on a scream as he feels himself being flayed to the bone; streams of crimson flow down his shoulder to splatter against the rocks of the riverbank.

“You’d better think very carefully about your next words.” Hydra’s eyes shine like acid as they drag the knife down with a snarl. “Don’t act as if I’ve forgotten about your many conquests as well.” They yank the dagger out unceremoniously, letting blood spray through the air in a vicious arc. Orion slumps bonelessly to the ground, momentarily stunned from the pain, and instinctively shivers at the all-too-familiar feeling of blood seeping through the back of his shirt. Hydra pauses to wipe the blade off against his clothes. Then, they stalk over to where his bow lay discarded in the shrubbery and glower down at the weapon. A look–somewhat scornful, somewhat pensive–washes over their face as they speak again with startling vitriol.

“I’m trying to help you. I gave you your name, your status, your abilities–”

“You gave me nothing but hatred and contempt.”

The sounds of the river murmur through the silence. Orion struggles to his feet, poorly suppressing the wince as he straightens against the streak of fire pulsing from his right shoulder to the small of his back. Their relationship was never perfect, but Hydra is fighting him like a savage beast and it sends pangs of hurt through his heart. His last rebuttal still feels hot off of his lips, still deafeningly loud against the quiet of the forest.

Hydra smirks.

“And, yet,” their voice is laced with that same damn syrupy-sweet condescension that still lies in the deepest crevices of Orion’s mind, “you still keep coming back for more.”

Rage, like nothing Orion had ever experienced in any battle, rips through his veins. All the remorse he once held instantly evaporates from his mind; with a roar, he rushes in Hydra’s direction. They sidestep easily, seemingly a step ahead, but then a brutal strike hits them in the back of the head so hard that their teeth audibly clatter together. Hydra collapses in a dazed heap; Orion’s fist pulses and he follows them to the ground. He forces their back down against the bank of the river before he aims down a second, a third, a fourth punch. He pulls away in alarm when he discovers that there’s a wicked grin on Hydra’s face; bruised cheeks are pulled taut as they smile from ear to ear.

“For someone named after a hunter, you’re oh-so-easy to prey on,” they smirk through bloody lips. It’s a challenge–one that once might’ve been met with hesitation, or even outright denial–but, this time, previous courtesy has waned to exhaustion. Hydra seems to notice this, given the way that the smile slowly slides off of their face.

“I’m not as weak as you always seem to think I am,” Orion whispers balefully. Then, his hands close around Hydra’s neck and he forces their head down into the river.

A knee immediately comes up and crashes into the small of Orion’s back with surprising force, but he only snarls against the pain and pushes down hard enough that his arms start to shake. Hydra flings up their legs, seeking purchase once again, but Orion telegraphs the movements and shifts his body to pin their thighs under his knees. The pained gasps that force their way out of Hydra’s throat are warped and gargled as they fail to choke out water and breathe in air. Orion just clenches harder–so hard that he thinks his own fingers start to bruise–and watches the life slowly leak out of Hydra’s eyes.

Again, like all those years before, he finds himself entranced by those eyes.

The knee comes up again and, this time, it connects with real impact. Orion’s grip falters and Hydra manages to push themself up above the surface. They immediately scramble up and away from the riverbed, completely hunched over as they hurl up riverwater on their hands and knees. Orion lets them by, panting harshly as the adrenaline slowly slides through him. Dark red blood stripes his arms and back. The river suddenly feels far too loud; he squeezes his eyes shut to calm himself as he clenches and unclenches sore fingers.

“It was never love.”

There’s an undeniable intimacy to the confession, soft yet sure. Something sharp is added to the words, though: Orion opens his eyes to see the exact moment that Hydra processes the underlying notion of his words. Now there is real fear in their eyes as they vainly try to drag themself back between lurching coughs.

“I-It can be, this time. We can fix it–”

“It was never love,” Orion repeats firmly and reaches behind his shoulder. The wound on his back flares, but he readies his form nonetheless. Hydra looks at him confusedly for a moment–and then chuckles weakly from the ground as they catch sight of the bow aimed directly at their head. A boot crushes into their stomach, hindering any attempt at escape, and Hydra groans theatrically in jest-shrouded fear.

“No wonder your name isn’t Eros.”

Orion breathes surely, nocks back an arrow, and fires.