Beetle - Tiefme (KnightCaleb) - Baldur's Gate (Video Games) [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

It was the biggest beetle the boy saw in his whole seven years of life. It also had a pair of impressive horns, and black chitin so shiny, it almost seemed like onyx. It looked heavy and the boy wondered if the bug could fly at all. Maybe it didn't even have wings.

He wanted to find out. He took a deep breath, filling his little chest with all the air it could take, then opened his mouth, sharp, white canines peeking out...

"RAWR!" he bellowed with all his might.

The beetle didn't stir. The boy scrunched up his face then tried again. The beetle remained unfazed probably wondering when the mother was gonna take her unruly cub away to give it some peace finally.

The boy huffed, and in an act of irritated audacity, poked the insect. Although it budged, going as far as sliding back half an inch or so, it refused to yield the comfortable little mossy rock it had been occupying. The boy poked it again, this time more forcefully, but it only resulted in the insect relocating two whole inches to the side.

The boy appeared to be deep in thought. Slowly, he raised one hand, holding out his forefinger and thumb like pincers, and took aim at the beetle's left horn. He was a hair's breath away from snatching the stubborn little thing up when his name resounded in the forest, bouncing off the trees and cutting through the tall undergrowth.

"Ikaron!"

The boy took one last glance at the beetle, brows furrowed then dashed away. If it could, the beetle would've sighed in relief. Then, when the boy came back just to stick out his tongue at it, it would've surely grumbled about the disrespectful youth of today.

"Ikaron! Where have you been? Haven't I told you not to go too far into the woods?" The woman shot him a disapproving look as she handed him a green piece of cloth, the hole in it already half sewn up.

"Sorry, mother." The boy obediently took it then sat down on a log and resumed the mending.

"Have you been chasing beetles again?" asked his mother clearly rhetorically, because she didn't even wait for an answer before whacking her son's horns with a ladle. The boy knew better than to utter even a single a word.

Okta looked over him, annoyance on her face giving way to loving concern. Not that her annoyance wasn't loving, which Ikaron, young as he was, was aware of. Where others saw harshness, he saw caring, where others heard blunt words, he heard "I care for you". They had their unique language no outsider could really understand.

She placed a hand on his head, smoothing down the unruly, light brown hair and allowed herself a thin, proud smile. One more thing in which he had started to resemble his mother.

"Hurry up, son. It'll be nighttime soon."

"Yes, mother."

Distant thunder roared up in the sky. Ikaron started so hard he pricked his finger with the needle. He looked up, his heart racing, hoping desperately that what he saw on the horizon was the approaching night and not storm clouds.

"Ikaron, you're bleeding!"

He looked down and saw that the cloth in his hand was stained red. He quickly stuck the offending finger in his mouth which was probably the wrong idea judging by his mother's scowl.
"Pull it out, foolish boy. Let me see."

The wound was already as good as closed when she inspected it. With her apron she wiped the finger clean of the saliva and blood.

"Now finish up and get inside. Storm's coming."

"Storm?" Ikaron's lower lip trembled. As if in confirmation, another thunder rumbled through the land, making the boy curl his tail around his own leg.

"Yes, as you can hear. All right then, give that back and go eat your dinner."

Ikaron darted inside, taking care not to accidentally dislodge the rickety door from its frame when he opened it. A bowl of gruel, half full, awaited him on a stool. He took it, sat down and started eating, forcing down the grey goo with the ease of years of experience. It wasn't always what they ate, but lately things had been hard and they both had to tighten their belts, as his mother would say.

Although neither of them had any real belts, now that Ikaron thought about it. But he was wiser than to argue with her.

With the last spoonful gone, he looked around trying to get his mind off the coming storm. He stared at the rectangular stains on the walls that Okta had tried so viciously to remove, to no avail. Ikaron asked her about them once, correctly guessing there had been paintings hung there. Her mother grumbled something about "ugly pictures by a talentless fool" and refused to entertain his son's innocent questions on the matter any further.

A flash of light chased away the memory. Ikaron braced himself, pulling up his knees and covering his ears as the sky roared. It sounded so much worse than the one before, and it brought with itself strong, howling winds. The trees outside the small house weaved, their leaves rustling ominously, acorns dropping with sharp thuds onto the roof.

"Mother!" the boy cried out, his voice hitching.

Okta came rushing in to find her son curled up into a ball in the corner, trembling. Outside it had just started raining. She quickly brought in the few things she wanted relatively dry, then shut the door behind her and propped their only table against it, so it wouldn't be thrown open by the gales. She checked the windows which had pieces of old rags used as insulation and frowned knowing full well they probably wouldn't hold.

She looked back at their only bed on the opposite side of the room, under the segment of the roof that was still fairly rainproof. She took Ikaron up in her arms and sat down on it, back against the wall, curling around his son's quivering form. The frame creaked but held thankfully.

One last night, Okta thought. Tomorrow morning, they would move into the city. She would find themselves a nice, warm place, and they would have meat in their gruel again.

Outside, the storm raged on with full force, battering on the door and windows of the small, one-room house. Ikaron whimpered in his mother's embrace.

"Now, Iky, a big boy like you shouldn't be afraid of a little storm." She planted a kiss on each of his son's horns and caressed the back of his head. She felt his breath catching and heard his muffled sobs. She hugged him tighter, both of them holding onto each other as if the heavens themselves were threatening to bring the whole house down on heir heads.

Okta ran her fingers through Ikaron's hair, smoothing out any curls that dared form in her son's perfect, brown locks. She almost laughed at her past fears. She shouldn't have doubted her blood ran thicker in Ikaron than his.

"Wh-when will it be over, mother?"

For a moment, Okta wondered what his son meant. Then she answered: "Soon, Iky. The wind is strong, it'll blow the storm away in no time."

"How long is that?" Ikaron sniffled.

"One story long. Now listen well, because you haven't heard this one yet."

From her pocket she took out the green cloth from before, wrapping it around the boy's neck as a scarf. Then she adjusted her embrace so that her mouth was closer to Ikaron's ear so he could hear her voice above the roars of thunder.

"When I was a wee lass, same age as you, I sneaked into the bell tower of my hometown's church in the dead of night, and tried yanking on the rope. But even with my entire weight I couldn't sound the bell, so I went home. The next night, I packed some of my mother's cookbooks into a big sack and climbed up the tower again. Still I had no luck, so the next day I took the rest of my mother's books. When night came, I was up there again, holding onto the rope with the sack on my back... and I jumped."

"Did it work?" asked Ikaron, his tears slowly drying up.

"Yes, it did. The bell rang so loudly, my whole body was vibrating. It was a very tickly feeling. Unfortunately, the whole town came rushing into the tower as I was hanging from the rope."

"Were they angry with you?"

"No. They were furious. It probably didn't help that I was grinning back at them like a madman." Okta chuckled.

The storm outside was slowly dying down and even the rain had tapered to a drizzle. Okta looked up to see half of the house utterly soaked, the roof leaking and the door barely holding onto its hinges. Whatever possessions they had were safely tucked under the bed, giving her the smallest of comforts.

Ikaron was now half asleep in her arms, and she too started to slowly drift into the realm of dreams. Tomorrow morning they would leave behind this ruin of a home.

***

While her mother was packing the last of their belongings, Ikaron sneaked away into the forest one last time. His eyes went wide as he caught glimpse of the same beetle he was bothering yesterday, perched atop the same rock. Could it be that it had weathered the storm right there, unmoving? The boy was in awe and this time, he didn't poke the insect nor did he attempt to pick it up by its horns. He just stood there, staring as the beetle opened his wings and flew away towards the bright, yellow sun.

A voice pulled him out of his daze.

***

"Ikaron!"

"Yes, mother?" The man leaned over the railing, looking down at the small cooking area. Okta was examining the fire under her pot then turned back to her son.

"Bring me some firewood, will you?" she yelled as she adjusted her green scarf absent-mindedly.

Ikaron swung his axe onto his back, climbed down and went to the makeshift prison where the refugees stored whatever didn't fit into the shack nearby. For example the pile of logs neatly stacked against the cave wall. As long as they had no one to lock up, it was as good a place for storage as any.

He gathered a few logs, but stopped suddenly as he noticed a beetle resting on one. A ray of sun shone upon it, giving it a spotlight in the dreary gloom of the cave. A pair of horns adorned its head and its chitin armour gleamed. Ikaron studied it wordlessly for a few moments, until he remembered why he came here in the first place.

Just as he was leaving, the beetle took off towards the opening in the ceiling up above, disappearing into the sunlight. Ikaron felt an itch in his vestigial wings. Somewhere in the distance thunder rumbled.

A faint smile spread across his face.