Chapter Text

Planet Aoria, 2012

As the sun sets and darkness envelops the landscape, a serene scene unfolds before the eyes of the ravens soaring gracefully overhead, their silhouettes dancing against the moonlit backdrop. A full moon casts its ethereal glow upon a tranquil lake, illuminating the still waters and creating a mesmerizing reflection. Towering trees stand tall on the lake's edge, their branches reaching towards the night sky. However, the serene nature is about to be disrupted by the reality of how cruel the world can be. 

South-West of the lake was the main, and only loading point of Aoria, where a race of short mammal-like creatures were loading resources onto their large delivery/loading ships. Aoria is a small plant, but it’s full of resources that can last anyone for an entire winter. That’s why the middle and late fall is a pay session for the workers at the factory there: and the Morts are their best customers. For one, they are an amiable group, always saying hi and asking how the factory is doing. Second, they own large Gelatonium factories and Zurpstone gardens, and they must be getting paid millions for their work. Or the short version, Big business = Big pay.

“Alright y’all! That should be enough supplies for next winter.” Called one of the female morts. They are usually the lead gender of other morts, mostly because they mature more quickly than males, “Let’s get back to the factory!” The lead mort then turns her head to look behind her, “Mort?”

“Don’t worry Mort! I got it all under control!” one of the male moors called back as he put some boxes of the material goods onto the storage shelf, firmly securing them so they wouldn’t fall and all of that paying would be a waste. “I just got a few boxes to load and we’ll be ready to go.”

Lead Mort nodded her head in approval as she continued to supervise her workers, giving them compliments and orders as she walked past them. When everything is finished up and loaded, Lead Mort gives the order for the workers to board the ship. 

As the workers aboard the ship, Mort signs the Aoria workers’ contract and pays the bill for supplies before she boards the ship herself and checks the loading dock for any loose straps or hazards. But as she does so, she suddenly hears something dart past her and jump, or more or less crash into the pile of boxes behind her. Mort swarved her head, her tiny ears twitching violently in every direction, clearly ready to fight whatever, or whoever was robbing the ship. 

“Hoy!” Mort began her shout, “What the san hell are you-?!”  But when she turned around, her shout was muted by a wave of surprise and confusion she felt at what she saw. She didn’t see the full body, but she witnessed something small and whitish hop into one of the empty boxes. Mort slowly approaches the boxes and peaks inside. Her eyes light up in shock and her jaw drops. 

There, curled up in the box, was a small female lombax kit, no older than 7. Her fur was wet and matted like she had travelled far through the mucky forest and bushes. She had a large fresh claw mark over her right eye and her right paw was stained with dark crimson like she was slapped sharply in the face by another individual and she retaliated. Mort looks over the kit once more and blinks a couple of times, as a certain detail, other than the two long raven feathers tucked in the side of her neck fur,  seems peculiar to her: the kitten’s coat colour. 

She knows that a certain type of lombax called raven-furs is native to Aoria. But this kit was different. A typical raven-fur bears a thick black coat, which aged them in camouflage and protection through the dense and dark forest. However, the kit’s fur was lighter, almost white, with pigeon blue stripes on her ears, arms and tail. The site was so peculiar that Mort questioned if the young girl was a raven-fur. Unless… She was one of the rare ones.

The birth of a raven fur with a light coat is an extremely rare occurrence, as it is often associated with the two pigment-lacking skin conditions called albinism and leucism. raven-furs, who are known to revere their ancestors, have a deep-seated aversion towards members born with white fur, believing that such births are an ill omen that threatens their bond with their ancestors, whom they believe reincarnate into Corvid birds. To keep this bond intact, they resort to killing any kit born without black fur, believing that this will resolve the issue. This practice has been in place for generations, and the raven-furs see it as necessary to maintain their bond with their ancestors. However, this view is not shared by everyone. Mort, for instance, sees this practice as nothing short of infanticide due to colorism.

Mort carefully opened the box and was greeted by a weak and trembling lombax kit. The kit looked up at her with frightened eyes, like a helpless fawn separated from its mother. Mort spoke in a soft, motherly tone, trying to reassure the kitten that she was safe.

“Hey sweetheart," she said softly, “are you alright?” 

The kitten, clearly exhausted and afraid, attempted to scramble out of the box but was too weak to do so. The kitten then looks up at her with pleading eyes, and with a trembling voice, she begs, "P-Please... Please don't hurt me..." 

Mort’s heart sank. She can see that the kitten is terrified. No. Not terrified. Traumatized. She could see in the young one’s eyes that she was not only scared because she was a stranger, but she was scared because she was an adult, and Mort knew that despite the kit somehow surviving her execution and being accepted life in her community, she was never accepted as a member of her family and was most likely abused, treated less than the ground her peers walk upon with vain.

“Don’t worry Honey Bun. I’m not going to hurt ya.” Mort assured, her tone the same but now with a tad of playfulness. She was trying to find a way to calm the kit down and get her out of the box so she could properly ask her questions about where she came from. Even though she was confident that the kit was an albino or leucistic raven-fur lombax, she still needed more evidence to prove that theory correct. It didn’t take long for an idea to come to Mort’s mind when she noticed a box that said “Nursery/Kid’s Stuff”. 

Mort spoke slowly, careful to use simple words that the child could understand. "Do you like toys?" she asked, her voice gentle. However, the child remained still, not even moving her head to nod or shake it in response. Mort couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness; she knew that asking such a question to a possibly abused child was unrealistic. After all, it is not uncommon for abused children to lack toys since their parents may not prioritize their well-being or happiness. Mort let out a deep sigh, realizing that the child's lack of response was yet another sobering reminder of the harsh realities of life. However, she didn’t give up. 

As she approaches the box, her eyes light up with excitement. She carefully pulls out a well-loved stuffed rabbit, crafted with several different types of fabric that have been sewn together securely. The rabbit has a charming, hand-sewn smile on its cute little face, and its floppy ears and button eyes give it a playful and endearing quality. Despite years of love and use, the rabbit has retained its softness and charm, making it a cherished item to its owner.

The kit looks up from her hiding place as Mort holds it up for her to see. Her eyes gazing in curiosity and wonder. Mort then holds the bunny playfully and makes its little arm wave to the child.

“Hello, little girl!”  Mort spoke in a deeper, more masculine voice as she roleplayed the toy rabbit, “My name is Mr. Cottontail! I used to belong to the lovely mort behind me when she was just a little girl like you! But now, I belong to you. I’ll be your best friend! Not only can you carry me with you everywhere and play with me all day, but you can also hug me when you feel scared, sad or lonely. I know your day may have not been the best, but I want to make your day better! So how about you come out of that box and give me a big hug?” 

The child looked up at Mort with a glimmer of hope and excitement in her eyes. Slowly, she climbed out of the box and reached out to give Mr. Cottontail a big hug. Mort smiled, feeling grateful for the opportunity to brighten someone's day, especially to a lost child.

“Now,” Mort said, speaking in her normal voice, “Let's sit down and work together to figure out where your parents are. I can only imagine how worried and anxious you must be feeling right now, but-”

But as soon as she spoke, the lombax kit's eyes widened with dread and panic. She shook her head violently from side to side and said, "No... No! Please!" 

Mort was taken aback by the girl's response and couldn't help but notice the terror in her blue eyes. The girl's gaze was fixed on Mort, and Mort could feel her words piercing through her like needles through her heart. The girl continued to beg, "Please don't send me back to him! Please!" 

Mort realized that the girl was afraid of her parents and refused to find them. The fear of parents was so intense that Mort suggested that this was not a case of a lost child, but a mistreated one. The girl's response was a red flag, a sign that something was wrong. Mort knew that she needed to act fast and help the girl in any way she could.

"Whoa Whoa! Take it easy, sweetie," she said softly. "Can you please tell me who is the person you're referring to as 'him'? And who is after you? I'm here to help you in any way I can."

The young girl stood there, visibly trembling with fear. She seemed hesitant to speak as if she was afraid of something. After a few moments of silence, she finally spoke up with a shaky voice.

 "M...My-," she started to say, but before she could finish her sentence, a deafening roar interrupted her. It sounded like the angry growl of a grunthor, a fierce creature known for its ferocity. The sound was so loud that it startled the birds resting on the trees nearby, causing them to take flight in a panicked frenzy.

The sudden noise caused the girl to gasp loudly. Her fur stood on end, and her eyes widened in terror as her pupils contracted into tiny pinpoints. Mort, who had been standing nearby, was equally shocked by the sudden burst of noise. But what caught her attention was that the “roar” was a voice, and it emitted a word that made her blood boil slightly. 

‘Curse?’ Mort thought to herself, puzzled. ‘No, that can't be the child's name, can it?’

She couldn’t wrap that thought around her head about the phrase and the person who said it. But before she could ask the Aoria workers, she noticed they were frozen in place or gone off somewhere else. She was about to ask them what the hell was going on until the girl pulled on her shirt to get her attention. Her face was filled with anxiety as she shook her head to tell her not to do so. That was the moment she saw him. 

Mort's heart skipped a beat as she noticed a large, dark figure emerging from the dense forest. The figure was dressed in dark clothes, and it was hard to tell what species it was from a distance. However, as the figure approached, Mort realized that it was a lombax- an adult male raven-fur to be exact.

This particular lombax was one of the largest of his species Mort had ever seen, almost as big as a male Pterafoid Flyer. His thick fur was as black as tar, and his cold, icy blue eyes seemed to pierce through Mort's soul. As he stepped closer, Mort noticed a wound on his right brow that seemed to have been recently inflicted.

The lombax was dressed in a thick leather, armour-like coat that seemed to shield him from any danger. Mort also noticed a silver chain around his neck that held a raven/crow skull charm, adding to the menacing look of the creature. To complete the look, the lombax had four raven feathers tucked in the side of his neck fur, two on each side, almost as if they were a part of his being.

Mort couldn't help but feel intimidated by the presence of the lombax. His sheer size and the aura of danger that he emanated were enough to make anyone freeze in their steps.

The scene is quickly set to a tense situation when Mort turns to the kit and sees that she is in a state of panic. She was hyperventilating and trembling uncontrollably and it's evident that she is in a state of extreme distress. 

Mort was concerned about the situation and looked at the girl with worry in her eyes. Trying to assess the gravity of the situation and the possible risks. After all, the little girl was clearly in a precarious situation, and it was becoming increasingly clear that urgent help was required to ensure her safety. Panic began to set in as Mort frantically tried to think of a way to intervene, but before she could even gather her thoughts, she heard a sudden, cold voice that made her blood run cold.

"Curse!" the male lombax barked, his voice was bold and sharp, “Where are you?” The word sent a shiver down Mort's spine, she didn't know why he was saying it… until she realised that… that was the kit’s name. This beautiful little girl was named Curse! Mort’s stomach dropped from the realisation as she wanted to slap the child’s father for allowing his daughter to be called such a cruel name. However, she couldn’t let her anger get the best of her as she turned her head towards the frightened girl.

"Sweetheart," she said in a soft and gentle tone of voice. She didn't call her by her real name, it was too disgusting for a sweet child like this, "I need you to do something for me. Can you please hide back in that box over there? Don't move until I tell you it's safe to do so, okay?" The girl nodded and hopped back into the box with Mr. Cottontail in hand. 

Mort then turned her head and noticed one of her employees standing nearby, looking confused. The worker had been sent to check on Mort's progress, but it seemed like they were unaware of the situation. Mort quickly signalled for the employee to be quiet and then made a decision that she had hoped she would never have to make in her entire career. She signed the "Intruder Alert" signal, indicating that there was an unauthorized person in the area. The employee nodded in response before bolting back inside the ship. 

As Mort turned her head back towards the male raven-fur, her heart skipped a beat. The large lombax was approaching her with firm strides, his icy blue eyes piercing through her like sharp icicles. Mort's palms grew sweaty and her breaths became shallow. She was terrified, and who wouldn't be in this situation? There was a large black cat-like creature, who might be armed, approaching her with an intent that looked like he was about to kill her in all the brutal ways possible.

Despite her fear, Mort didn't run away. She knew that the girl needed her help, and she couldn't abandon her. Mort steeled herself, ready to face the beast that came her way. She would rather go out defending the child than as a doormat.

Mort stood still as the dark-furred lombax approached her, towering over her like a predator eyeing its prey. She drew a deep breath, trying to keep calm, but something about the lombax made her uneasy, but she couldn't pinpoint with it was.

"Parton me, ma'am," the lombax said in a deep growly voice with a thick Irish accent. He had a polite and political demeanour which surprised Mort since she was expecting a more rude, drunk, Bob Ewell kind of attitude. "I am Corvus Crowingheart, leader of the Corvid Organisation if you didn't know that already.” 

Mort's mind raced as she heard the name. It sounded familiar, but she couldn't quite place it, but she knew that he and these “Corvids” meant business. So she maintained her professional demeanour and asked, "Yes, sir. What can I do for you?"

"I am looking for my daughter," Corvus said, his voice turning icy cold in an instant. "She had recently run away from home and me and her mother are… very worried. If you need a description of her She's seven years old, with blue eyes….. and white fur…”

Mort felt a sudden pang of dread as she realized that the girl's earlier claim of him being her father was indeed true. However, as she listened more closely to the description given by Corvus, she couldn't help but notice eerie malice and hatred in his voice when he mentioned his daughter's white fur. This caused Mort to wonder if there was more to the story than what she had heard so far. What else was Corvus hiding? What could he possibly be planning once he finally finds his daughter? Mort's mind raced with questions as she tried to piece together the truth, but she knew one thing: he may look like a successful businessman, but he didn't look like a loving and caring father who wanted his daughter safe. 

"Ma’am, have you seen her?" Corvus asked, his eyes fixed on her face, trying to read any sign of deception. Mort tried her best to appear calm and composed, not wanting to give any indication that she was lying.

“No. I haven't seen her," she replied, her voice steady, hoping to convince Corvus that she was telling the truth.

Mort shifted uneasily under Corvus' sharp gaze, feeling like she was being interrogated. His unwavering stare made her feel like she was under a microscope, dissected for every flaw. Despite her best efforts to avoid his probing eyes, he seemed fixated on her face, making the weight of his suspicion feel suffocating.

The two of them sat in silence for what felt like an eternity, during which Corvus suddenly bent down and touched Mort's shoulder, causing her to jump in surprise. A sly grin spread across his face as he noticed the tremble in her body, and his voice was laced with menace as he remarked, "You seem to be trembling. It seems like you're feeling scared, am I right?"

Mort didn't want to admit it, but she was terrified. She tried to keep her voice steady as she replied, "No, I'm not scared of you."

Corvus' stare turned cold again as he asked, "Then why are you lying?"

Mort inhaled deeply, trying desperately to maintain her composure, but it was clear that she was gradually getting even more afraid. "I am not lying, sir!" she snapped. "I don't know where she is!"

Corvus looked at her with disbelief and suspicion before turning his head at the slight sound of a box shaking. His attention now diverted, Mort let out a quiet sigh of relief.

But her moment of respite was short-lived. Without warning, Corvus snarled, "Bullshit," and shoved Mort out of the way with a forceful push. She hit the floor with a jarring bang, her body aching all over. She immediately sat up, wincing in pain, and saw Corvus approaching the boxes, rummaging through them roughly.

Mort knew that the girl was in one of those boxes and sooner or later he would find her. So, she intervened, “Oi! Get out of there!” she hollered fearfully and angrily. But Corvus ignored her and continued to scavenge through the boxes like a burglar looking for gold. It was only when he reached the last box that he found what he was looking for.

The white kit froze, her fur puffing on end as she stared into the eyes of her father, her tormenter. Corvus stares back at her with no relief or love but with coldness and hate.

“Come here, Curse.” He snarled coldly as he was about to reach down to grab her. But before he does so, he hears a clicking sound to his right. It was a bit rattly, but it was strong enough for Corvus to identify the click as the cocking of a pump shotgun.

“I said, get out of there!” He heard Mort’s voice demand sternly as he turned his head and saw the little furry lady holding a large shotgun to his face. Realistically, someone would be frightened if they had a firearm pointed to their face, especially one as robust as a shotgun. But Corvus just smiled. He found it amusing. Amusing to see a short creature stand up to him. To think his daughter was stupid to do it, this lady has no cell in her brain.

The black lombax just chuckled before saying, “You don’t have the guts!” But Mort did have the guts. She had the guts to point the revolver right at his hideous face, and she most definitely has the guts to pull the damn trigger.

With no hesitation, she takes the shot. The crack of gunpowder rattled the air… and so did Corvus’ scream. The lombax collapsed on the ground in agony, holding his giant paw over the right side of his face, blood oozing out of the injury.

Mort knew that raven-fur, especially the males, have high resistance and she knew that a shotgun wouldn’t kill him instantly unless she shot him straight in the mouth. despite how much she wanted to, she didn’t, it was against her code as a mort. But it wasn’t against her code to leave a mark on the bastard. 

“You are not touching my cargo!” Mort snarled, “And you are certainly not touching this child!”

Corvus growls, removing his paw from his face, revealing the large and thick gash over his eye. But the pain from his injury didn’t stop him from going for one last attempt at taking back his child. That is until he hears more cracks of shotguns and other firearms.

It turns out that Mort wasn’t the only one with a gun license. A Sargasso worker must have any type of gun or weapon license, just in case the factory gets attacked by grunthors and other dangerous acid swamp creatures. 

“Did lead get into your brain or are you born deaf and stupid?” Mort coldly spat, “I said you are not touching this child! And as long as my heart beats in my chest! You will never lay another claw on the girl ever again!”

Corvus snarls again, his tail, flicking angrily at the armed morts. However, knowing that there’s no way for them to get through them without getting shot, he steps back and prepares to leave. But before he does so, he turns back to his daughter, his remaining blue eyes staring daggers at her as he utters the words, “You will regret this day, Curse. Like you will regret the day you were born.” And with that, the raven-fur leaves the area and disappears into the thick trees. 

For once, after seven years, the kit let out a sigh of relief, her shaking subsided slightly, but I didn’t completely go away due to the severe trauma she had. Mort also sighs in relief, happy that the intruder was out of her ship. However, her worries were far from over. Knowing that this guy is a leader of a mafia, there are 9 chances out of 10 that he’ll come right back with reinforcements.

“Alright, Y'all! Let’s head back home, stat!” Mort barked to her workers, now like a general to her soldiers, “We don’t know how long until he comes back, probably with reinforcements, but we have to get the fuck out of here right now! Now let’s move!”

And with that order, it only took about 30 seconds for the mort’s ship to take off back to Sargasso. 

Inside the ship, every mort has a task to do, which is either driving the ship, making sure the gas is filled up, etc. However, Mort had a task that she believed was more important than any of the others - to ensure the little girl was safe and comfortable. 

Mort couldn't imagine what the sweet little girl had been through living with Corvus Crowingheart and his "Corvids." From the aggression shown by her father when searching for her, and the cruel name he called her, Mort knew that the child's life had been a living hell until now. 

As she tended to the kit's wound on her face, along with scratches and bruises that were probably from her journey here, Mort noticed that the child was tense and confused. Mort wondered if the little girl had ever received treatment for her injuries before; If she was hated that much. And for what? For being a different coat colour than them?

“Ouch!” The little kit lets out a painful whimper as Mort applied some ointment to her face wound. She flinched and tensed up as if expecting something bad to happen just from uttering the word 'ouch'. However, to her surprise, Mort smiled at her warmly and spoke in a soothing tone, "I know, sweetie. I know it hurts. But don't worry, I'm almost done. Just hold on for a little bit longer and we'll make sure you feel better soon." The kit seemed to feel a sense of comfort wash over her as Mort continued to apply the ointment with gentle care, making sure not to cause any further pain. 

As Mort finished tending to the eye wound of the kit, she noticed that the little girl had gone quiet, clutching Mr. Cottontail tightly in her arms. The claw mark on her eye was large enough to have caused permanent damage, or even worse, to have gouged out her eye. However, Mort was skilled enough to prevent that from happening. After placing a dressing over the injured eye, she noticed that the girl had a question for her that caught her off-guard. "Why did you save me?" the girl asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Mort was surprised at the question posed by the girl. For Mort, each life was valuable and worth saving, regardless of the circumstances. 

So in response to the girl's query, Mort put on a playful tone and asked, "Well, what kind of person would I be if I didn't help you, little rivet?" Despite the light-heartedness in her voice, Mort was deeply moved by the child's words.

The girl's response was a shrug accompanied by a sad tone, "I don't know... a smart one..." Her words were heartbreaking to hear.

Mort continued the conversation in a light-hearted manner, asking, "And what makes you think that?" However, she was eager to hear the girl's response.

The girl began to speak, her voice filled with sadness, "Well... everyone hates me... especially my father. I don't understand why he's always so angry with me, or why he hurts me..."

Mort listened intently, feeling a deep sense of sorrow for the girl. She could sense that the child was struggling with something, and she wanted to help her in any way possible. The girl continued, "Maybe it's because I wasn't born the same, like the other girls in the clan. Maybe that's why he's always so angry..."

Mort's heart broke at the girl's words. She knew that no child should ever feel unloved or unwanted. “I just…” The girl continued, tears beginning to form in her eyes as Mort sat on the bed with her and rubbed her back in an attempt to comfort her, “I just wanted us to be a family… I tried to make him love me, but he never did… and I…. I hate him for it!”

Mort just listened attentively as the child poured her heart and emotions out to her. Despite the child's initial hesitance, Mort's gentle demeanour and soothing words soon put her at ease and she embraced him tightly. As the child cried, Mort held her close and offered words of kindness and understanding, using her gentle voice to reassure the child that everything would be alright. 

"I know, sweetheart," the older woman spoke softly, her soothing voice filling the room as she tried her best to comfort the girl who was crying inconsolably, "It's unfair. But you don't need to worry about pleasing him anymore. You're safe with us. We won't let him hurt you again."

The girl slowly stopped crying and looked up at Mort with both wonder and uncertainty, her eyes red and swollen from tears. "You promise?" she asked, her voice trembling with fear.

Mort smiled again and held out his pinky finger. "I pinky promise," she said, her voice filled with warmth and assurance.

The girl tilted her head, confused. "What's that?" she asked, her little fingers fidgeting nervously.

"It's a very special type of promise," Mort explained patiently, her eyes meeting hers. "You see, when we make a pinky promise, we're not allowed to break it. It's a promise that's forbidden to be broken, which makes it unbreakable."

The girl hesitated a bit, unsure if she could trust Mort. But his kind words and gentle demeanour had already started to melt her heart. Slowly, she wrapped Mort's finger with her own, sealing the promise and signalling her trust in her. 

“Now little rivet, how about you just rest here until we get back to Sargasso.” Mort said as she rubbed the girl's head in comfort, “You’ve been through a lot today.”

The girl just nods her head, before yawning and cuddling her toy bunny tightly. But before she closes her eyes, she asks Mort one more question. 

“Ma’am? I mean… Mort?” she began.

Mort turns back to her, “Yes sweetheart?”

“You’ve been calling me ‘little rivet’.” said the girl, “what is a rivet?”

Mort hummed softly and began explaining, "You know when you use a hammer to hit nails or walls? They either break or bend under pressure, right? Well, rivets are different. They are made to withstand being beaten with a hammer. Instead of breaking, rivets grow, swell up and become stiffer, stronger, and almost impossible to pull out. That's why they are essential when repairing our warehouses when there's a leak. We buy a lot of them for this reason."

The girl still seemed puzzled and asked, "But why do you call me one? I don't feel essential to anything. I just get beaten... a lot."

Mort smiled and added, "Yes, you may have been beaten, but you didn't break. You showed resilience and strength even in tough situations, just like a rivet. That's why I call you 'little rivet'."

Mort looked away and smiled to herself, thinking of the perfect name for the girl. She said, "You know what? That's what we’re gonna call you from now on. From now on, your name is no longer 'Curse'."

The leucitic Lombax girl perked up in curiosity and wonder before she heard the sentence, especially the last word, that changed her life forever.

“So, what do you say, Rivet?"