Chapter Text
Kieran Vespertine was a very vengeful person.
But no, the boy didn't act on any of his revengeful urges or intrusive thoughts. He wasn't that messy, after all. He was careful, cautious, meticulous in every step he took. Even when he was presented with the most unimportant, irrelevant choice between two options, he always weighted them with the upmost importance they deserved.
Self-controlled, intact, mature.
That's all they saw him as.
They didn't, however, see him as the little boy who witnessed his parents being thrown from the edge of Skyloft in the dead of night. They didn't see him as the little boy who watched his parent's Loftwings slaughtered and cut up by the same men who helped raise him. They didn't see him as the little boy who was descended from the Arcaina tribe, an ancient, surface-dwelling tribe which thrived off of darkness and Demise's terror. No, they seemed to brush those parts of his past under the rug.
Many people forgot that the incident even happened. They forgot that they stripped Kieran's life away from him at a young age, tore him apart from his parents and his innocence before he could barely do much as read. The townspeople spared him, you see, as they believed they could purify and convert him from his previous parents' ways and guide him towards the path of the Goddess. But the boy didn't need purifying. He needed revenge.
You see, Kieran and his parents weren't demonic in the slightest. The only reason the townsfolk came to that assumption was because they were Arcainic, descended from the Arcaina tribe that supposedly dwelled beneath the clouds. The people of the Arcaina tribe were rumored to be evil savages who lived uncivilized down below, worshipping Demise and cursing the Goddess for what she had brought upon the land. But, you see, that couldn't have been farther from the truth.
Unfortunately, those suspicions were only further amplified the night the tornado hit. It was one of the biggest tornados the sky had seen in years, so the blame was easily shifted onto the outcasts that were the only remaining of their kind. The tornado had destroyed crops, tore apart Loftwings from the bone, threw islands from the sky, damaged countless homes, and had a death toll in the hundreds. Needless to say, they were blamed for using dark tribal magic to summon the tornado and were promptly exiled from Skyloft. Their Loftwings were brutally slaughtered in front of them and the townspeople, their feathery heads poached onto wooden poles as a cruel reminder for all to see. Not soon after, they were bound together by rope and were thrown off the island, bound to the grasp of death.
Let's just say Kieran's childhood wasn't the typical Skyloftian child's experience.
After his parent's exile, he was swiftly taken in by the relatively new Knight's Academy, which served as a school for Skyloft's youth to train and become the best knights they could be. Headmaster Gaepora, the same man who allowed the execution of Kieran's parents, took him under his wing to try and teach him the values of the Goddess and the light. Throughout his childhood filled with lectures of the Goddess's divine greatness, Kieran managed to bullshit his way into pleasing adults whenever they asked him about his religious studies. Praise the Goddess Hylia, Mother of Humans, Lady of Grace, Protector of the Triforce. But all Kieran felt towards her was rage. Rage that she and her servants that followed her around like stray dogs brainwashed multiple generations that ended up with his parents dead.
And if he was damned to hell for feeling this way, so be it. He would gladly take pleasure in burning the Goddess's throne (which was built upon lies,) then walk backwards into Hell with his arms spread wide open.