⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
The Demon of Ravka
An original character based off of the works of Leigh Bardugo.
Primarily novel-based with Netflix influences.
The power of Grisha revolves around matter —— the control of it, down to the smallest of particles. It stands to reason, then, that there must be an opposite force. Amplifiers are a small-scale manifestation of this: energy strengthening the powers of a Grisha through the intrinsic relationship between matter and energy.
Silas was born with a rare gift: the son of two Grisha amplifiers, his power was found not in matter, the small science, but in energy. His power was potential, something always felt. He could move it, move with it, transfer it about the way a Tidemaker would bend the waves. Unlike his parents, who could only bestow power to other Grisha, he discovered he could take it away as well. He could collect their energy, store it away like a human well or pass it along. He learned quickly that while volatile, energy had a predictability to it. Whatever he took, once used, would pass back to its origins. He learned also that all things can only hold so much of this energy within them before it overflowed and the damage was irreparable.
Near the age of twenty, he met a man named Aleksander that would soon be known as the Black Heretic —— and later still as the Darkling. Silas was enthralled by this man. He was in awe of his power, and hung on the Darkling’s every word, at the promise of a free Grisha people. The Darkling was interested in him, as well, though not in the way Silas might have hoped. Once he’d revealed the nature of his abilities to the Darkling, the other saw a new path ahead. After all, imagine what could be possible if Silas could fuel his darkness?
Their first experiments were failures. While Silas could amplify the Darkling’s powers, the man wasn’t satisfied with the results. He wanted something bigger that could be reliably weaponized. He turned to Morozova’s journals and to the idea of merzost. For that, though, they would need more energy.
Silas was reluctant to agree to the plan, at first, but soon the Darkling’s charming words and promises of a bright future got the better of him and he set to work. There was no telling exactly how much energy was needed, and so their sessions were frequent. Silas would track down other Grisha by feel, take from them, and return the power to the Darkling. The energy of one Grisha, then four, then ten.
Dissatisfied, the Darkling pressed further: Silas would collect as much as he could handle, and together they would create something amazing.
SIlas should have known better —— in fact, he did know better —— but he was too enamored with the Darkling’s vision and the white-toothed smile he would sometimes earn. He knew his own limits, knew they were too low for what the other wanted. He knew the Darkling was perfectly aware, as well. They’d done far too many of these exercises for him to believe otherwise. Still, Silas pushed further until he broke. On the day of their final experiment, the Shadow Fold was created. The power was too much for the both of them, and while the Darkling lost control of his creation, something deeper within Silas had shattered.
He fled that day in horror and delirium, leaving the Darkling behind with the monster they had created.
Silas’ mind and heart had fractured. He knew the Darkling had used him for his goals at the cost of himself. But he’d allowed it, and had taken on far more power than his body or soul could handle. There was a great deal of lost time after the dawn of the Shadow Fold that Silas can recall like shadowy reflections in a shattered mirror. He’d roamed Ravka, deranged, trying to put himself back together. He’d hurt anyone that tried to cross him. Tales of a wild Grisha began spreading: a Grisha with eyes that glowed and leaked light, unkempt and dangerous with jagged hair. He was all power, all energy, and barely a man.
Over centuries, as Silas came back into himself, he made the decision to cultivate the myth of the wild, roaming Grisha. He couldn’t undo the past, but he could nurse this image into a weapon. He’d been given the title of ‘Demon of Ravka’ and he would wear it proudly.
He learned how to use his powers as more than storage or transfer. Everything has energy, and much the same way he’d tracked down Grisha in his youth, now he used that sense as a second pair of eyes. He trained himself to fight like a dancer, nearly untouchable and always in motion. Every action with an equal and opposite reaction. Knives, swords, spears, bows, known far and wide for wielding a dagger and sword together in a dangerous whirl. He found that a sudden release of energy could cause a repelling explosion, and he used that to his advantage. He found, too, that if he took too much from someone, it could be lethal. As he travelled, he collected energy from those he killed, tucking it away and expanding his limits. He hardened himself, and was deadly for it.
Silas felt some satisfaction to hear of the creation of the Second Army by this ‘Darkling’. He’d even smiled to himself to think that Aleksander was building something true, for once. The Second Army could only be a stepping stone, Silas knew, but it was one in the right direction. The Grisha would be tools instead of monsters, but through time and endearment perhaps they could become more.
As the Second Army’s status grew, the need for the Demon of Ravka as a hunter and guard dog diminished. Silas took his mission to Fjerda and Shu Han, and beyond. But the years were long, and eventually Silas became. . . complacent. He found himself in Kerch, one day, and once in the grips of that sinful city of Ketterdam, he simply didn’t leave. He employed himself in a pleasure house, where the danger and exoticness of him attracted big spenders, and he spent the money as he pleased. For awhile, Ketterdam was a little safer for Grisha, as those who would hurt them knew the Demon of Ravka had come to stay.
The Darkling had attempted early on to seek out the ‘Demon of Ravka’ as the years had stretched by, but to no avail. He suspected it to be Silas, but eventually could do little more than keep note of his activity. The Demon was too erratic, and always gone before he could be sought out.
Not until Silas came to settle in Kerch could the Darkling make his move to recruit him once more. Something approaching a thousand years had passed since they’d first met, and while Aleksander hadn’t changed, Silas had. He no longer carried himself as the gentle, adoring, and soft-spoken boy of those days. He was chaotic, flirty. He was scarred, sure of himself, all jagged edges and a malicious smile. But he could be a weapon in the Darkling’s hand, and that’s all that mattered in the end.
Aleksander’s appearance in his rooms was more than enough to convince Silas to return to Ravka and join him in his guard, the Oprichniki, within the Second Army. He was fitted with a new uniform: the dark-grey army clad of the Oprichniki, though adorned with white and silver. The outfit with which Silas was gifted told him what he already knew, though he kept it to himself. It wasn’t the lavish kefta that the Grisha wore. While the Darkling might see him as an equal in mind and power, above the rest of his guard, he didn’t see Silas as Grisha, and so he would always be beneath him.
But that was just fine, wasn’t it? Silas’ new position suited him well enough. There was a familiarity in being by the Darkling’s side again, one he hadn’t realized he’d missed.
The rumors about them flew, stirred by Silas’ own behavior. The Darkling had grown in power, and Silas found it intoxicating. Perhaps it was a product of the small splinters left in his mind that had him stealing little touches, hanging suggestively on the Darkling’s arm in public. Or maybe it was something more. As much as he enjoyed the tiny tastes of power he sapped from his old ‘friend’, he enjoyed too the way people stared. There was some satisfaction to be had in the disbelief of those who looked on, and in knowing that he was smudging up the reputation of the stoic Grisha general.
Silas didn’t even mind the snickerings that Demon of Ravka had been reduced to the Darkling’s lapdog.
Eventually, Alina came into their world. She was a tool, and he knew it, but his jealousy over the Darkling’s fascination with her grew like a vicious beast. She was Grisha. He was not. It took time for him to remember himself and what the Darkling was capable of, and only then did he take pity on her. He would use Alina the way Silas had been used, once. So he kept an eye on her as she trained, and when he noticed Alina growing restless. . . he didn’t say a word.
The night Alina ran, the Darkling took Silas’ eye as punishment, jeering an echo of the same words Silas had often said himself: “A man who only uses his eyes to see may as well be blind.” He accepted the punishment, replacing the eye with a patch of gold: protective, and with the Darkling’s emblem emblazoned on it.
Silas’ weakness is his loyalty. There’s a love for Aleksander in him, and a dedication to the man’s vision for the Grisha. While he may not be truly Grisha, himself, he considers his nature close enough to want their freedom. It’s because of this loyalty that he withstands Aleksander’s manipulations and ill-intentions, and because despite that, he’s seen the man’s better days. He finds a romanticism in their long lifespans, and in the fact that they’ve reunited once more
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀