Page 3 of A Rising Hope (The Freckled Fate #3)

3

OREST

T he metal hilt of the dagger I held cut deep into my clenched palm as I stood motionless, hidden by the shadows of the arched alcove, defeated by my own memories.

Arms folded; eyes locked on Gideon. I watched him incinerate everything to ashes from across the small courtyard of the North Rock Manor. I watched him kneel in the fire, not shielding, letting the silver flames burn him, searing the agony within.

I didn’t have to question what happened. The soul-scarring torture imprinted on his face. The dull, deathly stare was only a small fraction of the anguish that suffocated him mercilessly—twisted and tore every corner of his mind until there was nothing but insanity left.

I should’ve stopped her.

I should’ve been there to protect Finn.

From the moment impenetrable shadows dropped around the manor, I knew.

I knew, and yet I wasn’t there in time.

I failed.

A muscle in my jaw twitched.

You’ve failed. My thoughts shouted.

You are a failure.

I clenched my fists, nails dug into my palms until they bled.

Failure! The voice in my head shouted louder and louder with each laden inhale I took.

Out of everyone here, I should’ve predicted this. I should’ve known. I should’ve been better. The striking icy darkness within me stirred, cutting me, stabbing me, turning on me.

YOU ARE A FAILURE! The loud whip echoed in my head.

Rows of the tortured and mutilated bodies of Destroyers burned in the fields behind me. The serpentine strings of smoke covered the previously clear blue sky as the smell of burned flesh settled deep in my lungs.

FAILURE! The voice sounded again, this time so loud that I could no longer hear my own thoughts.

I have failed the Destroyers.

I have failed my Emperor.

The hungry guilt was ready to devour the last bits of sanity I kept. The vicious anger turned on me. Like the brutal crack of a whip, it tore my mind to shreds.

I had to be better. I had to be perfect.

My eyes darkened, and I closed them only for a moment. Thoughts no longer my own. Memories flashed and blistering pain broke free from where I had kept it hidden all these years, as if feeling my moment of weakness, eager to break me.

“You have failed, Orest, and I need perfection! No hesitation! No failure! You are nothing. N-O-T-H-I-N-G! Your life is not worth the food my dogs eat. Worthless piece of shit!” my master yelled. The slap of his heavy hand zinged against my small cheek. But I didn’t move. I stood still, motionless. Secretly swallowing back the tears that quickly formed in my eyes from the pain as he mercilessly struck me again.

Wincing only made it worse, so I stood frozen. Not allowing myself even a breath, I forced myself to not blink nor flinch as his hand hit my face again and again until warm blood trickled down my lip and cheek. “Perfection, Orest. Perfection! Do you understand? Not fucking failure!” he shouted, before taking a calculated breath. His remorseless face lowered to mine, reddened and almost inhumane from the cruelty that filled his soul.

My master rarely got this angry. Usually, he was more precise with his methods. My eyes watered from not blinking and I bit my cheek, forcing a shot of pain to distract me, lest he thought of them as tears. I wouldn’t cry, not for him, not for me. So I stared at him, seeing his anger, as if it was a glowing orb around him. One touch and I could feel it.

“Perfection only. You are not allowed to fail, Orest,” he grumbled. This time his voice was cooler, losing its heated rage.

“Yes, master,” I replied, holding my back straight, easing my muscles. One accidental twitch and he’d notice. I paced my breaths. Not too big, not too small. Measured and precise. Perfect .

“Good, then let’s continue.” He calmed, and I watched the glowing aura around him fade into a lighter color. His hand reached for the heated red iron, ready to burn me once again. He twisted the long metal prong as red as the flame he pulled it from. “And do not fucking fail again, Orest.”

I blinked, returning to the quieted courtyard of the imperial manor. The acid smell of burning filled my throat.

Many things have changed since that early memory.

I was no longer six.

My master was long dead and forgotten.

My powers had grown, and things made more sense.

Yet today, I failed.

I wasn’t perfect.

And that was a mistake I would punish myself for.