Page 30

Malia

In preparation for the upcoming raid in the closest town, my father forces me to complete more grueling workouts than usual.

It’ll be my first official mission with the Dark Fraction, and whether this is his attempt to weaken me beforehand as a security measure or him trying to push my limits, I’m not sure.

If it’s the first, it wouldn’t work either way. If I wanted to flee while on a mission with some Dark Fraction soldiers, miles away from my parents, I’d manage. There would be no stopping me.

As it is, I’m not planning on doing anything of the sort just yet.

I don’t want to be on the run for the rest of my life, always looking over my shoulder and expecting my parents to be there to take me back to the cursed cell.

No, when I get out of here once and for all, there will be no one left to come after me. No more threats.

I push all thoughts of running aside as I face the half dozen men I have to fight this round.

It’s an excessive amount, especially considering I’m not allowed to use my powers.

Only weapons of my choice.

I’m questioning whether this might be a fight I can’t win.

I hate the thought passionately, so I bury it.

If I can’t win against six well-trained men twice my size, I’m definitely not ready to fight my parents in the heart of their camp, all means allowed. There’s a reason they run this fraction, and it’s not because it was decided democratically.

I move to the opposite curve of our circle as the crowd of men facing me, my beautiful twin daggers sheathed at my side.

They’re the one good thing that came from living here.

There’s no better place to find intricate weapons than the camp of a lawless crowd, after all. Thanks to their smuggling, raiding, and stealing, the most beautifully crafted weapons known to mankind are here.

My parents allowed me to choose the daggers after a year of training.

I was given a broad selection to choose from, ranging from crossbows, to longswords, to throwing stars, to my darling daggers.

I have other weapons stashed in my room, a girl’s got to have her options depending on her mood, but the blades in my hands are my favorites.

They’re made of high-carbon steel, the handles wrapped in black, rough leather to allow a solid grip, and there’s a royal blue sapphire embedded in the back of each handle.

They’re every fighter’s wet dream and were absolutely made for me.

When I get into position, my weapons gleaming in the sun as I hold them ready, the fighting begins.

A few men come at me at once, forcing me to go into defense first.

My uniform soon sticks to my sweaty body as I twist and turn and find ways to attack. The training area is surrounded by crumbling ruins overgrown with vines, and they positively block out any wind that might have been breezing through the woods.

Shallow cuts and blooming bruises start peppering my body, even as I eliminate the first opponents.

It’s so grueling that I curse the black mask covering my mouth and nose.

It makes it harder to breathe and only adds to the stifling heat as the midday sun burns down on us, but I refuse to take off my uniform around camp.

By the time four men are left, my moves are becoming more sluggish, and my strength slowly wanes.

I grit my teeth against the tremble in my arms as I lift my daggers to swing at a soldier.

By the stars above, how much more strength training do I have to complete to be able to keep up with these men that sit on their asses more than they don’t?

As I fail to put so much as a scratch on the man, I can see in my peripheral vision that the twins with a longsword each are approaching me quickly.

I jump away from the three men, only noticing my mistake when a wooden staff flashes before my face.

It comes down against my throat, the last man behind me gripping it on each side of my face and pulling me back until my back is pressed against his chest and the staff is pressing against my airways.

I choke, trying with half a mind to escape by stabbing him while a memory creeps up on me.

I’m fifteen, locked in the same position with Keahi at my back.

He taunts me, breathes against my neck, pulls me closer.

I’m ripped out of the memory when my body slams onto the ground.

It could only have been a second that I was out of it, and I’m glad to see the man that triggered this unwanted flash back clutching his bleeding side where my dagger is still buried.

My body must have acted on muscle memory even as my mind was occupied otherwise. I like that.

My head is swimming with lightheadedness, the lack of oxygen taking its toll.

I roll over and get back to my haunches, regarding the three remaining men.

They’re hesitant, regrouping as the fourth man collapses next to the healer outside of our circle. I slowly right myself, gripping my last dagger with my left hand as the cut another opponent has given me earlier makes my right arm throb. It’s inconvenient and I certainly have to get a new uniform tonight, but I let the annoyance of it fuel me.

Finally, the twins exchange a look before charging at me at once.

I wait until the last moment before I drop into a tucked roll and bypass them between their legs.

As I untuck, I cut one of men’s Achille’s heel. A spray of his warm blood hits my exposed cheek and covers my mask. I get to my feet and throw my dagger into the other man’s thigh.

The third man looks stupefied as he watches and remains unmoving.

It’s the perfect opportunity for me to come at him with no weapon left in my hands.

I tense the muscles in my legs and jump to wrap my legs around his neck, using my momentum to wring his body to the back as I twist on top of him. I could break his neck at this point, but it’s not my job to kill these men. Instead, I yank his body down with me, rolling it off while he drops like a bag of rocks.

He groans as his head hits the dense earth, and I accept another win as I meet my father’s pleased expression.

I want to choke him for ruining the small moment of victory by being happy about it, but I content myself with the reminder that this arrogance of thinking he can weaponize my strength to his advantage will eventually get him killed.

I walk past him with gritted teeth to hide my limp and head towards my room where I will heal my new wounds before we’re going on the mission tonight.

The training area is a bit secluded from the rest of camp.

It’s located where the town square probably had been before the old city fell victim to this war between the Dark Fraction and Arcane.

The war has been going on for centuries, and while Arcane does their best to avoid big battles these days and the Fraction contents themselves with terrorizing people without powers, there are many ruins of ghost cities like this one that show what can happen when powerful handlers meet their counterparts in a lethal battle.

Many of the stone buildings are in shambles, either because time took its toll on them or because they were destroyed in the battle that must have happened long ago.

By now, everything is halfway down the road of being reclaimed by nature.

As much as I want to hate everything about this camp filled with horrors, I can’t deny that it can be beautiful when the sun comes out and spreads a warm hue over the entire thing. The miles of trees that surround the ruins officially secure the feeling of utter seclusion.

I wonder if this city was the first casualty, back in the 18th century when the two parties of this war were only just being born and the wounds of being hunted and burned at the stakes were still fresh.

It would explain the open concept of the small town and the stone buildings.

The closest sign of civilization is probably Arcane.

I’ve figured that out not too long ago by following the small stream nearby to a part of the woods that I recognized from the day I was taken by the Fraction.

If these are the same woods connecting us, it shouldn’t have been impossible for Arcane to find me, which means they never tried looking.

As I enter the busier part of camp, where everyone’s living quarters and the common areas such as the kitchens are placed, I pull the hood over my head and keep my head down.

I swing by the seamstress to get a new uniform.

She doesn’t bat an eye at my appearance, the bloody, ripped clothes or the mask hiding my face even though everyone takes them off here at “home”. She hands me a spare in my size and dismisses me.

I meet the other soldiers shortly after dusk, and there’s not a lot of talk before we head into the forest on light feet.

All five of us.

Five. I could fight them all off and disappear so easily, but I think that might be my parents’ intentions. I proved at training that I could overwhelm six fellow soldiers and now they’re sending me off and out of their reach with five. They wanted me to know I could with a certainty that do it; I could leave. This is a test.

After a little over two years of acting like a good little druid and training with my father and his soldiers, they want to see if I would still choose Arcane over them.

If only they knew Arcane is as dead to me as they are.

I’m merely in it for the long game.

I’m wearing their leathery black uniform with a mask covering the lower half of my face and blades strapped to my belt.

To the untrained eye, I’d appear to be one of them; perfectly integrated and happy to be here.

The other people in black surrounding me know that’s not the case though, they can feel it and so can I in the way they watch me from the corner of their eyes.

They’re not used to having me in their ranks, least of all on a mission away from my parents, and they don’t know what to make of me.

I might’ve trained alongside them, but that’s all.

I eat my meals in my room, spend my free time there too or in the surrounding ruins, and I never ever talk to another member of the Dark Fraction. My parents? Maybe when I have to. But no one else.

Most of these soldiers have never heard my voice or even seen my entire face since I don’t take off any part of my uniform around them.

I’m a mystery, but they’ve got no choice but to accept me in their midst since my parents say so, and what my parents say is the law.

I follow the others on light steps as we near a deserted street, only seeing our target once we’ve broken through the tree line.

It’s a nightclub in the middle of nowhere.

Before I can tail my companions inside, one of them turns over his shoulder and shakes his head, telling me to stay where I am and stand watch.

I bite back a protest and nod curtly, left to watch them infiltrate the club like shadows.

One second, they’re here, the next, they’re gone. Meanwhile, I’m a glorified scarecrow. What a waste of my time. I could be training now. Honing my shielding skills, perhaps.

While Arcane taught me the basics of infiltrating another person’s body with my powers, my father has since taught me how to block a similar attack from another handler.

It’s the most recent skill he’s shown me, and we’ve only scratched the surface.

Haven’t even talked about shielding an attack from a water handler, but I know that’s intentional. While my parents want me to be unbeatable by other opponents, they don’t want me to be stronger than them. Immune to them.

In the end, shielding is a battle of wills, just like everything else that has to do with our powers.

After a few quiet minutes, people start rushing out of the club in a haste, screaming and crying.

So dramatic, I think boredly.

This mission is not about them.

Regulars have this weird idea that they are the center anything and everything revolves around.

Meanwhile, none of these people matter enough to waste the energy and resources of a mission on.

I stand aside, watching the unorderly panic unfold with distaste.

My companions reappear outside just when some new guests join the party.

They are dressed in black uniforms not unlike ours if it weren’t for their lack of a mask.

Arcane. My distaste curls in my gut, burning colder by the second and hastily turning into hate.

My skin tingles and my fingers itch with the need for action.

The desperate urge to fight returns with full force after years of apathy, the bloodlust my parents have been trying to evoke in me surging up like never before.

A slow, manic smile tugs at my obscured lips. Guess this will be fun, nonetheless.

Some Arcanians are guiding the civilians around while others are attacking my colleagues.

I join the fight eagerly and find myself in a one-on-one with an older guard, but I realize painfully quickly that he is no worthy opponent.

I dodge two swipes of his long sword, twist around him, then hit him over the head with the pummel of my dagger and have him passed-out in under one minute. If I’d wanted to, I could have taken him out with my powers, but since Arcane’s guards have the code of secrecy to abide to and we’re surrounded by regulars, I figured it was best not to bring the gun to the fist fight. It’d make things so much more boring.

The Dark Fraction doesn’t have many inhibitions about using our powers whenever necessary, although it is frowned upon to be obvious around people with no powers.

We’re the best trained fighters there are, so why rely on that crutch anyway? I think it’s a pride thing.

I’m about to move on to another enemy when I hear a voice I haven’t heard in over four years.

"Malia?"

I snap toward the owner of the voice, and time stops when our eyes lock.

He might be taller than I remember, and an unfamiliar beard adorns his face, but I’d recognize my childhood friend anywhere.

Dustin’s wearing an expression of utter disbelief.

Meanwhile, I’m frozen in place, unable to do anything except hold his gaze and watch a variety of emotions flash across his eyes.

Relief. Excitement. Fear. Shock. And suddenly, there’s nothing at all.

It’s a weird and sudden change.

Especially since Dustin has never been able to conceal his emotions or moods.

It seems unnatural as the light inside his eyes dies out.

I can feel my brows draw together as his body falls limp to the ground, my brain unable to make sense of the scene until I see the Shadow Handler standing behind him, his blood-smeared longsword drawn back.

Just like that, my stupor shatters and something within me snaps.

"No!" I scream, horrified as the realization of what just happened washes over me.

My dead heart jolts awake, some long-lost part of me reappearing just for this moment.

Dustin is not moving.

The boy I’ve known since I was ten years old is lying on a bed of dead leaves on the wet grass, crumbled in an unnatural way.

Unmoving. Dead.

I fall to my knees, my mouth open in a silent scream.

Something foreign is buzzing in my bones.

I’ve lost control over my source of water, and it seems to push against my insides, taking over my limbs.

How much more? The dark, endless waves seem to shout as the pressure mounts.

It’s overwhelming, and then, it finally explodes.

The Shadow Handler that killed Dustin is thrown away by the invisible force of my outburst and collapses multiple feet away, unmoving like his victim.

My jaw clamps shut.

I sway on my knees.

Then, darkness takes over. Complete, utter, blissful darkness.

I wake up to an all too familiar sound.

One drop continually dripping onto my hand.

No. I haven’t been in here for two years. I can’t be back here. My heart seizes, and it takes all of me not to react visibly, to keep my breathing even and not jerk against my restraints.

"You took long to wake up." My mother’s voice is as frigid as ice.

"What happened?" I ask warily.

"You, apparently.

You nearly killed one of our own with your hissy fit.

How could you lose control like that?" The image of Dustin lying limp on the ground flashes through my mind, and I feel sick.

"It was the first time I’ve seen a person die.

I was taken by surprise.

I am sorry, ma’am." I look anywhere but her face as I grit the degrading words.

She brushes me off.

"We didn’t raise you to be surprised or lose control as a consequence.

You’ll be able to make up for it on the next mission. In four days. It’s a smaller one, so you shouldn’t be able to mess it up so royally."

"Yes, ma’am." Without another word, she leaves me alone in the room with the knowledge that I am looking ahead to four days without food.

It’s been so long since they last forced me in here, I almost forgot how it felt.

It’s like a time capsule, bringing me back to the first year and a half I was at this camp.

I can’t believe it took me over a year to accept that no one was coming to save me.

So pathetic.

But I’ve come a long way since then. I’ve managed to push all memories of that year into the last corner of my mind, along with every happy moment I spent at Arcane, so that they couldn’t hurt me anymore. Wouldn’t hold me back.

I’ve never given my parents any kind of information, but they seemed too content to have finally broken me to complain.

I was just here.

Existing and acting according to their whims. Hanging on with only the need for revenge to keep me going.

Seeing Dustin again unlocked an old part of me.

A part that is now withering and writhing in pain as I replay the way his lifeless body dropped to the cold ground.

The memories I’ve locked away out of reach now bubble to the surface, and I wish they wouldn’t. Conversations I’ve had with Dustin flash through my mind, every memory he’s in playing at high speed.

Until a certain one comes along, that memory passes by painfully slowly.

I’m in the hallway of the academy and Dustin is rushing toward me.

I’m not alone though.

Keahi is with me. He’s standing so close that I can almost imagine the heat radiating from his body and the smell of his soap.

He’s grinning down at me, and my heart plummets.

I don’t want to see this memory, but it won’t leave now.

Dustin talks, but it’s inaudible. All my senses are focused on the tall boy in front of me and it’s like I’m my fifteen-year-old self again.

The me that was too blind to see what was right in front of her, too blind to realize what she felt for said boy.

Thinking back now, I feel differently.

I don’t want to hug him tightly anymore have him save me. I want to hold my dagger to his throat and see the fear in his eyes. I want to hurt him, really hurt him.

His pain couldn’t ever come close to what I’ve felt, but I would make it worth it.

I would make it even.