I stumbled backward, my body falling into the blackness as I skidded onto my bottom, reaching for anything to help me. My heart raced, the cold sweat of panic drenching my palms. Finally, my hand found the hilt of a sword buried in the back of a fallen soldier.
With a surge of adrenaline, I pulled the weapon free, the weight of it feeling strangely familiar in my grip. The blade gleamed dully in the dim light, a reminder of the chaos surrounding me. Shadows danced on the walls illuminated by flame, twisted faces of fear and determination reflecting my own inner turmoil.
As I crouched there, I could feel the heaviness in the air, the essence of loss mingling with the metallic scent of blood and despair. I had no training, no real experience with combat, yet in that moment, instinct took hold. I rose to my feet, sword poised before me as I scanned the darkness for any sign of movement. my arms screamed with the weight of the weapon i now gripped on to firmly in my hand. how did men swing these things awound as if they weighed nothing?
There was a chill in the air, the stillness before a storm, and I could hear whispers echoing from the depths, teasing at my thoughts. “You don’t belong here,” they seemed to hiss. But I couldn’t afford to listen. The weight of the sword felt empowering, urging me to push past my fear.
Taking a deep breath, I steadied myself and stepped deeper into the darkness. The world I had known—a place of nurturing and healing—seemed galaxies away.
Now all that was here was darkness and my rage-crazed sadistic mother, her presence a constant reminder of the chaos that enveloped my life. I felt powerless against her tempestuous nature, like a leaf caught in a storm, unable to find shelter from the fury she unleashed. Every sharp word pierced through the silence like a knife, and the shadows around us seemed to deepen, feeding on my fear and despair. What dreams to have, I often thought. Dreams of escape, of serenity, of a world untouched by her wrath. Yet those dreams felt futile, slipping further away each time I reached for them. I longed for a sense of normalcy, a fleeting glimpse of joy that remained maddeningly out of reach. Instead, I was trapped in a cycle of anguish and manipulation, where love was twisted into something unrecognizable.
Before I could delve deeper into the dreamscape I was trapped in, I found myself suddenly jolted awake, my heart pounding against my ribs as if trying to escape the nightmare. My hair clung to my forehead, soaked with sweat, and I instinctively wiped my damp palms against the plush velvet blue blanket on my bed, the Darksbane crest embossed in black and silver glaring at me like a taunt. Anger flared in my stomach, bubbling up like a pot nearing its boil.
Without thinking, I grabbed the blanket, twisting it tightly in my fists before hurling it into the corner of the room like a discarded reminder of everything I wanted to escape.
“Woah, we wake on the wrong side of the bed, did we?” a deep voice interrupted my thoughts. I turned my head to see Tynon Darksbane standing in the doorway, tall and imposing in his black and red robe. His grey eyes were cold and dead, mirroring the lines etched into his aged face.
“What are you doing here? You usually have better things to concern yourself with,” I shot back, my voice laced with bitterness. My irritation simmered beneath the surface, a mix of resentment and the frustration of feeling like I was living in someone else's story.
He stepped further inside, not bothering to mask the smirk creeping onto his lips. It was infuriating how he carried himself with such arrogance, as if he owned every shadow that danced across the room.
“I heard the delightful sounds of your restlessness,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery. “Such a vivid imagination you have. But remember, you have responsibilities now. The syndicate doesn't wait for anyone, least of all you.”
“Responsibilities? Or shackles?” I retorted, feeling the weight of his expectations pressing down on me. “You can’t simply dictate what my life should be. I’m not my father or rather i am not you, Tynon.”
A flicker of annoyance crossed his features, but he quickly masked it with a wave of his hand. “That’s where you’re wrong, my dear. You are every bit a Darksbane. You may not see it yet, but you will embrace this position in your life whether you like it or not.”
His presence felt suffocating, a reminder that no matter how hard I tried to distance myself from this god forsaken family, the name loomed over me like a dark cloud. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. I refused to let him see my turmoil.
“You aren’t the one who has to live with this,” I shot back, my voice stronger this time, though my heart raced. “You don’t get to dictate what I’ll become. what choices i make or who i will be.”
His laugh was low and threatening. “I’ll believe that when I see it. You may think you’re unique in your desires, but the shadows don’t care for whims. They demand loyalty, dedication... discipline.”
With that, he turned on his heel, the fabric of his robe sweeping dramatically as he left the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I sank back against the headboard. fuck my life.
one thing was certain: Tynon's word was law. Abraxes and I had no chance of beating him... not one. The weight of his decisions loomed over us like a veil, and every option felt trapped behind a wall of inevitability.
Abraxes, his fierce loyalty overshadowed by an equal measure of frustration, used the bond to pull me in to the spiritual realm, his eyes filled with unspoken questions. Did he feel the same helplessness I did? We were caught in a web spun by someone who wielded power without any regard for our desires.
It wasn’t just about the legacy; it was about identity, purpose, and the relentless weight of the choices made for us. I longed for the autonomy to define myself, free from Tynon’s influence and expectations, but my life felt predetermined...as if i no choice i made was my own..
Abraxes took a deep breath, grounding himself as if he was trying to summon the strength we both lacked as he scanned the spiritual plane. “We can’t just let him dictate our futures,” he said, his voice low but firm. “There has to be a way out of this.”
His determination ignited a flicker of hope within me, but I couldn’t shake the heaviness that clung to me. What if our attempts to defy him only ended in further despair? The thought pressed down on me like the encroaching fog, suffocating and oppressive.
We stood on the edge of Tynon’s world, teetering between compliance and rebellion, and I knew that whatever path we chose, the consequences would be profound. " if we fight back...if we fight back he will kill us without thought. right now, even as we sit inside a meditative plane that is within our combined mind...i am still exposed to whatever is outside our head" i placed my head in my hands " i never even wanted this life..."
abraxes tapped my forehead and allowed me to return to my room away from the spiritual plane, humans could not be there long. it was a place for demons to exist.
I got out of bed, the cool air hitting my skin as I reached for my tight-fitting black cotton pants. They felt familiar and restrictive. After pulling them on, I grabbed my shirt, which had to be retied around my ribs to expose my belly. It was the only way it would fit properly without becoming a hazard during combat training.
Once that was settled, I slipped on my knee and elbow guards, each molded to my size and shape, providing a sense of security even as I grappled with the anxiety swirling in my chest. The guards felt heavy in a way that reassured me; they were a layer of protection against the world I was about to face. I tied on my belt, securing my sheaths in place—each one representing the skills I was expected to hone and master.
As I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I couldn't help but grimace at the reflection. The black fabric clung to me, a stark contrast to the colorful colors of the apothecry acadamy. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. Today wasn't just about donning this uniform; it was about stepping into a role that felt so foreign to me. I needed to remind myself that beneath this uniform I still had a choice—even if it felt buried deep within.
I felt like I was going to be sick as I slipped my daggers into each sheath around the back of my ribs, my thighs, and my waist. The familiar weight of the blades settled into place. My two swords, lightweight yet powerful, found their home across my back. They once belonged to my father, and in this moment, they felt like the only tangible piece of him I had left.
As I strapped them on, a part of me felt a bittersweet comfort. The swords were more than just weapons; they were a connection to the man who had shaped my family's path. in the dim light of the tower bedroom I stood there, every sheath and strap tightening around me,this uniform felt suffocating...much like the love my father expressed for me in his journal he left behind.
It felt right to keep these weapons as my own, to bear them with pride, but the war inside me raged on. I wanted to honor my father's memory while forging my own identity. With each dagger and sword that found its place, I grappled with the urge to throw them all to the ground and run. These blades, meant for taking life, clashed with my heart, which yearned to nurture and heal.
As I adjusted the weapons one last time, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a polished surface nearby. The stark black of my uniform clashed sharply against the gleam of my father’s swords. I looked like a warrior, yet inside, I felt anything but—lost, confused, and terrified of the path I was stepping onto. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself before turning to my bedroom door.
I stepped into the hallway, the musty scent of old stone mildew and moss enveloping me like a heavy cloak. The deep red carpet stretched along the floor, a stark contrast to the gray stone walls that surrounded me. As I walked further, it became apparent that I had been assigned to a section of the academy that carried a weight of its own—the Darksbane Wing.
Portraits of my ancestors lined the walls, their eyes seeming to follow me, scrutinizing my every move. Each frame captured a figure cloaked in shadow, proud and formidable, bearing the legacy of a lineage steeped in secrecy and power. Their stern expressions felt like a silent admonishment, a reminder of the role I was meant and born to fulfill. I could almost hear their whispers: "What have you done to honor our name?"
The air grew heavier with the history that clung to the stones, and I felt the tightness in my chest return. Being a Darksbane was supposed to mean something great, yet all I felt was anxiety. I glanced at one of the portraits, a figure draped in dark attire, his eyes a piercing shade of blue that mirrored my own. He had achieved greatness, forged paths in the shadows, yet here I was, grappling with my insecurities and a sense of unfamiliarity with the very legacy he helped build. father.
As I made my way down the hall, the rich colors of the carpet seemed to fade under the weight of my thoughts. What would they think of me? A mere caretaker who found my place nurturing plants and reading books instead of thriving in the darker arts? I could almost hear their disdain echoing off the stone walls.
I stopped for a moment, closing my eyes and inhaling the damp, earthy scent that reminded me of home. Here, among these ancestral shadows, I felt small and lost...
The legacy they built was beautiful and terrifying, a tapestry interwoven with triumphs and defeats. But as I hovered in the doorway, I realized this was my legacy too, i needed only reach out and take it...accept who i am. i touched my fathers portrait reading the words egraved upon the bottom when the shadows bore down upon me striking my heart with terror i rose up and said i have no fear for the path i walk" no fear...i wish i was like you, im afraid of everything.
i did not hear his footsteps approaching i didnt see him come down the hallway at all. but here he was in all his beautiful glory, azune stone.
His face was cold as usual, but this time I couldn't help but appreciate the way his cut jawline and flawlessly shaped lips—albeit on the thinner side—caught the light. He glared down at me with that silver starlight gaze that seemed to penetrate my very being. "You're late, Darksbane. Look, I get that madness runs strong in your veins, but talking to paintings, man? That’s a new one. Do they respond back?"
His mockery stoked a fire of anger within me, and I clenched my fists, forcing myself to shove it down until it simmered in my stomach. I managed to grin at him through tight lips, the tension crackling in the air between us. “No, usually they just order me around. I guess they’re a lot like you, huh?”
The sharp retort hung in the space between us, my frustration a palpable force that made the air heavier. I met his gaze unwaveringly, daring him to push me further. There was something about this game between us that both infuriated and exhilarated me, like walking a tightrope over a yawning chasm.
Azune's eyes met mine with a challenge, narrowing as he said, "Shut up and do as you’re told, Darksbane. I get you think you’re goddamn royalty, but there are rules that must be followed. The Academy makes no exceptions for anyone, including you." He sneered before turning on his heel and disappearing into a shimmer of light.
I blinked, momentarily stunned. What just happened? The way he dismissed me, it felt like a punch to the gut. The shimmering image of him fading away left a strange heaviness in the air, mixing with the vibrant colors swirling around me.
As I stood there, confusion wrapped tightly around my thoughts. Who did he think he was? Sure, I carried my family’s name, but that didn't give him the right to treat me like this.
I sighed, feeling like I could breathe for the first time since I saw his beautiful face. I get that he was trying to kill me, but did he have to be so attractive? It was infuriating. Every time I locked eyes with him, a rush of conflicting emotions surged within me. There I was, trying to stay alive, and yet my thoughts kept drifting to the way his dark hair fell perfectly over his brow or the intensity of his gaze that seemed to pierce through me.
It was like a cruel joke—pursueing someone who looked like he walked straight out of my dreams. I shook my head, trying to discard the thoughts that threatened to distract me. I had to focus on survival, not fantasies about what a relationship with an assassin might look like. Every heartbeat was a reminder that he was dangerous, yet here i was practically drooling at the sight of him, pathetic
I had to keep reminding myself that I needed to stay on guard. Looks could be deceiving, and behind that handsome exterior lay someone trained to eliminate threats—like me. But how could I let go of the spark of curiosity that ignited each time we crossed paths? It was maddening.
I forced my attention back to the task at hand. I had to outsmart him. Looks aside, I couldn’t afford to let my feelings compromise my instincts. After all, beauty could easily conceal a deadly intent. And right now, the last thing i needed was a pretty distraction.
I headed down the stairs, keeping my gaze fixed on the floor as I made my way to the backyard. The trees loomed overhead, their branches creating a canopy that shielded most of the sunlight, casting a dim light over the clearing. I joined the rest of my class for combat pairings, feeling a mix of trepidation and resignation.
Sparring first thing in the morning? They really wanted us battle-ready. My heart raced as I surveyed the scene—students warming up, nervously chatting, each one eager to prove themselves. kaliegh stood by the edge of the chalk drawn circle in the center of the makeshift training area.
Kaleigh looked as though she was vibrating with excitement as I approached her. "You good?" I asked, a giggle escaping my lips. She looked back at me with a grin, her enthusiasm palpable.
"Hell yeah! For initiates, the first thing they like to test is our combat abilities. I’ve been waiting for this for what feels like an eternity..." Her smile faltered as she glanced at me, and the bright spark in her eyes dimmed.
"Shit, Kiri... I’m sorry, I didn’t realize. That must have sounded so insensitive."
I waved her off, trying to shake off the heaviness that had settled in my stomach. "It's fine, really," I reassured her, though my heart felt heavy at the thought of what this training would entail. "You do your thing. I’m just...processing."
Kaleigh nodded, her expression softening with understanding. "I get it, you were never trained to fight."
I held my hand up, cutting her off. "I was not taught to kill. My grandfather made sure I could at least defend myself." I smiled, attempting to mask the trepidation bubbling beneath the surface.
But the truth was, as I watched the other students sparring with skill and confidence, a knot of fear tightened in my stomach. They moved with a fluidity that I could only dream of, their bodies honed and ready for the challenges ahead. My attempts at self-defense felt clumsy in comparison, and the realization that I was stepping into a world filled with lethal intent sent a shiver down my spine.
"Just remember," Kaleigh said, her voice steady, "it's not just about fighting. Everyone has their own strengths. You have your alchemy—your ability to nurture and heal. That’s powerful in its own right."
I nodded, trying to hold onto that hope, but the doubts gnawed at me. What good was healing when the world around me was built on shadows and blades? I lacked the confidence of my peers, the innate fire that drove them forward.
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