Voice in the Maelstrom
Frill was lost within the maelstrom.
In front of her was Liona, sitting there on the tree with an axe in her chest. Between them was a shadow silently laughing its heart out while pointing at her sister. Frill got up and punched it, and the entire illusion blurred into smokey tendrils that wrapped around her.
The world turned bleak, darkened by heavy rainfall. In front of Frill was a younger Liona who cried devasted and defeated in front of her yuma pup. There was not even a moment to name it as it perished under the weight of hostile meiyal pressure. A memory from when the Nightmare Lands invaded from the west of Irista Nation, drenching the gardens and flowers of Westleaf in blood and burning the rest with fire.
The pup had died right as it was to bond with her little sister. With the help of the Order of the Void, they fended off the invasion, but the two sisters didn’t speak with each other for weeks. Liona had blamed Frill for the pup’s death.
In truth, they were green. Too young, too weak. Frill had vowed then to become stronger.
Her surroundings returned to smoke once more and transformed into a familiar training facility. A wide space with a tall ceiling fully equipped with various gears, training paraphernalia, target dummies, and other whatnots specifically purposed for use of ten to twenty training practitioners at the same time. There was currently no one else, save for the present Frill and the past Liona.
Liona was drenched in sweat, exhausted and smoking under Art fatigue.
“Not enough,” she murmured in between deep breaths. Sparks formed from her meiyal core; its marks never advanced since she unsealed fifteen of them at age ten.
Frill encouraged her sister from the veiled distance. She had never seen this memory, but she knew this was when she learned how to fly. Inspired by an unnamed Meiyal Art that Katherine showed them once, Liona had locked herself in a training facility for days after she debated with her mentors and teachers for specialized permission.
They never knew the name Katherine gave to her flight Meiyal Art, but names were only secondary. The pattern, the image, and Drawing the Art itself were more important.
She observed her sister struggle for hours. On some attempts, Liona floated for a few seconds before collapsing on the floor, most attempts the Art fizzled out before it could be even fully Drawn.
When Art fatigue fully broke Liona’s concentration, she fell on all fours.
Frill heard the soft sobs that gradually turned into a full cry of frustration. She saw her sister slam her fist repeatedly on the floor while she screamed.
Frill couldn’t understand it.
“I don’t want to be normal,” Liona said in a desperate whisper. “I don’t want to be left behind.”
As Liona cried herself to sleep right then and there, Frill was dragged away by the smoke once again.
They were in Minaveil Manor now, in Minaveil. Frill sat beside a younger version of herself sleeping soundly underneath some cozy blankets. On the opposite side was Liona, sitting upright on her bed observing her sister.
For one hopeful anxious moment, Frill thought her sister was looking directly at the present her.
Liona smiled and sneakily got out of bed. She tiptoed out of the room, silent as if the old creeks of the manor itself permitted her this freedom of the night.
Frill followed curiously. She never knew this rebellious side of her sister.
Liona, now with the mastery of flight on her side, floated like a ghost and made her way into the kitchen. She sneaked an apple inside her Spatiera and proceeded to go outside.
The purple glow of the evening sky accentuated Liona’s evening clothes as Frill observed her take flight.
Liona flew freely into the night sky and Frill was forced to follow. They ventured on to the clouds, higher than what the Aviation Laws permitted, even higher still that it scared even Frill.
If legend was to be believed, they had touched the realm of where the dragons ruled the skies.
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But all Frill saw was the beauty of the starry sky, the mesmerizing moons, and her sister enjoying a kind of freedom most people would never gain access to as they both fell and rose at the sway of Liona’s whims.
Everything went to black.
Frill found herself lost within the maelstrom once more.
She blinked and found Liona, sitting lifelessly on the tree, an axe imbedded through her chest. Between them was a shadow, no longer laughing. Instead, it stared at Frill.
Then it smiled and picked up the axe. It approached the Aria in Red, dragging the axe lazily along the ground. The grating sounds of metal scratching upon barren dirt assaulted Frill’s ears more than it should, as if sounds of incomprehensible screaming threatened to destroy her eardrums.
As the shadow heaved the axe overhead, Frill realized she was unable to move, sitting helplessly with only a tree to serve stability.
The shadow swung right down her chest and blood gushed into Frill’s view.
Again, and again, and again, the shadow swung in manic silence while Frill was forced to see herself being torn apart. There was no pain, but as soon as she realized this, she felt a jolt and found herself thrown back into a different perspective.
The shadow didn’t cleave her repeatedly in a maddened frenzy; it was Liona.
Frill shot off the ground and attacked the shadow, but it dispersed into nothingness, leaving the axe where it belonged, lodged deep within her dead sister.
Come back, Frill pleaded.
She screamed with nothing but silence. She could see nothing but darkness. She could feel nothing but numbness. She could hear nothing…but a voice in the maelstrom.
“She died because you’re too weak,” the voice whispered. Frill stopped her mute screaming and listened, wondering where it came from.
“You’re so weak, you won’t be able to protect the Princess. Soon, she will die, too.”
“Who are you? What do you want?” Frill asked, her rage aggravating the maelstrom. She did not feel her voice coming out of her breath, but the sound of her words echoed inside her head. She sounded coarse, as if she had done nothing but scream the entire time. The taste of iron filled her senses as she swallowed, and a sudden shot of pain slicing down her throat only fed to her anger.
The voice responded with laughter, one that started from a low chuckle to an outright guffaw.
“I am you, Frill Veli. I am your past, your present, and your future. I hold within me your real strength.
“Become one with me.
“Become your true self, Frill.
“And together we will tear them all apart. Those that killed your sister. Those that threaten your Princess. Those that will take away from you what is precious to us. We shall sunder them all, break their lands, devour their seas, eradicate their air. With me...
“You will become this world.
“Please…before it’s too—”
“FRILL!”
Frill’s eyes opened in a rage and pushed down whoever it was that interrupted her trance.
She didn’t recognize who it was, but the instinct to defend herself didn’t last long. A certain weight slid off from her lap, pulling awkwardly on her battle gear.
She looked down.
Her grip on the stranger clamped with hate as she looked at her dead sister lying lifelessly between them.
“Calm down, Frill,” said the stranger. “Stop reforming the maelstrom, you’re going to carve the mountain!”
“Who are you?” Frill exclaimed, surprised to hear her own voice, more so in its hoarseness.
“I’m Frein. Your people call me the Visitor. You need to stop or people will die!” He was covered with bruises and wounds, and his foreign clothes barely shielded his upper body from the maelstrom. “Your brother is dying from trying to save you!”
Frill panicked out of sync and the maelstrom disappeared. The rapid unlocking of her meiyal marks stopped. She could feel them resealing themselves, leaving only sixty-seven.
Her hands moved away from the stranger and held Liona. Tears formed in her eyes. She stayed there on her knees, crying, unsure of what to do next.
A moment later, a hand touched her shoulder. “Frill.”
Frill recognized Princess Kristel’s voice. She didn’t turn. She couldn’t. Kristel forced to meet her eye to eye.
“I couldn’t save her,” she said, her voice now barely a whisper. Every word was painful both physically and emotionally. Frill’s tears fell out of control.
The Princess enclosed her servant within her arms as her own tears began to flow. “This isn’t your fault, Frill. If you want to blame someone, blame me.”
Frill wanted to. If the Princess had only accepted Royal Guard Tryvinal’s proposal in the first place, they would’ve had more soldiers, the war would’ve been won a lot sooner, and Liona did not have to die. Her thoughts raced with anger. She could blame the Princess for a thousand reasons and yet, Liona’s voice prevented her from doing so.
Protect the Princess.
At that, Frill found her peace. She found a reason to stoke her hatred and keep it deep inside her heart, blazed in a furious calm. There was strength within her, the voice itself said so.
She had always known she was special, a Seeker candidate like Katherine, on par with strength and Meiyal Arts with a Lady of the Void. She would gather her strength, direct it at Liona’s murderer, then she will find retribution.
Vengeance.
There was no need to blame the Princess. Someone else was at fault, and they will pay dearly.
“For when you finally find her killer, you will, without a doubt, accept my offer. And I’ll be here, waiting for that moment.”
“Don’t listen to it, Frill,” Kristel’s whispers brought her back to her senses. “Don’t let it consume you.”
Frill didn’t understand how the Princess knew about the voice, but it was clear she had knowledge of it.
“I’ll explain to you in time.” Kristel stood up, her expression desperately hiding any sort of emotion. “For now, we should go home.”
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