Seijuro Aston’s Apartment
“It already begun…”
Kuro is not surprised to find Seijuro up and ready, her voice filling the dim apartment as soon he steps into it.
“…Of course they’re making a show out of it,” she murmurs.
Standing against the large window showcasing the beginning of sunrise over a still dark city, Seijuro stares at several dozen holographic screens hovering in front of her, each one tuned into a different news outlet.
Many whispering voices, male and female, drift through the room’s cold air as Kuro slowly approaches his princess, noticing the smiling and excited faces of reporters on duty across the country.
“Do you think my father ordered them to?”
“I doubt he needed to. Fat chance they’d miss on something this big.”
After another moment of glancing in between screens, Seijuro finally looks over her shoulder, acknowledging his presence.
“Hi.”
“Morning,” Kuro greets with a short nod. “What’s the plan?”
“The plan? For now, I’ll play his stupid game… What other choice do I have?”
Kuro nods. “You know, now that you’ve calmed down, driving by his office to clarify things might not be a bad idea.”
Seijuro smiles, her eyes shining dangerously. “Calmed down…?”
“…Or maybe not.”
With a wave of her hand, Seijuro dismisses the screens hovering around her, downing the apartment in short-lived darkness before the sun finally extends its first rays over the horizon, gradually painting the world its blazing colors.
“It’s time. Let’s go.”
Sunlight shines against the princess’s red and black kimono as she walks past Kuro, her steps as decisive as they’ve ever been… Or, at least, they seemed so, until Seijuro pauses mid-step to give a hesitant glance over her shoulder, black eyes glinting under the light.
“Kuro…”
“Something wrong?”
Kuro realizes the absurdity of his question too late, faced with the instant spark of irony conveyed by Seijuro’s expression.
“Everything’s wrong, you idiot.”
Kuro sighs, containing himself from stepping in her direction by clenching his fists at his side. After what happened the previous day, he would be a fool to continue playing with fire when neither of them can afford to develop feelings for each other… Perhaps after things have calmed down, he’ll be able to have a conversation with her?
“Of course. Sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” Seijuro murmurs, averting her gaze as she laughs bitterly and shakes her head. “It’s not even my father’s fault, as much as I like to pretend otherwise. I was just born in this shit… Which I suppose does make it his fault, after all.”
Damn it all. He’d help her… They’d run… And then what? The chips inside their brains would never allow them to truly escape.
Get a grip, you idiot. It’d never work.
“And if you did have a choice…?”
Seijuro’s gaze snaps toward Kuro as she frowns, searching his expression for signs of mockery but finding none.
“Don’t be stupid. Daydreaming is for children-”
“And for princesses,” Kuro interrupts, allowing himself his usual teasing smile despite the warning given by a small voice on the back of his head. “It can’t exactly hurt, right?”
Gradually, Seijuro’s glare loses its strength.
“…Right,” the princess murmurs while lowering her gaze thoughtfully. “If I had I choice… If I was anyone else… I guess I’d be a stylist… I’d travel the world and create fashion for every different culture out there… Stupid, right?”
Kuro forces himself to swallow. To breath. And to not move.
Would she take him? Would she want to?
“It’s not stupid; It’s a dream. Most people tend to have one of those, ya know? Doesn’t mean you’re weak, Seijuro.”
“Maybe.” Seijuro raises her eyes, now as vulnerable and open as Kuro has ever seen them, to give him a look full of anticipation. “It still doesn’t change shit,” she murmurs softly.
“No. No, I suppose it doesn’t.”
“And what about you? Where would you rather be?”
A couple steps forward.
Under the princess’s sun-illumined eyes, Kuro smiles, then shrugs. “I’m afraid I’m not exactly a child anymore, Your Highness, but… I miss the food back home sometimes.”
“Really? That’s it? I don’t believe you. There must be something you want more than food.”
No shit.
Kuro shrugs again, suddenly very much aware of his lack of eloquence as he averts his eyes from hers. “Food might not mean much to people here, but from where I came from… It was a dream of mine as a child to have three meals a day. A dream I turned into a goal, something I… Did things for, before your grandfather found me. Nothing has ever tasted the same.”
“Yukio…”
Kuro, Nagamine Yukio, nearly jumps away from the princess's soft touch against his shoulder and down his arm, stopping himself just short of pushing her away once their eyes meet, and he blinks, shocked.
Yukio recalls having revealed his real name to her when they first met, but it was so long ago… She was basically a child then, and he…
He was seventeen, entering a foreign country for the first time to watch over some spoiled kid. His master’s granddaughter. He remembers feeling disgraced; for someone of his skill and potential, to rot away “protecting” a brat at the heart of the safest place on the planet… And then he saw her. Eyes that reminded him of his own, older than they should’ve been.
“Who are you?”
“Your new babysitter.”
The girl rolled her eyes. “I know that. I mean, what’s your name? Where did you come from?”
“My name?” Kuro blinked. “Doesn’t matter. Everybody calls me Kuro; it’s good enough.”
“How come you speak my language so well?”
“I speak three languages. My old job took me places. Now shush; I’m not paid to answer stupid questions.”
“If you’re going to guard my life, then I’d at least like to know your name. I’m Seijuro; Seijuro Aston.”
Kuro stared down at the girl’s curtsy, wondering if this was another of his master’s elaborated pranks; He never thought he’d wish for the old man to come out of some corner laughing.
“Listen, let me make something clear, Miss Aston; Your father gave me explicit orders to stay in alert at all times, both against external threats and against you. You are to not leave this room, and I am not to listen to your whims. Got it?”
Seijuro shrugged. “He’s afraid I’ll run away to see mom again. Apparently, breaking the nose of one of his dogs when she tried to stand in my way was ‘crossing the line’… In my opinion, the fact I’m not allowed to see my own mother, possibly in her death bed, crosses its own type of line.”
“Not my problem.”
The girl narrowed her eyes at him, a sudden mix of surprise and suppressed rage taking over her previously calm expression. “You really don’t care, do you? Everybody here walks on eggs around me since… Well, since I can remember, actually. How… Refreshing. Then what about this? I can see you want to be here about as much as I do, so why don’t you step away from the door, and I’ll consider not breaking your nose?”
Some sort of joke. It had to be.
Kuro sighed. “I thought they were joking when they said you might attack me… It brings me no pleasure to bully the weak, Princess, but by all means, come at me if it’ll make you feel better.”
“Weak? Certainly, you jest?”
Seijuro cocked her head, apparently incredulous at the fact he called her weak.
A second sigh.
His patience was rapidly fading.
“How old are you?” Seijuro asked, indignation now dripping from her voice. “You can’t be much older than me.”
Even if they were the same age, he’d still win. But Kuro didn’t bother explaining himself; instead, he pointedly focused his gaze somewhere above the girl’s head, hoping she’d take the hint.
“Fine then.”
And then, she attacked him.
“Nagamine Yukio,” he told the girl laying on the ground, exhausted after her countless attempts at hurling herself at him. “Remember well, because I won’t say it again. Now, we could keep at it for the rest of the night… Or until you accept the fact neither of us is going anywhere anytime soon.”
The girl stared at him, panting and nearly drenched by her own sweat. She was obviously shocked, but apparently not shocked enough to not give him the middle finger.
“F-fine, dumbass! F-fuck you, I’m never calling you anything other than Kuro!”
“…Kuro?”
Abruptly snapping back to reality, Kuro’s focus shifts to Seijuro’s slightly concerned expression; And the fact she’s still very much touching his shoulder.
Did he imagine it?
“Did you just…?”
“Call you by your real name? Sorry. I had a sudden urge to… I wasn’t sure I remembered it correctly.”
“I can’t believe you did.”
Lowering her arm, Seijuro raises her eyebrow, smiling mischievously. “Is it so hard to believe I remembered my first?”
Kuro feels the color draining from his face, much to Seijuro’s amusement, who rolls her eyes.
“My first real defeat against someone close to my age, idiot. You don’t need to act as if the thought gave you fuel for a month of nightmares.”
“Your-”
“Father would’ve executed you. Yes, I’m aware. But I’m not a child anymore.”
Seijuro stares at him almost defiantly, daring him to deny the fact, as Kuro’s heart thunders against his chest. He might be able to contain himself from approaching her, but if she starts something on her own…
Gods have mercy on his soul.
Well, he was never afraid of death, now, was he? Life in Fioro must’ve made him soft.
“We should go,” Kuro speaks, breaking the charged silence in between them, “It wouldn’t do to keep your opponent’s waiting…”
“Right. Kuro, I…”
Against his better judgment, Kuro pauses after a single step, meeting the princess’s eyes again, now even closer than before, since he intended to walk past her.
Seijuro’s nervous expression, however, quickly shifts his attention from his emotions to hers.
“What’s wrong?” Kuro asks, grabbing Seijuro’s shoulder once she doesn’t immediately reply, lowering her gaze instead.
“Kuro, I… I don’t think… I don’t know if I can do this.”
Kuro frowns. “Seijuro…”
“No, you don’t understand!” Seijuro snaps, breaking free from his grip as she abruptly jerks her shoulder and steps away.
Kuro stares at his open hand in the air, stunned. Tears stream down Seijuro’s expression, nonetheless, her glare seems to cut the air in between them.
“Yesterday, everybody thought I had lost it completely… But the truth is, I don’t think I ever had it together to begin with. I wanted to scream. I wanted you to fight me. I wanted… I want to break their little bubbles of delusion and show everybody the real Seijuro! I don’t think I can walk in there with a smile on my face… I don’t want to. I hate them all and I hate this country and I hate the fact I have to pretend otherwise!”
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Her voice having neared a scream, Seijuro clenches her teeth after her outburst, daring Kuro to criticize her for losing her cool as her father would’ve undoubtedly done.
“You’ve already decided on something, haven’t you?” Kuro deducts, knowing she wouldn’t have mentioned anything otherwise.
Seijuro smiles, seemingly unconcerned by the untouched trail of tears still present over her expression. “My father wants to give our dear citizens a show? Fine. I shall give them their show…”
***
Sara Palmer’s Home
Sara stares at the box in her hands, mixed feelings clouding her thoughts. Her joints are white, her fingers having refused to move for several minutes already. But she needs to make a decision, soon.
The festival is about to start.
“Eight, four… Five, nine…” the girl murmurs almost as if in prayer, before slowly dropping the contents of the open box - many small pieces of paper - into the kitchen incinerator, which quickly lights in bright orange, instantly erasing the fragile material pieces.
She won’t forget, Sara swears, as footsteps begin to climb down the staircase at her back, neither loud nor low.
“Up already? I was about to call out to you!”
“Important day!” Sara replies, quickly wiping her tears – and replacing them with a smile - before Isobel could notice she was crying.
The older woman throws Sara a dubious look as she descends, inspecting the girl’s tidy outfit and combed hair. “That never stopped you from oversleeping before. Does this have something to do with this Uh-ren?”
Leaning against the counter, Sara rolls her eyes and shrugs. “Kinda. Do you care?”
“Of course! I know both of you went out again last night. I might be old, but I’m not stupid, Sara. And you’re still my girl, remember that.”
Isobel’s gaze is sharp as she walks by Sara and begins her morning routine, throwing the empty metal box over the counter no more than a curious glance.
Sara is glad her mother decided not to ask about it, though before she could truly relax, she notices a couple of eggs in Isobel’s hands once they come out of their freezer, and the whistled tune she produces as she waggles across the kitchen.
“Eh… I already ate, actually!”
“You’re a terrible liar. Don’t worry, I’ll use the auto today,” Isobel reassures, begrudgingly putting back the frying pan she was about to grab.
“In that case, I hope you didn’t assume this would be enough for both of us because I’m starving.”
Rolling her eyes, Isobel grabs another egg from the freezer, walking by Sara again as she heads for a large metallic machine taking over most of the kitchen wall it stands attached to.
“Fried Eggs and Bacon, please!” Isobel speaks in the machine’s direction, her tone slightly exasperated.
Almost immediately, a small compartment opens itself, where Isobel deposits the eggs with a sigh.
“You think there’s still bacon in there?” Sara asks.
“I put in some last night.”
“I’ll never understand why you hate it so much.”
“The food is always so bland and perfect…”
Better than burned.
“You know you can adjust the settings, right? To put on more seasoning?”
“I know, Sara. It’s just...” Isobel shakes her head. “It makes me uncomfortable to eat something made by a machine.”
“Wait, really? That’s the reason why?”
“I know it’s stupid, and that you hate my food. I’m sorry, I tried to learn how to cook but…”
Smiling, Sara approaches Isobel from behind as she pours them glasses of milk, tenderly wrapping her arms around the older woman. “And I tried eating your ‘cooking’; Guess it didn’t work out for either of us.”
“A hug? From my own daughter?! The world must be ending!”
“Don’t make me regret it,” Sara murmurs, jokingly, as Isobel squeezes her hand, laughing softly.
“I’d die happy, Sara. Never forget that.”
With a sigh, Sara releases Isobel as she leans next to her, rolling her eyes as she grabs her own glass. “You’re so dramatic. People would think I’ve never hugged you before.”
“You distanced yourself from me, sweety,” Isobel speaks, producing a roll of eyes of her own, despite the seriousness in her voice. “You made it quite obvious, in fact. Isobel this, Isobel that…”
Faced with her mother’s accusatory yet hurt gaze, Sara winces. “Sorry, Mom. I was a brat to you, and it wasn’t fair of me.”
“You’re right, it wasn’t fair. But I understand why you did it; I knew it was going to happen one day. I’m honestly thankful you still consider me your mother-”
“Stop! You are my mother. My real mother. Never doubt that, no matter who says otherwise.”
Sara stares into Isobel’s tender eyes with conviction, hoping her mother will understand how much she means to her; despite the rough relationship they shared over the ears.
“Even you?” Isobel asks, tears clouding her words no different than they cloud her eyes.
“Even me!” Sara confirms without hesitation, forcing herself not to avert her gaze.
Sara can tell Isobel wants to go for another hug, but since they’re both holding glasses of milk, the woman smiles through her tears and offers her cup for a clink instead.
“I’ll hold you to that, young lady!”
“You better!”
After clinking cups, both of them laugh and drink, disregarding their tears.
“Now tell me: How was your date with this Uh-ren?”
“Actually, I just remembered I’m supposed to arrive earlier today!”
“Sara, wait! You’re forgetting-”
“Bye Mom!”
“…Breakfast.”
***
Beatrice Swain’s Apartment
Beatrice stares at herself in the mirror with a mix of panic and fascination. She’s pretty; More than pretty, in fact. Her body is small, but perfectly symmetric, shaped by curves in the right places and in the right sizes. Her features, despite being young, already resemble in much the innocent perfection both her mother and sister convey.
“Aa long as they have eyes,” Beatrice mutters to herself while doing a small swirl to check her new dress from behind. “My appearance shouldn’t be an issue.”
Still, her own words do little to slow Beatrice’s fast-beating heart; Just like her appearance will do little to help today, if they dislike her music.
She had no time to rehearse, but her competitors should be in the same position. The event was announced last minute, and little other than the basic is expected from the students who are going to participate; At least, that’s what Beatrice managed to gather from the Community during the previous night, after failing to fall asleep for several hours.
Duncan said he didn’t expect her to win; Only to make a decent showing. Fuck him. She’s going to destroy anyone foolish enough to step onto the same stage as her. Make their heads hang in shame, and their eyes glow with envy.
After all, she is Beatrice Swain, and she was born to shine.
***
Earth In Words Institute, Melinda Cornell’s Room
Melinda sits cross-legged on the floor of her room with her eyes closed.
Breathing in. Breathing out.
One shaky breath at a time.
Anxiety? Excitement?
She’ll be there… And she’ll fight.
Nothing else matters.
Melinda knows she should calm herself; She has been attempting to for the past half an hour already.
Gods, she’s as obsessed as Beatrice… Shaking over to the possibility of fighting Seijuro again, even when it isn’t necessarily certain they’ll meet in the ring today.
But they might. And then what?
Around Melinda, in the calm world of darkness she has created for herself, a mental image of Seijuro appears, standing in her usual fighting pose.
Seijuro is fast, she has always been. Certainly, she is faster than Melinda. Similarly, her technique is flawless, and she always maintains her cool throughout the match. However, if there were to be one area where the princess does not excel, it would be her physical strength.
An edge, the advantage Melinda might need in order to win.
Needless to say, she spent much of her time these past years working on her endurance and strength, hoping to create enough of a gap in between Seijuro’s physical strength and her own, all for this moment. Her body has become muscular, some might even say masculine, but as long as she can win, Melinda will have no regrets.
The day has finally come. In Melinda’s assessment, her chances are decent. One punch or kick is all she’s going to need.
One blow connected, and it’ll be over.
To be recognized in her eyes as an equal…
The image of Seijuro suddenly moves, striking with an open palm.
As water.
As thunder.
As wind.
How shall the princess choose to fight?
When she was younger, Seijuro was much more aggressive, using Roaring Thunder to strike her opponents fast and ferociously until they became a mess of limp limbs on the ground. It was impressive to watch; Scary, even.
But recently, Seijuro smiles before her matches; She controls them, and herself, utilizing Formless Water to put on whatever show her political agenda might demand.
Sickening.
Seijuro’s image suddenly kicks, flips in the air, and then kicks again as it falls down.
Its steps are hypnotically light, each movement perfectly controlled.
Melinda is well aware Seijuro never attacks randomly. No; Each step, each strike, is always a well-thought-out move, leading her opponent exactly as the princess wishes to.
Sometimes, she wishes to win; fast.
Sometimes, she wishes to win; slowly.
Sometimes, she wishes to draw.
Sometimes, she wishes to lose; barely…
Melinda frowns.
Damn monster.
No, if she’s going to win, truly win, Melinda will need a solid plan, something more than just randomly throwing punches and kicks, hoping one of them to connect.
She’ll need to break Seijuro’s flow and force her to fight on Melinda’s terms.
In front of Seijuro’s mental image, which suddenly stops moving, a similar copy of Melinda appears, readying itself.
The princess’s image cocks its head, calmly beckoning its new opponent as Melinda’s image dashes forward, front kicking viciously towards the standing image of Seijuro.
And, as easily as one might breathe, Seijuro sidesteps the kick, grabs Milanda’s leg, and pushes against her chest, bashing Melinda’s back against the ground, hard.
Abruptly, Melinda’s eyes shoot open, taking in the well-illuminated living room of her apartment. Her heart beats fast, and her expression showcases clearly her surprise… No, this can’t be right.
She trained, harder than anyone... It was all for this moment, for this day.
Is it possible the gap between them has only increased? When was the last time Seijuro was forced to fight seriously against an opponent?
Melinda clenches her teeth, forcibly closing her eyes once more.
No, she must have overestimated Seijuro’s abilities or underestimated her own.
Again, an image of Seijuro appears, surrounded by darkness.
Again, an image of Melinda appears, facing the fake princess.
This time, Melinda is careful, surrounding its opening while Seijuro merely watches, standing seemingly unconcerned as she waits for Melinda’s move.
Would the real Seijuro take the opportunity to attack against a hesitant opponent?
No, Melinda decides. She’d wait patiently, especially in front of a crowd; the princess cares far too much for her reputation to attempt a surprise attack.
However, a surprise attack of her own, and Melinda is most likely to end up instantly KOed again. She needs a new plan, a way to land a solid hit against Seijuro.
As such, Melinda continues her slow approach, knowing Seijuro will wait for her to strike first... Until, at four steps away, Melinda’s spine suddenly tingles, electricity traveling throughout her body even as Seijuro’s image remains obediently still, only its eyes following its approaching opponent.
A striking range of four steps?! Ridiculous!
And yet, despite her automatic denial, having watched the princess’s every match - and participated in so many spars herself - Melinda knows her instinctive deduction must be close to the truth. Considering Seijuro’s control and speed, no opponent within a full four steps of her position shall find safety, including Melinda.
“No worries, the first strike is still mine,” Melinda murmurs to herself soothingly, achieving moderate success at believing her own lie.
Three steps; Were Melinda to miss from this distance, she’ll never move away fast enough to leave Seijuro’s range before a counter-attack.
Two steps away, and both images suddenly freeze; Now well within Melinda’s own striking range.
A kick?
A punch?
Both too easily resulting in a dodge followed by a counter.
Which means…
Brusquely lowering her center of gravity, Melinda’s image charges against Seijuro’s, throwing its whole body forward and instantly closing the distance in between them.
What now?
Once more frozen in space, now at less than a step from Seijuro’s, Melinda’s image still has its guard up, covering anything Seijuro’s image might have been able to hit or grab in order to stop its charge.
Would the move be enough to surprise Seijuro in a real fight? Most likely not. Seijuro has fought against heavier opponents many times before… But hopefully, never against a heavy opponent as fast as Melinda (Discounting their spars, of course, where neither of them was really allowed to go all out).
Seijuro might not be surprised but the move itself, however, its speed will certainly catch her off-guard.
There’s no way she’ll be able to sidestep her charge completely from two steps away. NO. FUCKING. WAY.
Nonetheless, the princess's reaction would be far from slow. She would still have many options to decide from, during the half-second before Melinda’s body crashes against its target.
Melinda doubts her rival would panic. No, she’d probably…
Almost as if in fast mode, Seijuro’s image throws its weight back as it raises its elbow, visibly aimed toward Melinda’s approaching head…
Vicious.
And effective.
Were she not prepared, Melinda has no doubt her next moment of consciousness would be in a hospital bed, wondering why her head feels like it was split in two.
However, what if Melinda continued to go down at the last moment, aiming for the princess’s middle section with a shoulder tackle…? Her shoulders would protect her from a knee, and her head would be far too low to be hit seriously.
Bingo.
And now, avoiding the princess’s elbow, Melinda’s image lowers itself even further, tackling Seijuro’s stomach with most of her body weight, then stomping against the ground in order to stop, just short of falling.
You idiot! Who said it was over?!
Off-balance, and out of breath, Seijuro’s image still front kicks Melinda’s as she falls, barely missing its lowered head.
This is her chance. She’ll have mere moments to make use of Seijuro’s carelessness.
The princess’s image is falling, now completely out of balance after its kick, while Melinda’s is still ready to fight.
The most important moment.
Seijuro won’t stay still, she’ll roll away as soon as her back touches the ground, nearly instantly. And there Melinda will be, waiting for the perfect moment to strike; Just as the princess’s vision clears from her roll.
Now smiling - although covered in sweat and still shaking slightly - Melinda finally opens her eyes again.
Her plan is far from perfect, but it is enough to know there exists a world where she could hope to win; However meager and conditional her victory may be.
Just wait; I’ll still force you to recognize me.
“But first, another shower,” Melinda murmurs to herself, sighing.
***
Inner City, Uren Hoxha Juric’s Apartment
“You seem worried.”
Barely containing his grimace, Uren raises his gaze from his boots - leaving them still untied - to face his mentor. “Shouldn’t I?”
The older man crosses his large arms and then scratches his chin thoughtfully. “They still don’t know we were prepared for their little attempt at playing Gods, intended on taking advantage of it. It’ll catch them by surprise, and once the game has started, it’ll be far too late to stop us from winning.”
“Or maybe they’ve known of our intentions from the beginning!” Uren counters, snapping. “You underestimate them far too much!”
“Perhaps.” Oreo shrugs. “I have reason to believe their king has other matters at hand. He considers us a nuisance, nothing more. A nuisance among another thousand, hardly worthy of his attention.”
“He could crush us with a wave of his hand,” Uren points out, bitterly.
“And risk the death of a prince, a guest in his house, becoming international news?” Oreo counters while raising his eyebrow. “I think not. He’d want to deal with us quietly, under normal circumstances; But it so happens circumstances are far from normal, are they not?”
Uren sighs. “Maybe. I suppose it is far too late to return now. I did come prepared for the worst, and now we have no choice but to hope your plan does not fail us.”
Oreo smiles, a showing of teeth far from amicable. “I’m afraid our choices were not ideal from the start, boy. I thought you knew this. I thought you were prepared.”
Uren clenches his jaw, forcibly stopping the snappy retort at the tip of his tongue. “I know. And I am.”
“You think you are. Typical, for your age, but you’ll learn, in time. Let us hope not too late.”
Forsaking his untied boots, Uren raises to his mentor’s eyes level, facing the man’s calm gaze piercingly. “I am ready! I was born for this!”
“You were born for a life of privilege and comfort, as was your sister. Your father? He would have sent you away to safety after what happened to your brothers. I convinced him of the mistake it’d have been! Of the potential contained within your blood!” Oreo speaks passionately, closing his fist in the air without averting his eyes from Uren. “I expect much of you, and I see your potential, Uren. But I brought you here on a mission, not to chase after the first Elysium girl who crossed our way!”
“Sara is trustworthy. Leave her out of this.”
“Sara. Hah! She’ll yet be your downfall, boy, mark my words. She’ll stop you from doing what needs to be done, and condemn us all.”
“You’re wrong. I’ll do what needs to be done, no matter what.”
“And if they use her against you? What if achieving our objective comes to bring her harm?”
“When the time comes, I’ll do what needs to be done,” Uren repeats, unshaken by the other man’s firm gaze.
“You’ll break her heart.”
No just hers. It’ll break his own as well.
Uren shakes his head. “I do not wish so. But if a girl’s heart is the price I have to pay for the blood of my brethren, then so be it.”
Oreo laughs. “I’ll be honest, I was afraid being away had made you soft. Had caused you to forget what we left behind.”
“I forgot nothing.”
Oreo nods. “Good. Then prepare, steel your heart. Remember, they’re not from the same world as we. And when the time comes, do not hesitate.”
I’ll do what needs to be done, Uren repeats to himself once his mentor exits the room.
Memories seem to burn into his vision, replacing the image of his still untied boots, memories of blood and fire, of despair and rage.
No, he has not forgotten; No matter how much he has attempted to.
Sara… What a mess he has brought her into.