1, OKAMI:
“You two will be watching for assassins during your sister’s birthday, understood?”
Father’s voice booms throughout his office, the thunder outside a mere bark of a pup in comparison.
“Understood.” Virgil and I reply in unison.
It’s a strange order, you’d have to be properly fucked to even think about assassinating Celestina on our turf. Everyone working beneath this roof easily outmatches the average military office. That’s not even accounting for Celestina herself—217 confirmed kills at the age of sixteen, second only to our dad. If anything, he should’ve asked her to guard us. I can’t even count the number of people who want me dead.
“Also…” With a sigh, he runs his hand through his silver mane, casting a side-eye toward Virgil. “Please don’t make a fool of yourselves at the party.”
The subtlety in that comment is thinner than paper, both of us know what he meant and who it was meant for. Every chance he gets, Dad will pounce to remind Virgil how much of a failure he thinks he is. It isn’t a pleasant feeling for me either, like licking moss, not that I’ve ever done it… but I imagine it leaves behind a slimy and bitter texture on the tongue.
“Of course.” Virgil takes a bow low enough that it’s disrespectful. His lack of fear biting back at Dad is truly impressive, and for better or worse, it’s the one thing he can do that I can’t. “When have we ever disappointed you?”
The old man’s nostrils flare and a gust of wind ruffles our clothing. “You are dismissed. You as well, Okami.”
I take a less audacious bow, and the pair of us back out of the room through the towering spruce gates. A long-held breath escapes and the strain of keeping my spine straight fades.
It’s still early in the day, though you’d never be able to tell, as are most days in Kizytria – a blanket of clouds and industrial smog blot out the sun. The mansion’s corridors are dim, the only light filtering through the lanky glass panes from Panoptes Tower all the way in District 1
Playfully, I nudge Virgil’s arm. “Suicidal, are we?”
“Just a tad,” he replies with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his amber eyes. “What do you make of Father’s order?”
“Er…” My gaze flits over the guest list Dad had e-mailed me, and one name stands out like a beacon. “The Bear is attending.” Uttering the name is enough to make anyone with half a moral compass reach for tongue bleach. “Maybe Dad is worried about him.”
“He’d have to rally all of his ass-kissers for there to even be a chance to touch Celestina.”
True enough, even if the Bears are part of the Seven like us, Don Ursorvo would need to gather the entire underworld to stand on equal footing. But it still doesn’t sit right. Our two houses have been barely holding back our claws and fangs from tearing Kizytria apart for decades, and now they want to stroll into a party? Even more unsettling, Dad is letting them prance around our house for his star child’s sixteenth birthday.
“What could they be after…?” I mutter.
“Poison? Or maybe an antidote?”
“That’s the most reasonable thing.”
Apart from ancient swords and shiny goblets, the most valuable thing beneath this mansion's roof is our catalogue of poisons. From causing minor stomach pain to turning the brain into a paste – anything to complete any mission.
But why would the Bear need a mere vial of poison when he could, in every sense, delete an entire noble house with the snap of his fingers? The only ones guarded against his malice and greed are the Five Eyes and the remaining Seven… though three years ago, he shattered that illusion too.
“Then the day of–” Virgil starts, stifling a yawn. “You can stand by the library if the Ursorvos try anything.”
“Sounds–” I hesitate, then glare at him. “What about you?”
He snorts with a hint of self-deprecation. “We both know I’d only get in your way. And besides…” His nose wrinkles as he sniffs at my coat. “You need to lay off the drinks a bit.”
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafts toward us as we near the dining hall. I can practically see the dark bags beneath Virgil’s eyes vanquish at the scent. Classic double standard – he can rejuvenate with a cup of joe, but when I turn to a shot of whiskey to drown the memories and demons, suddenly I’m the one with issues. Outrageous, really.
We spot Celestina seated by the den of couches, her attention fixed on a plate piled high with eggs and bacon. Her ash-gray hair tumbles in tangled waves around her shoulders, an unruly mane of disregard for any social standards. But it suits her, I wish the maids didn’t comb her hair – it’s the one personality trait she has. Beyond her insatiable hunger, she operates with a robotic efficiency, a perfect weapon. Maybe foolishly, I cling to the hope that somewhere beneath the layers of flesh, an ‘I’ exists, an ego exists beyond the id, a someone exists, that my sister still exists.
Stray strands of hair find their way into her mouth, and it’s not that she doesn’t notice, she just doesn’t care… rather enjoying it by the amount she’s eaten. A butler walks over with a pot of coffee and Virgil wastes no time pouring himself a generous cup. They have the same vigour in their gaze (though it’s harder to tell on Celestina), the one they inherited from Dad – whiskey eyes that hunger and hunt for a meal that may finally satisfy them. A terrifying pack of wolves that won’t rest until their bellies are filled.
“Sir Okami?” Grayson, the head butler, interrupts, holding out a white envelope.
I casually flip open my pocket knife and slice through the paper. “Mornin’ Grayson. Another love letter?”
“Er… not exactly,” he hesitates, almost scared of whatever blaspheme the envelope contains.
One strange thing after another today. Besides the feeble attempts at matrimonial entrapment, there’s no reason for anyone to send a physical letter. Everything can be done digitally, rather it has to be – since the Kizytrian Revolution turned the country into a wasteland, our soil’s been more poison than fertile ground. We’ve kissed goodbye to wooden furniture and paperback novels since then. Any relics from that bygone era are like whispers of peace in a world now accustomed to chaos.
I unfold the paper, and immediately, my eyes lock onto the atrocious scrawl. Then I realize how familiar this mess of calligraphy is. My stomach churns a storm of dread and excitement. I’ve spent years trying to run from this very moment.
A shot of whiskey would be nice.
2, VIRGIL:
[Note, two days]
Chemical equations blur together, dancing a dizzying tango across the screen of my tablet. Thermochemistry—supposedly the key to unlocking the mysteries of the universe, or so the e-textbooks claim. My head throbs, tides pushing against the barriers of my skull. Each wave a dull ache that erases my sandcastle of mental notes as I’m sent back to square one of an eighteen-step Hess’s Law question.
It’s a small miracle I have the luxury of torturing my brain like this. Being a ‘wretched stain on the Sollertia name’ has its perks. Expectations crash into the ground and don’t stop digging. Even if he won’t let me go to university, a few menial tasks around the house and the old man lets me do whatever as long as I’m not ‘dishonouring our family name’. Not bad, honestly.
Not compared to Okami, anyway.
A soft knock penetrates through the fog of my frustration, a gentle reminder of the world beyond the forest of endo-and-exothermic troubles. The rhythm is unmistakable, a promise of respite. Mia. As the door slides open with a muted hiss, the heavenly aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the cramped study.
“Sir Virgil,” Mia announces, entering with a rigid bow, a tray bearing a single steaming mug cradled in her hands.
“Mia.” I nod back, my efforts to suppress a smile failing miserably as warmth spread through my chest. “Please, come in… and close the door behind you.”
She glides across the room without much noise – as all beneath the Sollertia roof do – setting the mug beside the growing collection of its brethren that have accumulated over the day. A heavy sigh escapes her as she collapses onto the couch, the fabric of her maid’s uniform whispering against the leather as it spills over the edge. Her body language speaks volumes of exhaustion, the straining mask of perfection Father demands from everyone finally slipping as she settles beside me.
“What’s got your nose stuck to the tablet this time?” she asks, her voice a blend of curiosity and fatigue.
I glance at the scorching screen, cluttered with symbols and equations, feeling the stark contrast between the cold, hard digital world and the hearth of her presence. “Thermochemistry,” I reply, rubbing my temples as the words blur before my eyes. “I’m trying to wrap my head around it, but it’s like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands… and the smoke is taunting you to calculate the enthalpy of its fire.”
“Fuckin’ nerd,” Mia chuffs, the corners of her lips curling high into a grin. She shakes her head, violet eyes, usually sharp and guarded, softening just a fraction as they meet mine.
“Hello?” Mia waves her hand, breaking through my daze. “You’re staring at me like you stare at coffee. Again”
“Is that not a good thing?”
“Idiot…” she murmurs, rolling her eyes towards the ornate ceiling. “So, did you hear me?”
“Right–just, uh, some thermochem.” My gaze shifts uncomfortably as I force my eyes back to the tablet, the ache behind my retinas bursting alight once again.
“Not giving up, are you?”
My chin settles onto my hand as I turn back to her, allowing myself a moment to truly look at her. “Of course not.”
She shifts onto her side, tucking a stray lock of chocolate behind her ear. The room, dimly lit and filled with the scent of coffee and old parchment, wraps around us and isolates us from the world beyond. For a moment, everything feels peaceful. “Good.”
Just a little longer. Just like this. This is all I need
The thought whispers through the recess of my mind, a desperate plea to whatever god may listen. Reality beyond these walls feels distant, inconsequential, all because she’s here. Beside me. I don’t need anything else.
The searing pain in my ears when Father scolds me. The burning pain in my eyes when I’ve glared at a textbook for too long. The scorching pain in my arms when I’m forced to kill. I can forget all of it when I’m with her. Like a numbing agent. I wonder what the enthalpy for that is.
Dream as I might, reality has a knack for intruding upon moments of solace. Before I can sink any deeper into the tranquillity of her presence, Mia suddenly frowns, remembrance crossing her features.
“Your father’s looking for you.”
“Again?” I mutter, pushing myself up from the desk and feel the tendrils of exhaustion cling to my bones. “What does he want now?”
She shrugs with a nonchalance that belies whatever my father wants. A small gesture of hope that, maybe, it’s the day he’ll finally disown me. There’s no better news that old dog can bring.
Resigned to the inevitable, I sigh. “Guess I should be going.”
With a quick shuffle, Mia sits upright and ruffles her autumn-kissed hair, gaze darting to some random corner of the room. “Right. Guess I should get back to work as well.”
Neither of us moves for a few seconds, caught in a limbo of impending departure. Both of us waiting for the other to stand first. Mia purses her lips, nodding as if I’ve said something profound. I nod back, equally at a loss for words.
“Cool. Cool…” Her poor attempt at filling the silence.
“Uh, love you,” I blurt out, the words tumbling from my mouth before I can second-guess them.
Like I have a limp, I stutter closer to Mia, and lean in, and peck her cheek, and it’s clumsy, and awkward, and I’m starting to regret everything, and Mother Tenebris I should listen to Okami sometimes, and–
“L-lo–” She coughs as if the word is foreign to her. “L-love you too.”
And she kisses me back. And it’s nice. And that’s all I need.
----------------------------------------
I used to be scared shitless every time I stood before these giant spruce doors. Especially when I was alone, without Okami. Standing with my shoulders straight, fingers trembling until I couldn’t feel them, waiting for saints knows what punishment or lecture I’ll be judged with once I pass through this gate.
I’m not sure when that all changed. Maybe when I met Mia. But now it’s just a chore – not something to look forward to, a little tedious, but may as well get it done and over with. Maybe it’s when I got too used to sleeping on an empty stomach. But now the best Father can get from me is a pretentious bow and a half-assed apology for the great sins I’ve supposedly committed. Maybe it’s when my own words started to hurt more than his.
“Come in, boy.” His voice rumbles low.
I push open the door, feel the cold steel beneath my grip and hear the creak of wood older than Kizytria itself. The faint scent of his favourite whiskey, Msyrn, lingers in the air.
The office is the same as ever, the same it’s always been. The man is practically allergic to change. Wooden shelves crammed with files and reports older than me that he refuses to throw out. The fraying wool carpet in the middle of the office with our family crest woven into it. And the single picture frame he keeps in the corner of his mahogany desk.
I don’t think anyone other than Father knows what the hell is in that frame. The only person ever allowed behind that desk was Mum. And she’s been gone for a while now. It’s probably a picture of her. If he’s not stressing about me in his free time, he’s wallowing in a bottle of Msyrn thinking about Mum.
I step onto the carpet and bow and meet his whiskey-drowned eyes. “Father.”
“Took you long enough,” he grunts.
“Apologies, I was finishing up a chapter in chemistry.”
With a snort, Father pours himself another shot. “Still bothering with that, eh?”
I nod, because I definitely agree with his sentiment, and not because any other snide remark or disrespect in any form will get me bruised.
“So, how can I be of assistance to you today, Father?”
“You can be of big assistance, for once.” His eyes don’t leave the tablet before him, eyes flicking back and forth between reports of every nook and cranny in Kizytria. “It’s time for you to marry.”
…
Wait. I’m still dreaming, I think. Surely I’m dreaming. I can’t feel my hands. That must mean I’m in a dream, right? Yes, of course. Not even Father is crazy enough to make me marry. I’m useless. A failure. No way that dog would unleash his greatest regret onto the world. Right? All I have to do is wake up. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. How do you wake up again? Slap myself.
I slap myself. It hurts.
So much.
“M-marry?” I swallow hard, choke on the truth and gag, but it finds its way down my throat and weighs a brick of lead in the pits of my stomach.
“Aye. Marry. Talentless as you are, you still carry the Wolf’s blood. It’s the one thing you can still do for our family. There are plenty of suitresses that are willing, Mother’s Arse, even a few suitors if you so please… not like your children will–”
“No.”
The old mutt finally lifts his gaze from the tablet to mine. “Pardon? I don’t recall suggesting–”
“I don’t recall giving a shit about what you want.”
My nails dig into my palm. Blood. My teeth bite down on my tongue. Blood. I’m waiting for a stream of gale to rip through the room. It won’t hurt. I know it won’t. I’m waiting for the man to howl and scream at me. It won’t shake me. I know it won’t.
I have all I need. Nothing can make me let go.
Father sighs.
“Who do you think I am, boy?” He rises from his chair and his form casts a shadow through the room. The floor rumbles with his every step. I expect to see a snarl between his teeth—there isn’t one. “You think I can’t smell that maid on you? What was her name? Mia?”
With a glare, I crane my neck up to meet his eyes, shoulders twice that of a normal man and fists that can crush a skull like mere fruit. “Aye. What of it?”
“She’s a smart girl. Hardworking. I’d hate to lose such an employee.”
“What do you–”
“You know exactly what I mean.” His tone is dead. The tone he uses when talking with prey. “We’ll talk more later. I’m glad our interests align for once.”
3, OKAMI:
Hey, Okami.
Long time no see. Or talk. Or anything really. You probably don’t care, but I’m doing fine. Nothing interesting, just debt-collecting for my pops as always. I hope you’re doing alright as well.
I’ve got a girlfriend now. Her name is Emilia. She’s lovely. I could probably fill an entire journal just talking about her. Oops, got distracted. Sorry, you probably didn’t want to hear that either. Your love life is probably still shit. No offence, but I’m not wrong, right?
Uh. Sorry for all the rambling again. I’m just avoiding the question, even if it’s just my pen to the paper. You’ve been avoiding it as well. I should’ve reached out earlier, I know you never would have. That’s not a shot at you, well maybe it is. You’re still bad at actually talking to girls, aren’t you?
I’ll be at the usual bar next week. Early in the morning though, I’ve been busy with a ton. Think you can get your ass out of bed by 8:00?
You don’t have to come. But I’ll be waiting. It’ll be awkward for sure. Maybe it’s better if you didn’t come. I don’t know. But I hope to see you there anyway.
* Your ex-bestie
The letter has haunted me for the past week. I’ve read it so many times I can hear it in her voice, echoing through my sleepless nights. Part of me wants to crumple it and forget, while another – buried beneath layers of pride and pain and fear – longs to see her again. The little magnetism left in my moral compass points toward the bar, toward Astrid. The hero I killed and left in the rain all those years ago whispering that she deserves better.
With a heavy sigh, I tuck the letter back into my chest pocket – it’s heavy, I don’t know how much longer I can carry this. My alarm blares, jolting me from my thoughts: 8:00. I ended up staring at Astrid’s chicken scratch all night.
Reluctantly, I drag myself out of bed and make zero effort with my appearance, trying to give myself any reason not to go.
As I open my door, I’m met with Virgil’s startled expression, coffee sloshing from his mug as he recoils. “Whoa! Who the fuck are you?”
“Uh, your brother?”
“No the Seven fucks you are not!” Without another word, he slams the door shut, locking me in. His muffled voice filters through, “Go do your stupid gel or whatever. I thought that was your secret lover for a moment. By the Mother… never, ever do that again.”
There’s a brief moment of silence, but I can still sense Virgil’s presence outside. “...Am I that ugly?” I mutter, more to myself than him.
He scoffs. “Everyone knows you’re probably the most attractive man in Kizytria for Tenebris’ sake. Do you really need me to feed your ego?”
A soft chuckle escapes me. Then Virgil. And in seconds, we’re both laughing our stomachs sore. It’s stupid… but fun.
I quickly fuss with my hair, letting each strand fall perfectly back into place. My storm-gray eyes stare back at me from the mirror, a reminder of our mother’s gentle gaze. Dumb of me to ever let my hair cover them.
Throwing on a sweater over a casual dress shirt, I admire the fit – hugging my frame in all the right places, paired with black jeans. As a final touch, I loop a canine pendant around my neck.
Mom had crafted one for each of us, a symbol of our family bond that we wore proudly. The tooth, she had claimed, belonged to a baby great white wolf, one of the last of its kind before extinction. It’s hard to fathom the sheer size of a fully grown great white, considering the enormity of a baby’s tooth.
Finally ready, I find myself knocking on my own bedroom door, waiting for Virgil to let me out. The door swings open and Virgil peeks in cautiously as if bracing to see a dead body.
Impatient, I yank the handle and he stumbles forward. “Shits, there’s no way I looked that different.”
His body shivers with a mixture of relief and horror. “No no, you don’t understand,” he stammers. “You look like more fucked than the fucker I know you as.”
I lock my arm around Virgil’s lanky figure and give his snow-white hair a playful ruffle. “I look like neither.”
He slips out of my grasp, rubbing his head. “Tch– So why are you up so early anyways? Actually, you’ve been acting off lately.”
I hesitate, unsure whether to vent the turmoil that’s been gnawing at me all week. Not like he won’t find out later, it’s just… I can already guess his response.
“It’s Astrid,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “Sent me a letter last week inviting me to the bar.”
Virgil raises an eyebrow. “Okay. And?”
“Whaddya mean ‘and?’” I whine. “If I wanted to see her, I would’ve done so years ago.”
His tone goes cold and his eyes pierce a hole through my soul. “Don’t be a bitch, Okami. You’ve been running for five years. She deserves a text back at the very least.”
“But what if–”
“What if I kicked your balls? What about that? Are there even any there?” He cuts me off. “If you don’t go, I will.”
Fuckin’ ouch… my feelings. Though it’s nothing compared to what Astrid has gone through – because of me. With a sigh, I nod reluctantly.
“Fine… think she’ll pay for the drinks?”
A sharp, unbearable pain pulses between my legs. Virgil kicked me in the balls.
“Colour me surprised.”
He walks away, leaving me limp.
Grayson parks a few blocks away from the bar. The car stops rumbling as he pulls out the key. My heart has been performing national-level gymnastics through the entire drive, it might even win the competition at this rate.
Laden with worry, Grayson asks, “Do you need me to join you, Sir Okami?”
“Nah, it should be okay.”
“Are you sure?” Concern creases into the furrows of his caramel moustache. “I’ll remind you that Don Lindstrom still holds a grudge against our house, and you specifically. This might not be a friendly reunion.”
“You think the Lindstroms could take me down?” I snort.
“It’s not about whether you could handle a fight… I don’t doubt you could level an entire battalion, Sir.” Grayson’s eyes sink and he slowly exhales. “It’s whether you could handle Astrid.”
His words hit like a cold splash, as if a car had sped through a puddle and covered me with the muk of reality. The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind. What if Astrid hated me enough to kill me? Dad wouldn’t waste a single breath ordering for me to eliminate her. No… I can’t do it – not again.
“Okami?” he presses, noting my silence.
“Nah, it’s all good.” I wave off his concern with a forced chuckle. “If she tries anything, I’ll knock her out.”
“That’s not quite what I–”
“It’s fine. She won’t try anything. I’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.” I convince him. And only him.
With a resigned nod, Grayson unlocks the doors, and I step out into the city’s calmour. “As you wish, Sir. Stay safe.”
I give a small salute to Grayson as he drives off and pop open my umbrella and step onto the rain-soaked streets. Instantly, I feel the weight of countless eyes on me. It’s rare enough to own a car, let alone a luxury brand and personal driver. With or without the car, my presence wouldn’t have gone unnoticed either way – it’s hard not to look at me.
I slip into the back alleys of District 2, weaving between littered trash bags and shady figures. The rain pelts down relentlessly, drumming a steady rhythm against the canopy of my umbrella as I press onward.
Even if the air is thick with the scent of cigarettes and crushed corporate dreams, the nostalgia of racing between the shadows of towering buildings with Astrid and her brother brings a weak smile to my face. I’d give any amount of money or luxury cars just to go back in time, back to when we were kids – back to when my hero was still alive.
My mind races with bittersweet memories and the crippling present. The thought of Astrid poisoning my beer or driving a knife through my back has become a very real possibility. I would do it. I wouldn’t forgive myself if I were her. The uncertainty gnaws at me, but I push it aside, the sting of Virgil’s words and… actions ringing in various places throughout my body.
Reaching the bar’s flickering neon sign, I pause to gather my wits. A deep breath in and a muttered joke under my breath about dramatic entrances, and then – I puke. A tactical regrouping, I’d call. Cleansing the nerves, an ancient technique, probably.
It’s empty, as it always has been – so at least I don’t have to worry about becoming Julius Caesar. The silence is punctured only by the steady hum of an old television in the corner, and the bartender is still the same after all these years, Alexandros. He boasts a sailor’s physique with tattoos as sleeves. With the number of scars tracing through his bronze skin and a case of terminal RBF, it’d explain why this place has never seen a crowd.
A single glass of ice sits on the counter next to Astrid’s unmistakable black leather coat draped over an empty chair.
I offer a casual wave to Alex as I approach. “Long time no see.”
He grunts. “You.”
“Short and sweet, just like I remember,” I tease, trying more to easy myself than anything. Nodding awkwardly towards the empty seat, I ask, “So, uh, where is she?”
“Toilet.”
“Cool… cool,” I mutter, scooting myself onto the stool one seat away from Astrid’s, my nerves buzzing. “Just gimme your strongest, neat.”
He selects a bottle that looks like it could double as an industrial cleaner, pouring a shot’s worth into a glass. “There.”
“Cheers.” I raise the glass before downing it in one go. The liquid burns down, jolting my senses and briefly distracting me from the mounting tension.
“Oi, Alex! Could I get another–” a voice too familiar calls, but falters suddenly.
The door to the toilets sways back and forth. She steps back into the bar. Eyes locking onto mine. The air feels heavy, charged with a silent standoff neither of us is strong to break.
Whatever Alex poured me wasn’t enough – I’m still painfully sober.
“What do you want?” Alex’s voice slices through the stillness and startles us both.
“Oh, uh–” Astrid sheepishly walks back to her seat, avoiding my gaze. “Just another Picante de la Casa.”
We drown the awkward silence with drinks, each round silently promising the courage we need to bridge the gap between us. I steal glances at Astrid when I dare… and she really hasn’t changed, at least physically. As always, she’s in full black. If there’s a gala, she’ll be in a gown that hides her with the night. If there’s a mission, she’ll be in an overcoat the shade of alley shadows. Hell, I’m sure she’d rather die than have doctors put her in a sterile hospital gown.
Today, it’s an oversized crop top and jeans. The only splashes of vibrancy to her outfit are the excessive amount of silver chains and rings and the golden waves of her hair.
Astrid gasps a refreshing breath after slamming another cocktail, the sound echoing softly in the hushed atmosphere. The empty glass clinks against the granite counter, and finally:
“So you can finally hold your liquor now, pretty boy?” Her words are the first slice through an entire wedding cake of tension, drawing a small grin from me as I pretend to study my drink.
“Was I that bad before?”
She chuckles—a sound that seems to warm the chilled room by a few degrees. “You used to wobble like a headless chicken after one beer when we were fifteen.”
“Oh, fuck off! You were still taller than me at fifteen.” Another wave of nostalgia washes over me, softening the edges of the years that have stretched between us. I retort without missing a beat, “At least I’ve changed, Astrid ‘Flatchest’ Lindstrom.”
In response, she hurls her empty glass at me which I catch with ease. “So is that where you’ve been looking, perv?”
With a final shot, I set down the glass. I smile. And after five years. I meet her ocean-blue eyes. “There’s quite literally nothing for me to look at.”
We bicker back and forth for a while, the familiar snap and beat of our banter slowly bridging the years of silence. It’s a fragile echo of what we once shared, a shoddily taped mirror neither of us is ready to face, a dance around the edges of a chasm neither of us is ready to cross. Or maybe it’s just me. Clinging to the remnants of a past that’s as comforting as it is painful.
“It’s Celestina’s birthday today, ay?” Her fingers trace the rim of the glass, the glimmer in her eyes dimming a bit. “She’ll be sixteen now?”
“Yeah. My Dad’s throwing a huge party, I don’t suppose your pops would let you go.”
Astrid chuffs. “Threw a fit the moment he saw a Wolf in his inbox. Not a day goes by where he drunkenly claims, ‘I’ll have that fuckboy’s head ripped from his shoulders!’” Her chest puffs out as she mocks her father with a theatrical shake of her fists. “Or something like that. How’s the Big Wolf doin’ anyways?”
Laughing at Astrid’s impersonation, the coil of guilt around my chest momentarily loosens, lightened by the absurdity of old grudges held too long. “Same old same old. He’s even got me playing guard dog tonight.”
“Guard, eh?” For a moment, her expression turns thoughtful, almost solemn, though the sparkle returns to her eyes as she imagines the scene. “Maybe he’s trying to protect the women from you.”
“Definitely.” A smirk crosses my face and I sweep my hand through my hair. “Woman would be dropping dead at the sight of me.”
“Please…” She rolls her eyes, waves to Alex for another drink. “Women really die the moment they actually talk to you. Insufferable, really.”
“Ah, how your words stab me so!” Grasp my heart and feign a wounded look as I might–it’s been a while since my cheeks have been this sore. “And what about you? Tell me about this Emilia.”
Astrid’s eyes mellow in a way I’ve never seen before, as if I’m watching the ocean waves quell to a hushed ebb and flow and I can almost feel the warmth of the golden sand radiate from her eyes.
And all of it stings, just a little.
“There’s too much to say. Lovely, simply lovely.” Her gaze drifts past me as if she can see her somewhere in the distance. “She makes things… better. Quieter. And I didn’t realize how loud everything was until I met her.”
“That does sound lovely,” I reply in a hushed tone – sincerity for once. And a thought flashes across my mind. “Think you’re free to visit sometime? I’m sure everyone would be excited to see you.”
“Pfft–I spill my heart to you about how in love I am and the next thing you do is invite me to your house? No wonder you’re single.”
My cheeks flush red. “Nonono– that’s not what I–”
“I know, I know.” She laughs and playfully punches my shoulder. Her smile quickly fades as she absentmindedly swirls her drink. “Probably not though. My pops has been keeping me super busy lately.”
“A lot of debt to collect then? You could just pop by and say hi.”
“Insistent, eh?” [something action here, implicit] “Maybe. I’ll try. No promises, but I’ll try.”
“And I’ll pray,” I say as I raise my glass toward her. “To a not so shitty reunion?”
“Aye, to a not so shitty reunion.” Our glasses clink and the sound echoes slightly in the bar and we down our final shot. Astrid stands and swings the leather jacket around her shoulders, turns to me before leaving and says, “Be careful tonight, ay? Never know what might happen.”
It’s a strange farewell coming from Astrid. She’s never been one to worry about my safety. I wonder how much Emilia changed her. But the worry is appreciated nonetheless.
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
“Always am. Later, bitch.”
She bids me farewell with a smirk and middle finger, the door slamming behind her. As I start to leave, there’s a rumble through the room as Alex slams a tablet onto the table.
“Bill. Both of you.”
“That bitch…”
4, VIRGIL:
The manor hums with the buzz of preparations, the scent of roasting meats wafting through the grand halls. It’s fragrant enough that Father has ordered Celestina to the grocers with a butler – an essential mission to save the kitchen from being ravaged prematurely.
I glance at my wristwatch, noting it’s only an hour until the guests begin arriving. And Okami isn’t back yet. I suppose he’s still catching up with Astrid, yet a tingle of unease gnaws at my nerves. If Astrid were to try anything against Okami… I can’t imagine the old man being merciful for once in his life.
Nor can I imagine seeing Okami like that again.
“Where’s your brother?” Father’s voice cuts through the air, a baritone boom that sways the chandelier slightly.
“He went out this morning to see Astrid Lindstrom, Sir,” I reply, holding his gaze with a calm.
A scoff before he muses, almost to himself, “I pray that history does not repeat itself.”
“You pray too much…” I shoot back under my breath.
His eyes narrow and miss nothing. “Watch your tongue, mutt,” he growls and his grip irons around my collar like it’ll scare me this time around.
I bite my tongue until the tang of iron fills my mouth. “It won’t happen again, Father.”
With a rough shove, he sends me crashing to the ground at his feet. “Get out of my sight. Don’t shame yourself more than you have; there are plenty of potential partners that are attending tonight.”
His steps rumble the floor as he takes off. Time resumes and I hear a collective sigh of relief from everyone in the room. One of the older maids rushes to my side, offering her pity.
“Sir Virgil, Are you al–”
“I’m good.” I sweep her hand off my shoulder and stand back up. “Thank you, though, Frederica.”
Worry lines crease her forehead. “I’m sorry, Sir. I hope you know that the Don truly does lov–”
“I know,” I reply tersely, straightening my collar and dusting myself off. “I know. I just wish I could say the same.”
18:30. My arms reach toward the ceiling, the muscles in my body breathing once again after I buried myself in another chapter. As if reading my thoughts, a specific knocking pattern rings throughout the study. The glass door hisses along the rail and the thick, sour scent of alcohol fills the room.
I pinch my nose. “Smells like you had fun.”
“It was nice.” And despite his nonchalance, there’s a wide smile painted across his face. But it quickly fades into a frown. “I heard from some of the servants about what happened. You good?”
“Couldn’t be better. It was nothing serious, just the usual,” I reassure him.
With a heave, his broad shoulders go back to drooping. “Honestly… the two of you will be the death of me.”
“The two of us will be the death of eachother.”
Syhn sparks between his fingers as he flicks my forehead with a lash of wind. “Don’t joke about that.” His eyes lose the usual charming light and is replaced with seriousness, for once. “You know I’m scared that’ll actually happen.”
I rub the forming welt and apologize like a child who’s just stolen candy. “Sorry… I know. I won’t do it again, promise.”
Okami’s expression softens, and he playfully punches my shoulder. “Good. Well–” He pauses to crack his neck and knuckles. “We’ve got a job to do, I guess.”
“Are you even sober?”
“Sober enough.”
The smile creeps its way back onto his face. And now I’m just curious what happened at that bar. “Tell me about it later.”
19:05. Guests trickle in, the famiglia crests gleaming on elegant gowns and sharp tuxedos. Among them are older men and women, their hair grayer and more brittle that even Father’s – and it makes you wonder who’s birthday is actually is.
But begrudgingly, there are plenty of their offspring as well, young women and men teased with dreams of marrying into one of the Seven families. As I scan the familiar faces – each a reminder of countless obligatory dinners and galas – a nauseating thought resurfaces in my mind: the potential for these pampered brats to continue their lineages. The idea of them reproducing, adding another generation of arrogance to this city, sends a shiver of repulsion over my skin. Not that my siblings and I are exempt; we might be the worst of all.
I smirk at the absurd thought of Celestina and Okami entangled with a serious lover. For Prince Charming, it’s and endless parade of suitors, both women and men clawing at each other's throats just to spend an hour with him, despite his disinterest. He entertains some, toying with their emotions – but it’s impossible to anchor his heart, rather, it’s been anchored for quite some time now.
As for Celestina… I can’t imagine anybody winning her over. The concept of love must be foreign to her, an abstract thought lost in the shadows of her programmed existence. Beyond being known as ‘Kizytria’s deadliest assassin’, not many know how she really is.
And for good reason. Father won’t let a single person speak about Celestina’s childhood or lack thereof. But we know what he did. He knows what he did. Nobody is born a weapon. It takes years of hammering and moulding to forge a blade that sharp.
My thoughts are abruptly interrupted by a coarse voice. “You must be Virgil.”
I turn to face a hefty man whose presence (literally and figuratively) casts a heavy shadow, his chest adorned with a Bear emblem – gold gleaming against black. I reluctantly shake his pudgy hands. “Nice to meet you, Don Ursorvo.”
A girl stands next to him – no older than thirteen, her appearance overly matured with jewelry and makeup, and jet-black hair intricately weaved into a crown. Next to the rose adorning her gown is a small silver pin to indicate her ‘master’ and status. It takes every fibre of my being to stifle the shiver of disgust running through my body.
“You’re strikingly similar to your, Father. Without all the muscles of course.” The man near asphyxiates himself on his own joke, a sound that grates on my ears.
All the while, the girl meets my gaze and offers a smile bright enough to fool anyone, a smile worn by someone far too young. Rumours – evidence, even – have circled through the underground about the Bear’s tastes. Whether it’s the lack of will or power or a dirtied soul, no one, not even our family, can stop him without great sacrifice.
“Well…” His dirty paw pats my shoulder. “I should go to greet Valerius myself.”
“Aye. He’s a pain to deal with, have fun with that, sir.”
As he turns to leave, Don Ursorvo leans in close, his breath foul with the stench of greed. “I noticed you stealing glances at my Little Fletching. I can… lend her to you for a price.”
A fire erupts in my chest and pulses through my veins. I jerk away from his grip, ready to lash out, and for a moment, fear flashes across his shit-brown pupils. But before I can strike, an arm locks with mine, stopping my fist before the Bear’s face.
“Chill, bro.” Okami’s voice is a low growl next to me, disgust mirrored in his eyes. “Sorry about that, Don Ursorvo. He gets the temper from Dad.”
“No bite behind his bark though.” A smirk returns to his face and he gestures his men to stand down. “All is forgiven, tonight is a night to celebrate. Have fun you two… and keep my offer in mind.”
Once he’s gone the pair of us exhale sharply, the anger still simmering.
“Maybe I should’ve just let you go wild,” Okami murmurs.
“Well, I’m glad I don’t have holes through me right now. Do you think there’s anything we can do about the girl?”
He strokes his chin for a moment. “I can speak to Dad later tonight. He’s always been generous with stuff like that.”
I snort. “One of his few good traits.”
The night goes along as planned. A grandiose speech and toast from Father to Celestina, his voice booming over a feast so lavish one could almost forget the millions starving in the slums. The air vibrates with the ancient tunes of a bygone era, now only serving to underscore the roars of drunkards. And, unsurprisingly, young couples slipping away to shadowed corners of the mansions. Thankfully, Okami is hidden on the third floor by the library – away from the liquor and women.
I myself have been approached by a few people. Most of them looking for Okami of course, but enough that Father hasn’t glared at me yet. None of them are ever genuine, only seeking our wealth and blood – it’s the one downside of being born to one of the Seven Families. There are few in Kizytria who wear their hearts openly, and rightfully so; doing so is a sign begging to be used, especially in the underworld.
Veiled inquiries and shallow flatteries, none of it is worth a single neuron. Stupid as always. Beneath my resentment for the old man, I know it’s just me in the end… stupid. I probably knew the day would come when I’d have to entertain these fools. I probably knew the day would come when I’d have to stop seeing Mia. That an us would be impossible. But she made impossible look so possible. And is it such a sin to hold the impossible so dearly?
I haven’t told her yet. I don’t know how I’m supposed to. I don’t know if I should. If I were a little stronger, maybe I could hold on to her. If I were a little stronger, I’d never be in this situation in the first place. If I were just a little stronger…
Like Okami?
Father's voice strikes me back to reality, his declaration thundering across the room that whoever can outdrink Celestina may have her hand in marriage. If I can appreciate another thing about Father, it’s his sick sense of humour. No one, not even Father himself, can down more alcohol than Sis. With a metabolism faster than a hummingbird and a resistance to virtually all poisons, it takes about nine full bottles of whiskey to get that girl drunk.
Men after men start to blackout and puke over eachother as their parents cackle at the scene. By the 4th bottle of Msyrn, there’s not a conscious man left. Celestina, of course, is still glugging down another, basking in the bliss of every cut of meat and her favourite whiskey.
Finally, at the ninth bottle, her head thumps to the floor as well. The dining hall fills with cheers as if it’s a gladiator arena. Father gestures somewhere in the crowd for someone to carry Celestina back to her room. I have to rub my eyes a few times to make sure I’m seeing things right. The girl from earlier steps forward and everyone in the hall laughs. She manages to heave Celestina’s body over her back with the help of Father, though I doubt she’ll last the entire walk.
Another surprise, I catch Father side-eyeing me, entrusting me with a task of actual value. That’s a new one. I give him a subtle nod and slip through the crowd, following her through the shadows of the mansion.
As expected, the moment they’re out of the dining hall, Celestina’s body crashes into the floor.
5, CELESTINA:
Celestina’s Reports, File #3 Okami:
Sex and Age: Male. 20.
Date of Birth: 1408/Knight Moon/17
Physical: 185.3 cm, 86.3 kg, O+ blood like me.
Power: Weaker than me. Weaker than Dad. Stronger than everyone else.
Relatives: Me, I am his sister. Virgil, brother. Dad, dad. Mom, mom, but deceased. List is not comprehensive, I have not been told of others.
Miscellaneous Notes: He makes very good breakfast and gives me lots of snacks.
----------------------------------------
I am dizzy. It feels like someone dropped me on the ground. But it also smells nice. Not as nice as lamb, but it’s a strong smell, a familiar smell. The aroma of a ——. This is unusual, I should be able to recall anything I have experienced before, maybe it is the 6750 mL of whiskey I have ingested within the hour, but there is nothing in my memory that suggests I have experienced this before.
There is a thump thump thump and it makes my head spin more. It is hard to confirm, but with 95% accuracy, I think I am being dragged up the stairs. Suddenly, it stops and I can make out the laboured breath of a boy beside me.
Perhaps it is the scent of family. When Okami does not apply cologne, when Virgil does not have coffee, and when Dad is sober, they all smell vaguely like ——. I can sniff it on myself sometimes as well. People always say I have a good nose; I am proud of my nose.
Thump thump thump. “Ugh. Was it that entertaining to watch me lug this beast?”
My stomach starts to churn from all the thump thump thump. It’s pointless to hold back emesis, I’m not sure why others try; if my body needs to do something, I will let it do the something.
Eyes fluttering open and I catch a glimpse of him – he is very short and frail, around 148 centimetres from my estimation, and he is in a black gown with lots of rocks and sparkles attached to it. He appears to be supporting my weight as we stumble to my room.
As the floor starts to tilt at angles only possible in my mind, I double over my knees and begin to throw up. Vomiting is not the most pleasant sensation, the acid burns the back of my throat, and momentarily, I am unable to fight back against potential threats. But I feel safe right now. Maybe because of the boy.
“Eugh! What the fuck is wrong with this thing!?”
I wonder who he is referring to, perhaps there is a monster in the shadows. I hope he can protect himself. I am feeling tired once again.
Neutralize the threat.
My body feels relaxed right now–
Get up. There is a threat near–
This is my bed, I know the feeling of my own bed very well because I sleep in it a lot. Around me, I can sniff the faint sour aroma of all my wolf stuffies, I like the smell a lot. One time, a maid tried to wash them because he said, ‘Signorina Celestina, your plushies reek of saliva, we should wash them’. Reek was a strange choice of word; my saliva smells quite nice. I ended up biting a chunk of his arm off to defend the wolves. Father did not give me dinner that night, but at least the wolves were safe from the laundry machine; I do not like the noise it makes, but at least it is not the vacuum.
Okami and Virgil are always saying that I should be saying ‘thank you’ to people who are helping me. So I grab the boy’s wrist and say, “Fank you bruva.” I’m not sure how to refer to the boy, the term ‘brother’ fits best when you discount the biological factor; familiarity and trust, and ‘brother’ seems to constitute both of those.
He replies with a faint whisper, but I can hear it; my ears are good. “What the Seven Fucks?”
I want him to stay here. He smells better now that I’ve puked on him.
Your brother is in trouble, idiot. Wake up. Kill the target. Neutralize the threat. Hunt the prey.
Understood. I need a little more time, the alcohol is inhibiting my ability to perceive the world correctly.
Blood. I can smell blood. Lots of it.
“Hurry the fuck up Okami…”
Family. Protect your family.
6, OKAMI:
The corridor plunges into darkness with an almost theatrical flair. My instincts kick in, and I flex my fists, the familiar breeze of syhn swirling at my fingertips, ready for whatever fun was about to start.
“Not exactly how I thought meeting the love of my life would go.” I muse and roll my shoulders in anticipation of a brawl. “Might as well show yourself.”
Before anything, the static hiss in my earpiece breaks the silence. Virigi’s voice buzzes through with urgency. “Oi, I need you by Sis’ room immediately. The lights went out, I think there was something following Celestina and the girl.”
“The girl?” I press, but the line dies.
Silence falls again – not entirely, though. The faintest whisper of footfall touches my ears. Whoever’s trying their luck with me isn’t just another goon; the rhythm of their stride is measured, practiced, the way Dad trains our assassins.
“You’re silly if you think–”
A knife whizzes toward me, teasing my eye with the idea of danger before the barrier of wind snuffs its momentum and sends it clattering to the floor. Before I can blink, another strike comes, a blade slicing through the air, and I dodge just in time, feeling the breeze of its passage.
With a swift motion, I punch a gale of wind into the darkness, a hollow thud as my syhn connects. A muffled grunt confirms it, but the attacker’s voice is too distorted to discern the gender. They really do have their bases covered.
“Playtime is over, love.” I edge cautiously toward their body, the sounds of scurrying and scratching on the cold floor growing more panicked.
“Okami, hurry!”
Virgil’s voice again, sharp and panic-filled this time.
With a sigh, I gather the syhn beneath my boot, bidding farewell to my secret admirer. “You’re lucky, just not lucky enough. I’m a nice guy though. Get out.”
The force from my launch sends vibrations through the mansion’s walls as I dash toward the stairs. As I leave the library’s corridor, I notice the lights are working otherwise. My mind races – I didn’t sense an electrical field or any tampering due to syhn. Whoever is behind this must know where the fusebox is, and by the Seven Spirits, I forget where it is sometimes – one of our employees? Or a close family friend? I try to empty my head, no use thinking about it now.
Anxiety pumps adrenaline through my legs as I leap down the stairwell. My heart thunders despite knowing Celestina is there with them. But Virgil wouldn’t be yelling for my help if Celestina could help. Did she…? No, I shake the thought from my mind, pressing on.
A deafening crash reverberates through the corridor, the sound of splintering wood chilling my spine. I round the corner at breakneck speed and arrive just in time to witness a scene plucked from my nightmares. Virgil limps bloodied and bruised, his chest heaving in erratic breaths amidst the wreckage of a shattered wall. And looming before him, a mangled humanoid figure, its skin and limbs contorted as if made of clay.
A deep, calming breath fills my lungs. Time slows the scene to a gruesome tableau before my eyes. Without hesitation, I channel every ounce of strength into the core of my palms, and focus it into a devastating blast of wind.
The force of my attack tears through the mansion’s walls like paper, dragging the cobble and wood with it as it hurtles toward the monstrous intruder with unstoppable fury. The air cracks like a whip as the sound barrier shatters.
With a roar of thunder, my strike connects with its target, sending the creature reeling back to the other end of the hallway. The foundation of our home groans under the strain, dust billowing as the debris settles.
I sprint to Celestina’s room and catch Virgil before his battered body hits the floor.
“Gods… how you holding up?” I ask, unfurling the bandage I always keep handy, and begin to wrap his wounds.
“Fuckin’ stellar, mate.” He manages a crooked smile.
Worry still gnawing chest, I ask, “Where’s Celestina?”
His thumb quivers as he points toward the bed. I’m not sure whether to feel relief or a sense of ‘what the fuck’ – the girl with Don Ursorvo earlier is huddled next to a very tranquil and unconscious Celestina.
“Mother’s Ass… how much did she drink?”
Choking on his laughter, Virgil replies, “Nine bottles of Msyrn within an hour. I believe that’s 13500 nyv gone from Father’s wallet.” He waves me off, a grimace of pain etched on his face. “I’ll be fine, go finish that thing off.”
A million steps patter through the hall, the rubble underfoot growing louder as it nears. I prop Virgil against the wall and turn to face the destruction in the hallway.
“Still standing after that? You’re a sturdy creep,” I taunt, trying to hide my unease.
Its featureless head shudders in response as if angered. Despite my earlier assault, it remains eerily intact, save for the torn fabric clinging to its form. Everything about this bobblehead freak is unsettling.
Burshind dust off my coat, I prep for another go. “Man… I just got this coat as well.”
With a fierce kick, I unleash another blade of wind, aiming straight at the creature’s neck. It slinks to the side with unsettling agility and dashes toward me. We trade blows, my movements fluid and calculated, while it thrashes wildly in comparison. Yet, each strike I land feels hollow, like I’m swinging at water.
Suddenly, the attacks intensify – its tentacle-like arms splitting into a million wires of flesh that lash out in a fury. I conjure a barrier of wind around myself, inching back toward Celestina’s room. By the time I notice its real target, I’m too late. Its tendrils soar like a barrage of harpoons toward Virgil and Celestina.
In a split-second decision, I lower my barrier, redirecting a current of wind to shove Virgil out of harm’s way. Pain erupts in my right eye, everything turning crimson as I stagger back.
A sickening twist of nausea hits my stomach as time crawls to an agonizing pace. I struggle to to react, to do anything, but every movement feels like a trudge through molasses.
And helplessly, I watch as the tendrils close in on my sister.
----------------------------------------
Excerpts from The Dragon and the Crow. By: Ni’lvanya Alatrosa.
“And to you, my Empress, I pledge my fang eternally. Any disloyal to your cause or smear your ideals in bad faith, I will tear them from this Forest. And should I ever turn against you, my Empress, or against my pack, I vow to offer my head, so that you may tear the fangs from my jaw and use them to maintain the peace of the Forest.”
The pack bowed before the Wolf. And the Wolf bowed before the Dragon.
----------------------------------------
There’s a thin line between heroism and stupidity. I think I used to slack on that line, well, maybe I fell more towards the stupid side. Getting myself into fights with random thugs just because they flicked a cigarette butt onto the street. Waste my day away searching for some little girl’s cat. Because I thought that’s what heroes did.
What would I have done in the girl’s situation? Would I have done something so heroic? Stupid? Would I have thrown away my life for the chance of saving a stranger? Would that be something a hero does? Maybe, maybe not. I can’t say. But if only a little…
I wish I were that stupid again.
The girl’s frail frame is nothing compared to the impending barrage of flesh, yet she resolutely blankets Celestina’s body as a human meat shield.
Stupid girl. Now you’re both dead. And it’ll be my fault. Again.
Move your body. Save them. You should be the hero.
Wind rushes through the room, a whoosh that breathes life into the air and ventilates the stench of death. I’m not sure what happened, but the wires of flesh lie severed on the floor, blood blackening the rug by the bedside.
Celestina and the girl’s positions are somehow reversed – without a trace of danger, Celestina takes her time sniffing the poor lass. Then she pukes. Not the girl, of course. Celestina pukes. Onto the girl.
“Celestina!” Virgil cries.
She leaps off the mattress and wipes her mouth. “Hello, Virgil. Hello, Okami.”
Retracting what is left of its arms, the faceless creature shifts from hunter to prey and totters away, a path of red following it. In the blink of an eye, the room fills with another gust of gale and Celestina disappears. She returns a few seconds later, a ball of skin dripping with blood in her hands, and a blank expression on her face.
“I neutralized the threat,” she reports, then burps.
“Good job, sis.” I heave a sigh of relief and the pain across my eye scorches like a blazing kitchen knife has mistaken its target. It’s bearable, all physical pain is, and the idea of cosplaying a pirate definitely eases the sting.
Still winded, Virgil drags himself up and limps toward me. His voice filled with guilt, says, “Sorry… again.”
A hearty laugh bellows from the depths of my stomach and fills the room. I must seem insane to the girl – chuckling while blood trickles from my eye down my arm would have that effect. I lift my hand away from his face, revealing the deep laceration.
“Don’t worry about it. Giant scar running down my eye? Fuckin’ badass, mate.”
Virgil’s gaze relaxes and he sighs. “You shouldn’t be that happy… Are you two okay?”
The faceless head plops to the ground, splattering blood onto Celestina’s pants. She replies calmly, “I am okay.”
“Seven fucks! I am everything but okay!” the girl shouts, a little less calm. A stew of undigested lamb, whiskey, and stomach acid crawls further down her dress.
“Ah, right–” I poorly stifle a chuckle. Never did I expect that much bark from someone so young. “Sis, could you fetch the young lady a towel and a spare change of clothes?”
“That is a young man,” Celestina says.
“Eh?” Virgil and I reply in unison.
“He is male. He does not have two X–”
“Right, no– we get that,” Virgil interrupts her, surprise still etched between his brows. He looks at the girl, and just to confirm, asks, “Is she right?”
In a poor attempt to pitch his voice lower, he chokes on his words and resigns to his natural voice. “Ahem– Yes, she’s right. People make that mistake often, so whatever. Also, my towel.”
“Yes, I will go get your towel now.” Celestina lunges over the debris, and if I’m not mistaken, seemed almost eager to listen to the boy.
Virgil and I seize two chairs that survived the wreckage and lean closer. With a soft smile, I start, “Sorry about…” my finger circles the mess on his chest. “That. I don’t know if you noticed, but Celestina isn’t the most socially competent.”
“My goodness!” His dainty hands shoot to his mouth with enough drama to shame a theatre kid. “And next you’ll tell me the government isn’t corrupt!?”
A chuckle manages to escape the both of us. I certainly don’t remember being so vulgar at that age. “I wonder how you get away with that tongue of yours.” The words slip from my mouth without thought.
The life dies in the boy’s eyes for a moment. I wouldn’t have noticed it if it were a mild change, but it was haunting – the amount of hate that emanated from the brief flash of a mask slipping.
“Uh,” Virgil continues uncomfortably. “Sorry, we haven’t even introduced ourselves properly. I’m sure you already know, but I’m Virgil. Fuckboy over there is Okami.”
“Right. My name is Raizen. Raizen Corvus.” Whatever heavy air that blanketed the room dissipates and is replaced with a spark of impossibility.
Our heads snap to each other. Then back to Raizen. Then back to each other. And back to Raizen. That shouldn’t be possible… three years ago, the entire Corvus family died in a fire, or so it was officially reported. Blackfire—the tragedy that proved to the Seven Families they were not so invincible.
Skepticism overflowing in his voice, Virgil breaks the cycle of head-turning. “Corvus?”
“Yep. Corvus.”
“Bullshit.”
“No bullshit.”
I kick my chair far back and balance myself with a pillar of wind. “And how do you suppose a child of all people managed to flee Blackfire?”
He sweeps his fine, feathered hair over his shoulder, revealing his nape and a crow black as a moonless night. His brows scrunch, trying to channel syhn through his body, and the ethereal tattoo comes to life soaring circles around his neck.
Taken aback several continents, I accidentally lose focus of my syhn and slam down onto the bloodied carpet. “Well fuck me.” I jump back to my feet and examine Raizen closer. It’s been over a decade since I last saw her, but now that I remember, Raizen looks almost identical to Ella. From the lush lashes to the rather cute nose. And most striking of all, they’re eyes – sharp, inky chasms of cunning. “Now that I look closer, you’re a spitting image of your mother.”
His ears perk up at the mention. “You knew my mother?”
“Not well. Our parents were good friends, so she used to babysit us sometimes. I think the last time I saw her was actually at your baby shower. Gods, I’m getting old.”
Virgil adds, rather unnecessarily, “Right! Remember how you pissed yourself at the baby shower?”
I shoot him a glare that’s half-irritated, half-amused. Really, some memories are better left in the past.
Celestina bursts back into the room, her hands full with a towel and set of clothes. Surprisingly, she says, “Use my shower to clean yourself off.” Kindness, or whatever this is, is uncharted territory for her.
Virgil and I exchange another look of bewilderment, our minds near leaking from our nostrils from the amount of surprises. A Crow rising from its grave and our sister taking the initiative in conversation; by the Mother, the age of utopia may be on the horizon!
“Uh, thank you?” Raizen replies, tone cautious and grateful, and he accepts the towel and clothes.
“Also, hello, I am Celestina.” She waves with a rigid rhythm.
“Yeah, hi. Raizen.”
“No, not Raizen, I am Celestina.”
He glances at us with a ‘what the fuck’ stare and the best answer Virgil and I can provide is a shrug. Shaking his head in resignment, he continues, “No, like, I’m Raizen.”
“Okay.”
“Okay…?” A silence follows, though by the expression on Raizen’s face, his mind may be working overtime attempting to process Celestina’s unique personality. “Uh, great. Is the shower behind that door, Signorina Celestina?”
“Yes. Also, I’m just Celestina, no signorina.”
He hesitates, then bows to us as if he isn’t a part of the Seven Families before disappearing into the washroom.
Once the shower starts to run, Grayson peeks his head through the newly renovated hole in Celestina’s room. “Masters Okami, Virgil, Celestina…” His eyes widen at the sight of our battered state, worry lacing his tone. “Mother Tenebris, are you two okay?”
With the blood crusting over my eye, I reassure him, rather convincingly by my standards, “Peaches, Grayson! Think the scar’ll look badass like Dad’s?”
“Tenebris sake child…” Despite the countless wrinkles creasing his forward, the slightest grin manages to lift his lips. “This is serious, for someone to have been able to take your eye. What happened?”
Virgil stumbles forward and slumps against the bedpost. “It’s my fault. If I hadn’t gotten in the way–”
“Oh shut up!” With a flick of my fingers, a gentle gust of wind knocks the nonsensical guilt out of Virgil. “Celestina and Raizen would be dead if you hadn’t held out ‘till I came.”
“Raizen?” Grayson’s brow arches. “Corvus?
“No, he’s just Raizen,” Celestina jumps in.
“Long story,” I start. “For now, tell my Dad there’s been an attack. If you could also fetch a doctor.”
“Of course.” He nods solemnly and disappears as swift as his arrival.
There’s a minty fragrance to the gel one of our doctors applies over my cut that waters my mouth with the remembrance of chewing gum. Dad shouldn’t be too mad that I’ve lost half my vision. It’s just another scar after all, he has plenty on his own face. About time I start to roughen up a bit as well. [thought about Virgil/scolding]
Perhaps it’s just my imagination, but Virgil’s face has been gloomier than usual today like there’s a rainless storm hovering about him. He used to come crying to me about everything when we were younger and I always had the answer, or I thought I did. It’s been the opposite these past years, and I’m proud of how reliable he’s gotten—but what happened to me? What happened to being the older brother?
Down in the entrance hall, the faint murmurs and shuffles of all the attendees reverberate down the corridor with confusion. I suppose Dad ordered everyone to leave, which is reasonable, but I’m surprised he hasn’t locked the manor’s doors shut so that he can interrogate everyone.
My mind has certainly been getting its reps in lately. Could he have known that someone was going to attack tonight? Is that why he ordered Virgil and me specifically to be guards? Were it any other staff member, whatever that monster would have gotten away with slaughtering everyone. It’s strange that someone got onto our property undetected in the first place. Or maybe Dad was the one to orchestr—no, dumb idea, Dad would never put us in danger like that.
“Tell me what happened.”
I damn near jump out of my skin at the low grumble of Dad’s voice. It’s hard to remember that he is Kizytria’s second-best assassin when his steps can usually be felt from across the house. His mountain of a body almost fills the entire cavity left by the assault; Grayson puny by comparison as he stands silently by his side.
“Yes, of course, right away!” My spine straightens and I start to explain what had happened. From the assassin who tried their blade at me, to the faceless beast whose head now lies on the ground, a sack of skin and flesh.
He strokes his beard and turns to Virgil who’s been silent this entire time. “So you’re telling me this entire disaster could have been avoided if you were more competent?”
Before I can retort, Virgil bows as low as he can with his injury and replies, “Aye, Sir. Were I more like Okami or Celestina or you, none but the blood of that monster would have been spilled tonight. Okami would have been able to detain his attacker and the walls of our home would still be standing strong.”
“Hmph–” Not another word to Virgil, Dad shifts his attention to the sound of trickling water. “Who’s in the shower? He smells familiar.”
I will never understand how Celestina and Dad are able to fuckin’ sniff the gender of someone; I reckon their noses are better than actual wolves, for Saints’ sake.
“The boy whom you ordered to escort Celestina, Father,” Virgil answers.
“Ah, yes. The Fat Fuck’s ‘Little Fletching.’ Is he well?”
Surprisingly, Celestina is the one to respond first this time. “He is well. Also, his name is Raizen.”
The man’s eyes widen to a size I didn’t know was possible, I’m almost scared that they may just fall out of the socket. He glances at Virgil and me to confirm that it is indeed Raizen, Raizen Corvus. With a hand over his mouth, he mutters some ancient profanity none of us could dare decipher.
“Can we hire him as my personal servant?” Celestina asks.
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Excerpts from The Dragon and the Crow. By: Ni’lvanya Alatrosa.
Crow enjoyed watching the wolves hunt. She would even join them on occasion, soaring above, cawing advice to the pack. The wolves didn’t need her, but they enjoyed her company. If it helps the Hunt, then so be it – the pack would do anything for the Hunt.
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The necks of everyone in the room snap to the deadliest assassin in Kizytria. Never in the past sixteen years she’s been breathing Kizytria’s shitty air has she requested anything but food.
Father’s rare chuckle resonates through the room. “Is that your birthday wish, my daughter?”
“Birthday wish?” Her head tilts. “I am unfamiliar with the concept. But if it entails that Raizen will become my personal servant, that is my ‘birthday wish’.”
“Very well. I will work something out. In the meantime…” His usual gruff expression returns and he faces back toward the entrance hall. “There still seem to be some guests to entertain. All of you, follow me. Grayson, ensure that Raizen Corvus is treated with the utmost respect and guide him toward the entrance hall once he’s ready, understood?”
“Understood, Sir Valerius.”
Dad starts down the hall, and it’s a stark contrast compared to his entrance, like he’s purposely hammering every step into the poor floorboards of the house. The three of us follow his wake similar to a pack of wolves as we make our way back to the dining hall.
A twinge of guilt tugs at my heart as we stride down the hall and past the walls I had decimated with my syhn. Not that we don’t have the money to repair it, it’s that this relic of the past won’t ever be the same. Mere splinters of our home’s wooden frame could be valued comparably to that of a polished gem.
This mansion is one of ten buildings that are still around from the Vetian Era – before the country was turned into a wasteland. Even the richest men, like Don Ursorvo, don’t have an entire manor with real wood as the main material. Most citizens in Kizytria – the ones that can afford a home anyway – live in towers of infinite gray so tall that it makes my head start to spin. I’m not sure what the civil engineers or architects are being taught in school, but by the Mother’s arse are they shit at their job. Of the 100 Districts, only District 8 has any stylistic flair with its architecture.
As we step into the entrance hall, the Bear and a dozen of his armed men waiting on the main floor come into view. My eyes dart from one mafioso to the next—the model of their gun, the bulk of their build; and none of it is impressive, the average wise guy thinking he made it big by serving under Kizytria’s biggest pedophile.
We descend the flight of stairs that embraces the pristine marble fountain below; the water shimmers with the reflection of the ornate chandelier above—branches of gold with thousands of crystals fracturing light throughout the entrance hall.
“Trouble finding the exit, Salvatore?” Dad grunts.
Don Ursorvo’s stomach spills over his belt and if I angle my ears carefully, the faint cries of the buttons on his shirt hanging on for dear life can be heard. He clasps his hands together and croons, “Ah, I would love to leave, Valerius, but it seems I’m missing a member of my staff. It’d poorly reflect on my character if I left behind such a hardworking servant.”
Dad towers over Don Ursorvo, voice frosting even my veins. Beside me, Sis’ nose starts to visibly twitch, and that means one of two things—a savoury plate of meat, or the stench of fear; and to her, the two have become synonymous.
“As it so happens, I’m also interested in this servant of yours.” Dad crosses his arms, and I don’t even have to angle my ears to know the fabric of his dress shirt is in pain. “I’ll be blunt, Bear. What’s your price?”
“Well, I’m sure you of all people would understand, that there are people in our lives that are simply priceless.”
A draft whips throughout the room and the few strands of hair the Bear has left wisp around like the lint on my clothes. “District 93. I’ll relinquish my control of District 93. Morrowgrave will be yours.”
“Wait, Dad–” I start, but with his back still turned, silences me with a clench of his fist.
“That’s my final offer, Salvatore. District 93.”
Saving a child’s life I understand, especially the last surviving Crow, but the 93rd? There are few districts in the city where famiglia don’t have any influence, most of them simply because Dad said ‘mine’ and Kizytria bowed to him; letting even a minor district slip from his protection would endanger hundreds of lives. Not even considering the fact how important the 93rd is, to him, to Raizen even.
“You’d give Morrowgrave?” A breathless laugh flubs the roll of the Bear’s stomach. “You never were good at business, Wolf. An intriguing offer, but as I said, priceless.”
The fingers of Don Urosorvo’s men tense ever so slightly around the trigger. Surely they know this is a losing fight, Saints, it wouldn’t even be a fight, Sis and Dad could eat alive with their noses pinched.
All I’d have to do is protect Virgil—I have no idea why he’s even here. Sweat is dripping from his brow and he can barely stand on that mauled leg of is. He has nothing to prove to Dad anymore, so why try so hard? Just relax, I can do it, I’ll do everything.
“Ah, perfect timing.” Don Ursorvo’s chins unfurl and his gaze shifts up to the second floor. “He looks just like Ella, ay?”
Oh no.
“You fucker.”
The lights flicker and my skin crawls from the breeze whipping throughout the room. The sound of gunpowder blinds the air and I dash to Virgil’s side casting a wall of wind before us. Bullets clatter to the floor and none before me.
Celestina hasn’t moved an inch, rather her eyes and nose fixed to where the Bear was looking. Dad has his sharpened nails ripping through the collar of Salvatore’s shirt, a semi-circle of deformed brass by his feet. The empty click of a trigger fills the room and the wise guys fumble with their toys as they try to reload for another very effective barrage.
“Hi, Raizen.” Taking a sword to the tension, Celestina greets the boy with a monotone. “The clothes do not fit you.”
My barrier fwips down and I twist around to see the Crow… and I snort. Sis had grabbed a set of my childhood clothes and even those are too large for Raizen—the sleeves droop like he’s costuming a ghost while the cuffs of the pants sag around his feet creating a grade A tripping hazard.
“They don’t? I thought it felt quite snug.” And despite the scene that had unfolded, the boy still has the nerve to snap back.
Before the nuance falls short of Celestina, Virgil says, “Don’t bother, sis. It’s a form of sarcasm and insincerity, they obviously don’t fit Raizen.”
She throws a cute lil’ thumbs up. “I understand. I will keep that in mind for future reference.”
There’s a nervous smirk between Don Ursorvo’s teeth. “Why don’t you let go of my shirt, Wolf? Take a look for yourself.”
He grunts and lets go and turns to face us again. A… frown? A frown flashes across Dad’s face, not the disappointed kind, but the one I haven’t seen on his face since Mum died. His amber eyes solemnly watch Raizen fumble down the steps, and without the cake of makeup and his hair down he looks reasonably more masculine, though I’d still probably mistake him for a girl.
“We’ll be taking our leave now, Don Sollertia. I’m a forgiving man, I’ll let this slight against my pride slide since you’ve so graciously invited us to your domain.” He tries to peer past Dad’s shoulders and to Raizen, his voice a nauseating purr of glutton. “Come now, my Little Fletching.”
“Yes, master.”
He lifelessly drags across the entrance hall toward the Bear. Celestina grabs his hand. She doesn’t let go.
“My birthday wish, please.”
“Hmph–Who knew being a father was so hard.” Dad turns back to Don Ursorvo and holds out his hand, and orders, “Celestina, knife.”
Obediently, she kicks a dragon-toothed dagger from her boot. The blade gracefully soars through the air and lands perfectly in Dad’s palm.
“Wh-what is the meaning of this, Wolf?” Don Ursorvo and his men stagger back, each of them ready to pointlessly struggle.
Dad takes a step forward. The floor quakes. And another. A swirling smog of syhn gathers by Salvatore’s hand. As much as I want this pudgy man to know the sensation of bones breaking, we’d all die if Dad was serious about this. Wind gathers beneath my boot and a storm lurches in my stomach. Then I stop. And realize what I’m about to do.
Who am I kidding? I can’t stop him.
He raises his arm, blade gleaming beneath the chandelier.
He strikes down.
The faucet drip drop of crimson fills the breathless silence and blood trickles to the carpet. Hearts are beating. All the hearts are beating. Some of them racing. Others in no rush to supply oxygen.
Dad takes another step and shadows over the Bear. “Forget the 93rd. That should suffice.” He marches back to us. Glances at Raizen. “Welcome to the family, Small Crow.” Then leaves the entrance hall.
A trail of blood follows him out. His severed pinky before Don Ursorvo.
“Okay, you are my butler now. See you tomorrow, Raizen.”