RAVKA
Ravka has been sleeping a lot because in her dreams, she was free.
Free from the harsh reality of her life, the endless violence and suffering that surrounded her. Free from the weight of her past, the memories of her home and her family that haunted her. Free from the emptiness of her future, the hopelessness of her destiny that awaited her.
In her dreams, she could taste the sweetness of mangoes, feel the warmth of her mother’s embrace, and see the beauty of the sunset. In her dreams, she could smile without fear, laugh without guilt, love without regret.
But dreams are not real. And Ravka knows it.
She wakes up to a cold and cruel world, where she has to fight for her survival every day. She wakes up to a lonely and bitter existence, where she has no one to trust or care for. She wakes up to a meaningless and tragic fate, where she has nothing to live for.
She straps on her heavy armour and touches her bronze breastplate.
She has no friends. Only allies.
Wilham is one of them. He watches her from afar, rubbing his nose casually.
It is a message: You’re next. Don’t die.
She wants to laugh. When has she ever? All of the fighters here are weak and pathetic, and always give up after a few minutes of struggle. Granted, she does inspire fear with her helmet, but they all do what they have to do to survive.
She pulls on her ponytail and wraps the rubber band on her wrist. She gathers her hair into a neat knot and ties it securely. Her hands close into fists around her gladius.
Wilham waits for the last person in the room to leave. With a slight nod of his head and a casual lean on the wall, he speaks.
“Your ponytail is loose.”
She rolls her eyes. “Didn’t know this was a fashion show.”
“Who?”
He doesn’t even have to blink for a second to notice her different choice of words. She stifles a laugh and then turns to face him for real.
“No one. Nothing.”
He raises an eyebrow.
Wilham is the only person she’s gotten closest to, dangerously close, even if he’s the only person who gets under her skin. She knows the pain of opening up, the Gods taught her endless lessons about it. She closes her eyes, and memories of bodies flash.
Her sister. Charles. The little girl.
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She knows Wilham has been through a lot too. His demeanour is always intimidating, and it will break all of your walls. He never talks about it, but Ravka could piece two and two together easily.
Whatever Wilham Kane wants, he gets.
His dark eyes pierce into her, demanding an answer. She steadily glares back, her heart having enough of pretending.
Pretend a bit more, her brain pleads.
Ravka turns away, and brushes past him to the back of the stage.
**
Time claims to heal all wounds, but Ravka still senses the agony. It still bleeds, but it appears like someone applied a bandage to halt the stream when she steps out to the ring.
Fighting is her escape. It diverts her from all of the things in her life and she relishes it. That giddy feeling of no memories. The craving to fight courses in her blood and engulfs her mind.
She sweeps a look around the crowd.
She knows her family won’t be there. Why does she keep looking?
( She still sees her mother’s soft smile and her father’s gruff kindness. She still feels the warmth of their home. She still hears her sister’s call. )
She takes a deep breath. She is not Ravka anymore, right now, she is Animo. And Wilham is Kane. These names help her to cut off her original ties with a person, and it feels like she takes home a new soul, a new heart. A new past.
Forcing her gaze to her opponent, her heart sinks in dread. Wilham stands before her, clutching his scythe like a lifeline. She grits her teeth, and grips her gladius more tightly.
“You traitor,” she hisses between clenched teeth. He hears it, and does not even flinch.
“When did I swear loyalty to you?” He replies calmly, his eyes steadily gazing back at hers.
She is sure that the look of hesitation in his eyes is her imagination.
“Loyalty is just something fr— allies are supposed to have!”
“We are allies?” He looks mildly interested.
“You—“ she snarls but is cut off by the bell ringing, the sharp clinking sound hanging in the air. It is a signal for the fight to start.
Ravka lunges, her body on fire and alert and Wilham easily rolls out of the way. He quickly, but with a lazy air, swings his scythe at her head, but she recoils with a gash on her neck.
She clutches the wound, but doesn’t surrender. “You’re full of lies, aren’t you?”
His eyes flash and he swings at her once again. “You could phrase it that way.”
She shoves her gladius to his chest, but he twists, nicking his arm instead. If he is surprised, he doesn’t show it.
She concentrates, and she feels her eyes glow faintly. She twists and turns through Wilham’s head, looking for a memory to prick on, an emotion to steal. She sees fear, and she reaches for it.
Wilham knocks her over with all his might, and points his scythe to her neck. “Surrender.”
Ravka takes a heavy, shattering breath as she feels the cold metal against her skin. She smiles.
“Never,” she says as she grabs the memory in his head with all her might. He staggers back, startled and she snatches the opportunity.
She pushes him to the ground with a kick to his leg, and she rolls over to him, resting her gladius on his neck. She hesitates.
“Just do it,” he whispers.
She couldn’t. She couldn’t be responsible for a murder of someone she knows.
A shout from the crowd interrupts her thoughts.
“I volunteer! I will fight!”
If Ravka is relieved, she wills herself not to feel it.