The Weight of the Blade

1

----------------------------------------

“Remember me, for I am Pride.”

----------------------------------------

The words chased her like shadows, pressing against her ribs with every breath. She ran. And ran. And ran.

How long had she been running?

Her bare feet pounded against the forest floor: hard, fast, desperate. Something sharp tore into her sole. She stumbled, gasped, but kept going. Rain slicked her skin, mixing with sweat and tears until she couldn't tell where one ended and another began. The scent of pine and damp earth filled her lungs…

But none of it felt real.

Because fear had blurred into something colder. Emptier. The trauma felt like a fog she couldn’t push through. She didn’t remember much.

Except for one thing.

Pride.

Pride’s voice, smooth and taunting. Pride’s face, framed in cascading brown waves, too perfect to be human. And her eyes.

Gold. Burning. All-knowing.

They saw through her. Saw something she couldn’t.

Then… her foot struck something hard. Cold. Cobblestone?

The scent of the forest was gone. In its place, the bitter tang of smoke. Rot. The rain still fell, but it wasn’t the same. Had she… blacked out?

“Enjoying the night air?” The voice, male and far too smooth, slid over her from behind.

She whipped around, blinking as everything spun, colours bleeding across her vision. The sound of pounding music assaulted her ears from somewhere nearby.

“Where am I?” she asked, her voice rough, raw, like she’d been screaming for hours.

The man, no older than twenty, took a slow moment to look her over. “We’re just outside the Oasis,” he said, his grin easy but not quite right. His gaze lingered a bit too long on her wet, clinging dress.

She felt the weight of his eyes, a sharp sting of awareness. She was drenched, exposed, and painfully aware of how out of place she was.

“These streets can be dangerous for someone like you,” he murmured, stepping closer. His voice carried the scent of smoke, thick and suffocating. “Let me walk you somewhere safer.”

“Not interested,” she snapped.

“Come on.” He didn’t blink, rolling something between his fingers as he took a slow inhale. “I’m just trying to be helpful.”

Before she could cut him off again, a loud voice rang out from behind her.

“Yo, Tony!” A whistle followed. “Found another chick?”

“Another chick?” Tony scoffed, the neon glow glinting off the ring on his hand as he gestured toward her. “Don’t be rude, Marcus. She’s a lady. Special. And she’s gonna need our help.”

“Special, huh?” Marcus said, his words slurred slightly. “Well, aren’t you a gem?” His eyes scanned her from head to toe, his grin leering. “What do you say, sweetheart? How about a drink? We won’t bite… much.”

Tony chuckled, nodding toward her bloodied feet. “She probably needs more than a drink. Lucky for her, I’ve got a first aid kit… at home.”

Her skin crawled as they sized her up, their eyes moving over her like they were calculating something. Her feet shifted, a reflex to get away.

But Marcus wasn’t done. He leaned closer, his voice oozing into her space. “Don’t be like that, baby. You’re way too pretty to be out here alone.”

She sidestepped, making her way out of the alley.

“Don’t walk away from us,” Marcus hissed as he followed behind. “We’re just trying to be nice.”

His fingers brushed her skin, trailing down the curve of her bare shoulder with a slow, claiming touch that felt wrong. Invasive. Violating.

“Look at you,” he rumbled, his grip tightening ever so slightly. “Soaked. Shaking. Completely lost. And you know what?” His eyes dropped slowly, lingering just below her collarbone. “Rats get bolder after dark. It’s not safe for someone… so delici-delicate.”

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

His breath reeked of alcohol as he leaned closer. Too close. Something inside her snapped.

“Let us both take ca—”

His words died in his throat as a wave of cold swept through the air. Rain froze mid-fall, suspended in the air.

Marcus blinked.

And that was the last thing he saw.

She moved instinctively, a surge of energy spiralling from deep within her. Without thought, the alley flared with blinding light.

Searing. Unforgiving.

There was a scream. A cry of terror. Then silence.

When the light faded, Tony stumbled back, trembling, eyes wide in disbelief. And Marcus?

He was no longer whole.

In her hand, the gleaming blade pulsed, almost alive, catching the neon light above. She stared at it, her mind blank. What had just happened?

Then it hit her.

She had done this.

She was the cause of this terror, this violent moment. But even that truth didn’t seem to sink in. She should have felt something. Fear, regret, remorse, horror. Anything.

Instead, she felt… nothing. Just an emptiness.

The blade didn’t feel like it belonged to her. Her fingers didn’t tremble around it. She couldn’t even feel its weight, though she knew it was there, solid, real. It wasn’t as if she’d consciously summoned it… it was just… there.

A reflex.

Tony’s legs shook, “Y-You’re… Gifted?!” His screams grew distant, fading into the night as he bolted away.

But she didn’t notice. This feeling of disconnection—like she was watching herself from a distance, as if her body had moved on its own and her mind had simply… stepped aside—was oddly familiar.

It was as though this numbness, this absence of self, had always been there.

She stood motionless. It was easier this way. Less disorientating. Less overwhelming.

The red and blue lights pulsed and flared, bleeding into the alley, flashing against the brick walls. Smoke thickened around her, the air clustering with the sound of tires screeching and the scent of burnt rubber.

Then came the clicks of boots against cobblestone. Soft. Uncertain.

“Freeze.”

A young woman’s voice. Unsteady. “You’re under arrest for the murder of…” She trailed off, her gaze swept over the scene: the scattered limbs, the blood pooling between uneven stones.

She swallowed. Hard. “J-Just what’s going on?”

Before an answer could come, another set of footsteps.

Click. Click.

A figure stepped into the alley. Calm. Unhurried.

“I’ll take it from here, Officer Jones,” came a low voice.

The officer’s head snapped toward the figure. “How do you know my last n—”

A light tap against her shoulder. Her body crumpled, revealing a young man. Her age, maybe. His coat was crisp, his posture impeccable. Not unlike Tony… yet completely different.

There was no hunger in his gaze, only quiet observation, as though he were studying a particularly interesting puzzle. His eyes darted to the blood-slicked pavement, the mess she had made. If he was disturbed, he didn’t show it.

Instead, he adjusted his umbrella, angling it slightly to shield her from the rain.

“Are you Gifted?” he asked.

Not an accusation. Not even a question, really. A statement. As though he were merely confirming something he had already deduced. As though she hadn’t just taken a life.

When she gave no answer, he exhaled through his nose, nodding slightly, as if satisfied with her silence.

“I’ll take that as a no,” he murmured, his brown eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “Would you care to tell me your name, Miss?”

The second question caught her off guard. A small, almost imperceptible shift. A crack in the numbness.

Her throat tightened. Idly, her fingers rose to the spot where something cool pressed against her skin. The sharp sting flared as her touch met it: an amethyst pendant, its edges cut like a snowflake. Familiar, yet distant.

She had always worn it, hadn’t she?

It felt… important. Significant. Even as it bit into her skin.

And the shape… Could it be her name?

Snow… no, that wasn’t right. That wasn’t her. Then, something clicked.

A star.

Her grip tightened around the pendant, despite the sting. She lifted her gaze, steady now. “Astra,” she said. “You can call me Astra.”

The man studied her, the name lingering on his lips. His brown hair, slightly tousled, fell into his eyes as he ran a hand through it.

“Miss Astra,” he repeated. “A rare name. But an unregistered Gifted? That is more than rare. It is… unprecedented.” A pause. Then, as though bracing himself, he added, “Except for—”

His words cut off.

More footsteps. Frantic. Approaching. More men in the same attire as Officer Jones.

His eyes flared gold.

The men collapsed.

Golden eyes?

Astra took a step back. “What did you just do?”

“They’re unharmed,” he assured her, gesturing to their unconscious bodies. “They won’t remember you. Or any of this.”

He extended a hand, his gaze gentle. “Trust me, Astra. We should go. Speak somewhere more discreet.”

She narrowed her eyes. “This isn’t a trap, is it?”

His lips curved in amusement. “If it were, would I be giving you a choice?”

Astra’s eyes narrowed, her attention drawn to the men lying motionless behind him. He had taken them down effortlessly, without even raising a finger.

Her grip on the blade tightened. “And if I refuse?”

His expression didn’t change. “Then we part ways. For now,” he murmured. “But I shall find Tony. For you.”

“Tony?” She frowned. “How do you even know that name?”

His smile was subtle as he gestured to the small, white object dangling just outside a metal door. “Alchymia has eyes and ears everywhere, Miss Astra. Cameras, I mean. And this…”

From his coat, he retrieved a small, glowing contraption. He turned the screen toward her, revealing a series of moving images capturing Tony just outside the alley.

“Is a recording of Tony,” he said, his thumb hovering over the glass. “I’ll make sure he forgets. For your safety.”

His eyes darted back to hers as he extended a hand. “I’m on your side, Miss Astra. Would you come with me? Somewhere less…” He wrinkled his nose. “… unpleasant.”

His words weren’t much different from Tony’s earlier offer, but something in her shifted.

It was inexplicable. Primal.

Instinct told her she could trust him.

But instincts could be wrong.

She had no memory. No past. No proof of who she was; who she had been before she woke up running. How could she trust herself, let alone a stranger?

Yet in his gaze, she saw no threat, no demand. Just quiet certainty, as if he already knew what she would choose. That should have set her on edge, but instead, it unsettled her in a different way.

She was lost. Hunted. And Pride was the only thread connecting her to the truth, the key to her identity. And this man—this stranger with golden eyes—might be connected.

What choice did she have? She could wander aimlessly, or she could follow him. Either way, she’d be lost.

She exhaled slowly. There was only one way to find out.

Her grip loosened.

“Very well,” she murmured. “Let’s talk.”

Their hands met. Darkness surged. The world tilted.

And then—

Nothing.