Hmm, I see now how this bullshit system of "justice" works, but a few measly lashings from that prick of a priest isn't really a deterrent for the crime of child rape, is it? Oisin probably got whipped a second time he violated Aislin, or fuck knows how many times that degenerate bastard got lashed for being a worthless piece of human garbage. But hey, at least the drunken cunt isn't considered a pedophile in the eyes of this ass-backwards church, right?

No, wait...actually, even those sick fucks who are labeled pedophiles here get the same pathetic lashings - the ones who defile innocent girls who haven't even started menstruating yet. Sigh, the church really needs to step up their fucking game with public beheadings if they truly want to stop grown men from raping defenseless children. For fuck's sake, a few lashings from some senile old priest? Not nearly enough punishment for such a vile, unforgivable act of depravity.

I do begrudgingly admire their feeble attempts to maintain some semblance of moral order, I suppose. But still, why in God's name are the victim girls being lashed too by these demented zealots?! Punishing the traumatized child alongside her rapist - that's the truly inhumane, sickening part of this whole fucked up system. It's like something out of a Marquis de Sade fever dream...

Aislin stands up from the bench, her worn linen dress swishing around her ankles. Suddenly, a firm knock echoes through the cramped hovel. Aislin's brow furrows.

A deep male voice rings out, "Is this the Ban household?"

Aislin moves closer to the warped wooden door, her calloused hand resting on the latch. "Aye, who is asking?" she replies cautiously.

"Sean Ó Súilleabháin," the voice booms again. "I am looking for my twin sister Aislin."

Aislin gasps audibly, her eyes going wide. With trembling fingers, she unlatches the door and pulls it open.

A tall, broad-shouldered man stands framed in the doorway, his golden hair gleaming like spun sunlight. He wears sturdy leather armor over padded cloth, emblazoned with a simple wolf insignia. A hooded cloak in muted earth tones hangs from his powerful shoulders. But it's his piercing icy blue eyes, filled with fierce determination, that truly capture my gaze.

Aislin shudders, her voice a breathless whisper. "Sean...is that you?"

Those intense eyes widen, crinkling at the corners as a broad grin splits Sean's chiseled features. In two strides he crosses the threshold, sweeping Aislin up in a fierce embrace. She crumples against his armored chest, her slender frame shaking with quiet sobs.

I slide off the bench, peering at the emotional scene with a mixture of childlike curiosity and adult bemusement. So this is the fabled twin brother Aislin always speaks so wistfully of, hmm? I tilt my head, studying his rugged countenance as he pulls back from the hug.

Sean's gaze immediately locks onto me, those icy blue orbs narrowing slightly. "Aislin," he rumbles, "I want you to tell me everything I've missed in your life since we parted ways."

Aislin nods jerkily, swiping at the tears streaking her sallow cheeks. "O-Of course, Sean. But first, come sit." She gestures toward the rough-hewn bench.

Sean complies, his heavy boots thudding against the dirt floor as he crosses the room. He settles onto the plank seat, patting the space beside him invitingly. "You too, lad. I've a few questions for the both of you."

I scamper over obediently, clambering up onto the bench as Sean's large, calloused hand ruffles my shorn curls. He leans in, fixing me with an intense look.

"So what's this wee crossdressing lad's name, then?" he asks Aislin with a rumbling chuckle.

Aislin laughs, the sound bright and genuine despite her reddened eyes. "Why, that's no lad at all, Sean! This here's my own little Lile, bless her heart."

Sean blinks, then throws back his head with a rich guffaw. "Your Lile? But she looks just like a boy with her hair all shorn!"

I can't help giggling at his words, delighted by this newcomer's playful candor. Aislin simply shakes her head in amusement.

"Aye, that she does," she agrees warmly. "I took the lass to Colm's cottage to have her deloused, you see. The kind man cut her hair to be rid of the nits and lice, leaving her looking quite the ragamuffin!"

Sean lets out an impressed whistle. "Well I'll be...I actually met this Colm fellow on the road not long ago. My commander told me to seek him out, said he knows every soul in this village. Figured he could lead me straight to you, sister."

Aislin's eyes widen at that. "Is that so? Well, I've much to tell you about Colm and his role in our lives, that's for certain." She shoots me a sidelong glance, her expression growing pensive.

Sean doesn't seem to notice, simply grinning at Aislin as he leans back against the rough wood. "Then get on with it, woman! I'm trembling with anticipation to hear all about the life you've been leading these past years."

Oh, if only he knew that Aislin's existence has been about as exciting as watching a tree grow very, very slowly. I have to stifle a snort at the thought, pressing my lips together to keep my features carefully schooled into an innocent, childlike mask.

This ought to be entertaining, to say the least. I settle in, swinging my legs idly as I prepare to observe the inevitable letdown when Aislin's "exciting tales" turn out to be little more than the same dreary peasant drudgery I've witnessed day in and day out. Still, at least this newcomer promises a brief respite from the relentless monotony.

Aislin lets out a weary sigh, her shoulders slumping slightly as she turns to Sean. "I think...perhaps it's best if you share your tale first, brother," she says hesitantly. "For I fear mine may enrage you overmuch if told beforehand."

Sean's brow furrows as he regards her curiously. "Is that so?" His deep voice rumbles with a hint of amusement. "Well now, you've merely piqued my interest all the more, Aislin. I must insist you regale me with your story once I've finished."

A frown creases Aislin's careworn features, but she gives a reluctant nod. Sean exhales heavily, leaning back against the rough wooden bench. His piercing blue eyes take on a distant look as he begins speaking.

"Very well then. You'll recall I was but a fresh-faced lad of eleven summers when Lord Eamonn's men came recruiting for his army..."

Sean launches into a lengthy recounting of his life up to this point - being conscripted into Eamonn's forces, his grueling training to become a warrior, and his first harrowing campaigns against the invading Norse raiders. His words paint vivid pictures of clashing blades and thundering hooves, the air thick with the metallic tang of spilled blood and the acrid stench of smoke from burning villages.

I find myself leaning forward, utterly entranced despite the horrific subject matter. There's an almost lyrical quality to Sean's deep timbre as he narrates the chaos of those long-ago battles. The way his powerful frame seems to swell with each recollection of hard-won glory, those icy eyes blazing with the remembered thrill of combat.

"...And that's when the foul beast reared up before me, jaws gaping wide to reveal a maw lined with dagger-like fangs dripping caustic spittle," Sean continues, his voice lowering to an ominous growl. "A massive, shaggy brute standing nigh eight feet at the shoulder, with claws like curved scythes and a pelt the color of a moonless night."

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

My eyes widen almost comically. A werewolf! So the tales of such unnatural, shape-shifting monstrosities are true after all. I can't resist shooting a sidelong glance at Aislin, gauging her reaction to this latest revelation.

To my surprise, she seems utterly unfazed, simply nodding along as if Sean were describing something as mundane as tending to the chickens. I shake my head slowly, marveling at the peasant woman's ability to accept such bizarre, terrifying concepts without batting an eye.

"Aye, the legends speak true - 'twas indeed one of the dreaded Lycan-kin that stalked me that blood-drenched eve," Sean confirms grimly. "A spawn of the darkest sorceries, a perversion of nature itself given foul, twisted shape and unholy hunger."

He pauses, gaze flickering to me briefly before continuing in a softer tone. "But you need not fear such horrors, little one. The Tuatha keep constant vigil over these lands, and their warriors are ever-ready to smite such abominations back into the endless night whence they slither."

I blink owlishly at him. "The...Too-atha?" I echo, purposefully mispronouncing the unfamiliar word in my best imitation of childish ignorance.

A faint smile curves Sean's full lips. "Aye, the Tuatha De Danann," he corrects gently. "An ancient order of...well, let's just call them protectors for now, hmm? Suffice to say, they're the reason you've never had to face the true terrors that lurk beyond your peaceful village."

Aislin frowns, her brow creasing. "Sean, you can't mean...?" She trails off, shooting me a worried look.

But Sean simply nods. "Aye, sister - I speak of the very same folk whose ranks I've recently been honored enough to join as a novice hunter." His chest swells with obvious pride. "The Tuatha have taken me under their tutelage to train in the ways of combating the foulest denizens of darkness."

My eyes widen almost comically. "You mean...like the werewolves?" I can't resist blurting out, my voice hushed. "And...and vampires too?"

Sean's grin widens, revealing a flash of straight white teeth. "Aye, little one - vampires, werewolves, and far worse besides." He leans forward, those icy eyes glittering with a strange light. "Goblins, ogres, demons, and all manner of profane, unholy things that would drive a lesser mind to gibbering madness with but a glimpse."

I shudder involuntarily at the menacing promise in his words. Aislin, however, looks utterly stricken.

"Witch...hunter?" she echoes faintly, her face paling. "Sean, you can't be serious! Surely you don't mean to consort with...with practitioners of the black arts?"

Sean's expression sobers somewhat. "Peace, Aislin - the Tuatha are no coven of devil-worshippers or the like," he reassures her. "We are simply warriors in service to the realms of man and magic alike. Our duty is to defend the innocent from the predations of those unholy things that would prey upon them."

He pauses, giving me a sidelong look. "Trolls, banshees, hags, and the dreaded Fomorians who once ruled these lands before the coming of the Tuatha - these are but a few of the foul entities we stand sworn to battle unto our last breaths."

I can't help letting out a soft "Wow..." at his words, my eyes wide with a mixture of awe and trepidation. Sean chuckles at my reaction.

"Aye, 'tis a weighty charge we bear, to be sure," he agrees with a solemn nod. "But one I embrace gladly, for the sake of protecting good folk like yourself from the true evils that lurk in the shadows."

Aislin still looks troubled, but she manages a faint smile. "Well...I suppose if anyone is fit for such a daunting task, 'tis my own brave brother," she murmurs.

Sean reaches out to grasp her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Have faith, Aislin. The Tuatha's ways are ancient and proven - we shall not falter in our sacred duty, no matter what profane forces seek to bar our path."

I lean back against the rough bench, my mind whirling as I process everything Sean has revealed. So this primitive, superstition-shrouded world is far stranger and more perilous than even I could have imagined. Werewolves, vampires, demons - the stuff of lurid fantasy brought horrifyingly to life.

And yet...a part of me can't help but feel a strange sense of vindication too. For if such supernatural monstrosities truly stalk the shadows, then perhaps the "magic" Gwenhwyfar hinted at isn't so far-fetched after all. Maybe, just maybe, I can find a way to unlock my own latent abilities and finally gain an edge in this twisted game she's trapped me in.

The thought sets my pulse racing with a heady mixture of fear and anticipation. I may be a mere child in this form, but I'm no stranger to darkness and peril. If this realm's true face is one of eldritch horror and profane sorceries...well then, I'll simply have to master them myself in order to survive.

And perhaps, just perhaps...I can even find a way to turn the tables on that crimson-eyed bitch and her alien overlords once and for all.

Sean suddenly stands up from the bench, startling me. He reaches into the folds of his leather armor and pulls out a rolled-up piece of parchment. Bending down, he carefully places it on the dirt floor in the middle of the cramped room.

Aislin looks at him quizzically. "What are you doing, brother?"

"Just watch," Sean replies with a grin. He straightens up and grasps the hilt of the sword sheathed at his hip. In one fluid motion, he draws the blade with a metallic hiss.

I lean forward, eyes widening as I take in the weapon. It's a longsword, the steel gleaming with an almost otherworldly luster. But it's the intricate patterns etched along the length of the blade that truly captivate me - strange, interlocking runes and sigils that seem to writhe and pulse with some inner power.

"This here is a spellsinger, one of the sacred blades of our order," Sean declares proudly, his icy eyes gleaming.

Aislin frowns, eyeing the sword warily. "Sean, I don't think you should be waving that thing about in here. What if you damage the hovel, or worse?"

But Sean just chuckles, giving the blade an experimental twirl that makes the runes blaze with pale blue light. "Have no fear, sister. I've no intention of causing any harm or damage this day."

With that, he brings the sword up in a smooth, practiced arc. In the blink of an eye, his wrist flicks out and -

KEEE-REEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!

The most horrible, piercing shriek splits the air, like nails screeching across a slate. I instinctively clap my hands over my ears, grimacing at the shrill, grating sound. Even Aislin flinches, her face contorting in a wince as she covers her own ears.

When the ringing finally fades, I blink my eyes open to find the piece of parchment Sean placed on the floor has been neatly sliced in two, the edges of the cut perfectly smooth and clean. No sign of a blade ever touching the material - it's as if the parchment simply...parted on its own accord.

"Ugh, what in the name of the Blessed Virgin was that awful sound?" Aislin demands, rubbing her temples with a pained expression.

Sean just grins, clearly pleased with the little display. "My apologies, you simply witnessed the spellsinger's unique abilities in action."

He holds the blade horizontally so we can better see the runes etched along its length. "You see, this is no ordinary sword, but a relic imbued with powerful magic. When the proper...techniques are employed, it can unleash waves of air capable of slicing through even the toughest materials."

I can't help giggling at his words, delighted by this strange new concept of "magic." Not quite as impressive as modern military hardware, but still a rather clever application of basic physics principles.

"The name 'spellsinger' comes from the high-pitched vibrations produced when activating the blade," Sean continues, his deep voice taking on an almost lecturing tone. "For you hear the very air itself singing and shearing apart under the onslaught of the sword's power!"

Despite my amusement, I have to admit the visual of those runes blazing to life was pretty damn cool. I find myself leaning forward eagerly.

"Can I see it up close?" I ask in my best imitation of childlike wonder. "Please, Sean? I wanna look at the pretty swirly patterns!"

But Aislin quickly shakes her head, eyeing the blade warily. "Oh no, that's much too dangerous for a wee babe like yourself, lamb. Best you keep your distance from such unholy weaponry."

I pout exaggeratedly, but Sean just laughs. "Peace, Aislin - the spellsinger poses no threat when sheathed. Here now, little one."

He holds the blade out horizontally, the runes dark and quiescent. I hop off the bench and scamper over, peering intently at the intricate patterns as I draw closer.

At first, they just seem like random, interlocking whorls and knots. But as I study them more closely, I start to make out distinct shapes, all linked together in some sort of arcane design. The runes almost seem to shift and undulate before my eyes, like they're...alive, somehow.

Whoa, wait...is the sword actually vibrating ever so slightly? I lean in closer, entranced. That's when I notice the heavy silver pendant hanging from Sean's neck, a stylized wolf's head etched into the gleaming metal. And it's trembling faintly, as if resonating with some unseen force.

Sean seems to notice my gaze, for he quickly grasps the amulet and sheathes the spellsinger with a sharp hiss of steel on leather. "Odd..." he mutters, frowning down at the still-quivering pendant. "The medallion rarely stirs unless some manner of supernatural force is at hand."

He glances around the cramped hovel, piercing eyes narrowed. But after a moment, he simply shakes his head. "Yet I sense naught out of the ordinary here..."

Turning back to Aislin, Sean holds the amulet out towards her face. The pendant remains still and inert. He arches one thick brow quizzically.

"But this cannot be..." His frown deepens as he turns his gaze on me. "The child?"

I try to keep my expression one of innocent curiosity as Sean leans in close, the silver wolf's head mere inches from my face. At first, nothing seems to happen. But then...

The amulet begins to tremble once more, the metal links clinking softly as it shakes and quivers. Sean's eyes widen almost comically as he straightens up, staring at me in shock.

"By the gods..." he breathes. "The girl must be...magically attuned, in some manner!"

I can't help shivering at his words, remembering what that vampiress Dumitra told me about being "magically attuned."[...]