The sands whipped in the hot winds as the dry earth cracked underneath the weight of her feet. All around her the crowds cheered.
“Night Whisper!”
“Night Whisper!”
“Night Whisper!”
It was all she’d known for years. Her other name was like dust. It took no form or shape. It had no meaning. All that existed now was that of “Night Whisper.”
Sweat dribbled down the side of her face. Blood blotched across her hands and armor. The sun above was unforgiving; a blessing for a cold desert night, but a curse on a day such as this.
Across from her was a mountain of a man. He dwarfed her small frame. From his shoulders to his waist were intricate tattoos; each represented a horde he fought for. His veins bulged over his ripped muscles. His jawline was hard and chiseled. His brow pushed forward leaving his white eyes in a layer of shadow. He needed no weapon, for the bones in his hands had become rock solid over the many years of breaking them over others’ bodies and faces.
Although the crowd cheered her name, she was the underdog. It was Uther Ironsoul that she could never defeat. Today would be no different.
Night Whisper dashed forward thrusting her short gladius into Uther’s abdomen. The giant man grinned with an arched upper lip. He showed that the pain was but another pleasure in his life, akin to the naked body of a helpless woman. With a heavy fist, he backhanded Night Whisper away, having her body slam backwards at least six feet.
Dazed, Night Whisper found a spear at her side and flung it keenly into his shoulder. Uther took little notice of the protruding shaft as he rushed forward. Night Whisper stepped to the right and landed a series of jabs to his side, ending with a sturdy kick that would have splintered the ribs of a lesser man. Not Uther though. Grabbing her by the throat, he lifted her up in the air and brought her smashing into the ground on her back.
Night Whisper’s vision blacked for a brief second, hearing the jeers and gasps of the arena audience. Struggling to stay conscious, she came to at the same time a large foot came crashing down onto her.
Screaming, Avalon woke up from her nightmare. Her breathing was a labored pant, her eyes wide with fear from a long past of trauma. She slid to the side of her bed and inhaled deeply, slowly trying to calm herself. It was only a dream. She looked around her cabin, calmly feeling the gently rocking of the boat. She tightly gripped her blanket as she swallowed the nightmare to the back of her mind.
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Her cabin door swung violently open.
“Silver Wing Avalon, are you alright?” said the Silent One approaching the room. She inspected the cabin, sword in hand. Satisfied that they were alone, she sheathed the long sword onto her side and quickly tried to inspect Avalon for any signs of an attack.
“I’m alright…what is your name?” Avalon swatted the Silent One’s attempts to check on her.
“Bronze Wing Adema. I’ll be leading your platoon in your stead.”
Avalon had to struggle to keep from staring at Adema’s strange features. Avalon had seen several types of elves in her travels. Mist elves, dune elves, shadow elves, but this elf had long black veins that seemed to carve cracks into her face. Her eyes were amber, and her hair was a pale white. Avalon brushed past Adema and made her way to the deck of the ship. The waters swayed the transport boat in a soothing fashion. It seemed her nightmare only awoke Adema, for the rest of the ship was quiet.
“So you are my ‘First Blade’,” Avalon said, amused with the idea that Silent Ones might use Black Rabbit ranks.
“I don’t follow, my Silver Wing,” Adema followed her out, still unaware of the reason behind Avalon’s terrified scream.
Avalon walked out of her cabin and onto the deck of the ship. The night was cool after a light rain. She leaned against the railing, still visibly shaken from the nightmare. Adema rested her hand on her Silencer’s pommel and attempted to prod the issue, “That must have been some nightmare. Do you need to talk?”
Avalon lowered her head and was silent for a long stretch of time, “I left my past behind to stop the needless killing—to stop my needless suffering. However, before I reached my sanctuary, I was sold into slavery as a gladiatrix. With the Black Rabbits, they give you a purpose. It might be a false sense of purpose, but you truly believe you kill for a purpose greater than yourself. Do you understand, Adema?”
“I admit, my Silver Wing, I could never understand the road you walked without walking it myself. I was trained to become a Silent One as a small youth. It is the only life I have known.”
Avalon smiled, “You and I, we may have grown up on opposite ends of the sword, but we are much alike. The Black Rabbits gave me a false purpose, but it was something I could hold onto. When I became a gladiatrix, killing was a means to survive. There was nothing noble in it. I admit I was good, but…”
Avalon gently touched her face, softly running the back of her hand over the several scars that riddled her face. In her years in the slave pits, she had been beaten to near death over and over. However, like bones that broke, she healed and grew stronger. Avalon was reborn over and over, harder and stronger than before.
“He was better than me. He could take more punishment and he was stronger. I had speed, I had skill, but I still lost. I lost every time. And every time I recovered, I became more determined to end his life. I had never felt as much bloodlust in my entire life than I did when I fought him.”
Adema grew tense as she saw the look of murderous intent creep up on Avalon’s face. She watched as Avalon’s hands trembled. It wasn’t fear that caused the shaking, but excitement.
“Avalon?”
Avalon stopped as a flood of adrenaline flushed from her body. She noticed her hands were tightly clawing into the railing.
“Get some rest, Adema.”