The moons hung overhead, their silver radiance drenching the landscape with an ethereal light, as if they, too, were desperate to guide Kiyanna and the Lupus princely boy in their arduous journey. The faintest mist clung to the ground, stirred only by the scraping of their feet against the dirt, mixing with the faint, sickening rhythm of her brother's labored breaths. Blood dripped steadily from Juraf's wounds, staining the ground in a morbid trail of ruby droplets that seeped into the cracked, dry soil, a silent testament to the brutality that had brought them here.
The rural outskirts sprawled around them, a quiet, somber contrast to the chaos of the slums. Sparse fields stretched outward, their once-green crops now withered and scorched from neglect, interspersed with crude homes made of uneven wood and patched thatch roofs. The air was thick with the scent of soil and ash, the kind of stale earthiness that clung to those who lived far from the village's heart. Occasional sounds broke the silence—distant croaks of night-creatures and the faint rustling of brittle stalks in the cool breeze—but otherwise, it was a deadened world they trudged through.
Kiyanna glanced down at her brother, his body slumped between them, partially dragging on the ground. The moons' light gleamed faintly on his bloodied face, highlighting the bruises and cuts that marred his features, and her heart twisted painfully. He had killed so many for her. Fought through what must have been hell. All to find her. All to save her. And what had she done in return? All she ever gave him were criticisms, questions meant to jab at his pride— Why do that? Stop being that way. Why are you like this? She couldn't even remember the last time she had said, thank you. Or I love you.
Tears pricked at her eyes as the weight of it bore down on her chest, sharp and unrelenting. She had always tried to be the mature one, to shoulder the responsibilities that their absent parents had left behind. She prided herself on being the voice of reason, the one who thought things through. She had wanted to raise herself to not put a burden on her brother. But it frustrated her when he took things so loosely. He never took anything seriously it was like he was breathing in clouds instead of air like everyone else. So she criticized him in her frustration. But the truth was, it had made her blind. Blind to how much Juraf had carried for them both. He'd joked about the army, about the seven suns, about fucking heaven itself, but behind it all, he had borne their struggles alone. He had fought not just for himself but for her, too. No it was always for her. That's the type of person her big brother was.
A shaky breath escaped her as her gaze flicked to the boy helping her on the other side—Remulus Lupus, the princely pretty boy who had appeared out of nowhere and saved her when she needed it most. She didn't understand him, didn't know why he had risked himself or why he had stuck around to help her brother. But for that, she was grateful. More grateful than he could ever know, even if he was… weird. There was something odd about him she couldn't quite place, but in this moment, none of it mattered.
"We've got to get him to a healer," she said, her voice trembling as she struggled to keep her composure.
Remulus glanced at her briefly, then down at Juraf's pale, battered form. "We're about to pass through the rural area. Once we reach Sunside, we can go to the priestesses," he said quietly, his voice steady, a stark contrast to her growing panic.
She nodded without another word, focusing instead on keeping her footing as they pressed onward. The slums' jagged outskirts faded into the sprawling emptiness of the rural zone. The commons watched them go, their hollow, sunken eyes glinting like scavengers' as they lingered in the shadows, waiting for an opportunity. Kiyanna shivered but kept walking, the weight of her brother pulling at her arms, each step a grueling trial. Her legs burned, her breath came in short gasps, but she refused to stop. Not now. Not while her brother was like this.
But her strength finally gave out. With a grunt, she stumbled, collapsing under the weight of her burden. Juraf's body slid slightly, hitting the ground with a soft thud.
"Kiyanna!" Remulus called, concern lacing his voice as he quickly steadied Juraf.
She didn't answer. She didn't have the energy. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself back up, her legs shaking as she repositioned herself under her brother's weight. She would not fail him. She would not let him down. One step, then another. Her determination fueled her as the impacts of their feet fell into a rhythmic, almost hypnotic cadence, driving them forward through the night.
The sparse rural homes eventually came into view—small, scattered shacks and huts with crooked fences and flickering lanterns. Most were dark, their occupants long since resigned to the misery of their existence. Yet one house stood out. A faint light glowed from its window, casting warm golden rays onto the dirt path before them.
A head poked out from the doorway, and for a moment, Kiyanna thought she was seeing some sort of fairy. The woman was ethereal—long, waist-length silver hair that shimmered under the moons, milky white skin so flawless it seemed unreal, and large doe-like eyes of pale, pupil-less blue. Her delicate neck arched with a natural grace, her crimson lips vivid against her porcelain complexion, while lashes so long they cast faint shadows over her cheeks completed the vision of otherworldly beauty.
Kiyanna stared, momentarily dumbstruck by the sight, before snapping her head toward Remulus, who looked equally stunned. His expression was almost comical, his lips slightly parted as he gawked, but the sight made her scowl.
"Focus!" she snapped, her voice sharp as a whip, jolting him from his daze.
Remulus blinked rapidly, his face flushing slightly as he quickly straightened, nodding in apology. Kiyanna let out a sigh of exasperation and turned back to the woman, trying to push aside her irritation.
"Wait!" the woman called, her voice high and melodic, like a lark's song carried on a breeze. She stepped forward, rummaging through her belongings for a moment before producing a small badge. The item glinted faintly in the moonlight.
"A priestess in training?" Remulus muttered under his breath, his curiosity evident.
"Yes," the woman replied, her voice calm and kind as she studied them. Her otherworldly eyes focused on Juraf, their pale blue depths unyielding despite their strange lack of pupils. "I can help you. My name is Caela. I can tell your friend is injured there."
Kiyanna felt a surge of hope and gratitude bloom in her chest, though part of her still questioned this woman—her presence, her aura, something about her felt… off. But none of that mattered right now.
"Thank you so much," Kiyanna said, her voice cracking slightly as the weight of relief settled over her.
The home they entered was modest, its exterior betraying its simplicity with cracked wooden beams and a faint smell of earth that hung in the air. The inside was no less unassuming—the front room wasn't very large, and its furnishings were sparse. A couch, stitched together from various beastskins, sat near the center of the room, its patchwork design giving it a rugged charm. The stitching was uneven, as though whoever had crafted it cared more for utility than aesthetics. Around the room were scattered trinkets—small wooden carvings of animals, a few polished stones, and tiny metallic charms hanging from nails driven into the walls. The faint scent of herbs and ointments lingered, stronger near the jars stacked haphazardly on shelves lining one wall. Their contents gleamed in the dim light, some oils catching the flicker of a single lamp hanging from the ceiling.
Caela's movements were graceful, yet there was something slightly off about them. She led them through the room with a measured pace, her steps precise but unseeing. As Kiyanna watched, it became clear that Caela's eyes didn't track where she walked; instead, they stared ahead, unfocused, their pale blue depths giving away her blindness. Yet, despite this, she navigated the space as if she had done so a thousand times before. Her fingers brushed the walls, and her steps subtly adjusted with each touch, guiding her unerringly.
"This way," she said softly, her voice lilting yet firm.
Kiyanna and Remulus followed her into a smaller room that housed a simple bed. Its frame was made of sturdy but unpolished wood, its surface covered in a thin mattress that sagged slightly in the middle. The bedding was minimal, a rough woolen blanket folded at the foot. A worn stool sat beside it, its legs uneven and scuffed. On the walls were a few faint scratches, the remnants of repair work that hadn't quite restored the room to its former state. Everything about the space spoke of practicality, of someone who lived without luxury but made do with what they had.
Caela gestured toward the bed. "I'll heal him here. You two can rest in the other room," she said, her voice still calm but with an unmistakable edge of authority. "Don't disturb me while I work; otherwise, you'll have no one to blame but yourselves."
Her tone was jarring, her words firm and blunt despite the gentleness in her voice. Kiyanna's eyes flicked to the woman's pale, unseeing gaze, wondering how someone so delicate-looking could wield such an air of command. She noticed, too, how Caela's fingers lingered on the medallion hanging around her neck, a small charm she hadn't noticed before.
"Wait, one room?" Remulus blurted nervously, his voice breaking the brief silence. His words hung in the air for a moment before Caela turned her head sharply in his direction, her movements precise despite her blindness.
"Yes. One room," she replied with an almost dismissive air. "Make do and sleep next to one another." There was no room for argument in her tone, as though the matter was entirely beneath further discussion.
Kiyanna felt a blush crawl up her cheeks as she looked over at Remulus. The boy's face had turned a deep shade of crimson, his shoulders stiff as if he were physically restraining himself from reacting further. He was practically trembling, his nervous energy radiating off him in waves. His gaze darted anywhere but at her, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.
"I—I don't—" he stammered, the words tripping over themselves in his mouth, his composure crumbling as his discomfort grew.
Kiyanna rolled her eyes, more amused than annoyed by his awkwardness. With a sigh, she grabbed his hand, her fingers wrapping around his clammy palm. "Don't bother my brother's recovery, hmm?" she said, her voice softer but carrying a note of teasing finality.
She felt his hand tremble beneath her touch, his nervousness almost palpable. The corners of her lips twitched upward into a small, involuntary smile as she led him out of the room and back toward the front. Despite the tension of the situation, there was something oddly endearing about the way Remulus was handling—or rather, failing to handle—this moment. His nervousness was almost infectious, breaking through the weight of her worry for her brother, if only for a fleeting second.
In the silence that followed, the house seemed to exhale around them. The distant chirping of night insects filtered through the cracks in the walls, blending with the soft rustle of the wind outside. Somewhere in the distance, a lone wolf howled, its mournful cry a reminder of the wilderness surrounding them. The faint aroma of herbs lingered, mixing with the earthy scent of wood and the metallic tang of Juraf's blood still clinging to the air.
As they settled into the small space of the front room, Kiyanna glanced once more toward the closed door where her brother lay. A quiet determination filled her as she silently vowed that this would not be the end. Not for him. Not for them.
_______________
Terra woke to the cacophony of crashing, yelling, and the grating bellow of her father's voice. The walls of her cramped, dilapidated room seemed to reverberate with his impotent rage, each word hitting like a hammer against her skull. She pressed herself to the wall, her body taut with tension. She wasn't afraid of him—not exactly. Fear wasn't the right word. She hated him with a venom that burned her throat and churned in her stomach. But hate didn't erase pain, and it certainly didn't stop the bruises. Walking out there now would only mean one thing: pain. Pain he would relish delivering.
Her father's voice roared again, slurred and garbled by drink. She focused her ears, her instincts honing in on the words as they filtered through the walls.
"WHERE THE FUCK IS THAT BRAT?! DID HE RUN AWAY OR SOME SHIT?! ALLO!" he bellowed, his words laced with fury and frustration. The sound of something heavy being thrown against the wall followed, a loud thud rattling the house.
Terra's lip curled into a sneer. Allo. His favorite. The one who mirrored his cruelty and reveled in their shared depravity. Her father didn't love him—no, love was too human for that relationship. What they shared was more like camaraderie, a twisted bond between two miserable souls cut from the same rotted cloth. Allo was her father's reflection, his legacy, the only person who indulged his delusions of grandeur and made him feel like a man in a world that had long since discarded him.
But Allo had been gone for days now, absent from their home for longer than usual. Normally, he'd slink back smelling of sweat and Shadeside filth, his smug grin dripping with secrets. But not this time. This time, his absence stretched, and Terra hoped it was permanent. Perhaps he'd met a savage end, skewered alive by the very beasts he pretended to emulate. Perhaps one of the many whores he bedded had cursed him with some vile disease that ate away at his insides. She hoped for his suffering. She hoped for his pain. And, most of all, she hoped for his end.
Because hoping was all she could do.
Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Hatred alone wasn't enough to change her reality, and she knew it. She was powerless. And yet, that didn't stop her from wishing, from praying to the hollow gods of this cursed world that her brother's absence meant something final.
The noise outside her room died down, replaced by the heavy, labored breathing of her father as his tantrum wore him out. She imagined him slumping into his chair, muttering curses under his breath, too lazy and self-pitying to even search for his precious son himself. Effort was a foreign concept to the man. Why bother looking when he could rage at the walls and pretend the world owed him answers?
The silence stretched, heavy and oppressive. Terra waited, her body coiled, listening for any sign that he might stir again. When none came, she slipped from her cot, her bare feet touching the cold, warped floorboards. She knew where to step, which planks would betray her with creaks and groans and which ones would hold her weight silently. This was an art she had mastered long ago, born of necessity and survival.
At the door, she turned the handle slowly, pushing it open with deliberate care. The hinges protested faintly, but she had learned how to mitigate the noise—trial and error had taught her the right angle, the right amount of force. She traced her fingers over a red stain on the wood, one of many that marked the lessons she had learned in silence. This particular stain was hers, a relic of her father's wrath.
She slipped out into the hallway, the air thick with the stench of sweat and stale alcohol. Her father's snores echoed faintly from the far room, mingling with the faint creak of the house as it settled in the night. She eased the front door open, the early morning air hitting her like a balm. Cool, fresh, untainted by the suffocating despair of the house. She pulled the door shut behind her and ran.
Her feet pounded against the dirt streets, the uneven ground kicking up dust as she pushed herself forward. She didn't know where she was going—she never really did—but anywhere was better than that house. The further she got, the lighter her chest felt, the air filling her lungs with a freedom she only ever tasted out here. For a brief moment, her world expanded beyond the confines of those rotten walls, beyond her father's rage and her brother's malice.
"WHERE THE FUCK IS HE?!" Her father's voice echoed in her mind, but out here, it was distant, powerless. She focused on the rhythm of her steps, the way her body moved with purpose, with an urgency born not of fear but of need. She needed this. She needed to run, to feel the cool wind of the dawn against her face, to remind herself that she wasn't entirely caged.
The streets grew quieter as she ran, the sounds of the slums fading into the background. Shadows danced around her, cast by the suns hanging overhead. Their light fell in pale, zealous streams, illuminating the path ahead. The air smelled of damp earth and the faint metallic tang of distant forges.
She ran until her legs burned, until the tightness in her chest forced her to slow. Only then did she notice the trail of blood in the dirt, the dark stains catching the sunlight like spilled rubies. Her breath hitched, and she hesitated, staring at the evidence of violence that marked the ground.
Was it his? Allo's?
She shook her head, forcing herself to move. She couldn't think about that now. Not here. Not yet. Her destination was close, and she needed to see it. Her steps quickened again, her heart pounding not from exertion but from something deeper, something she didn't want to name.
And then she reached it. The place she always went to when she escaped. The place where she could breathe.
She stood on the edge of a clearing, a small patch of overgrown grass and wildflowers that had somehow survived amidst the decay of the slums. The flowers glowed faintly in the sunlight, their delicate petals catching the multi-colored beams like tiny lanterns. She dropped to her knees, her hands brushing the soft blades of grass, the cool earth grounding her in a way nothing else could.
Here, she could watch them. The lives she wished she had. Beyond the clearing, the lights of Sunside twinkled, the homes of the privileged casting a warm glow against the dark sky. She could see figures moving in the distance—families, friends, people living lives that didn't revolve around survival and pain.
She watched them, her breath slowing, her body sinking into the grass as the night wrapped around her. Here, she could imagine what it would be like to be one of them. To be brave. To be free.
But she wasn't. She continued, this was not her destination quite yet. She was still in the rural side after all.
She ran through the rural side, the aspar lighting her way in the early dawn. The golden tubular creatures twisted and danced in the soft morning light, their small sensory organs shimmering like delicate lanterns. They floated aimlessly above the dirt paths, casting faint glows that mingled with the growing warmth of the seven suns as they began their ascent. Their light illuminated the world with a gentle, ethereal haze, painting the edges of every blade of grass and each weathered stone with a golden sheen.
Above her, the sky came alive as a flock of Filum flew in a twisting, synchronized formation. These magnificent four-winged birds, their pitch-black feathers glistening, cut through the morning air with an effortless grace. As they flew past the light of the suns, their wings became living prisms, scattering brilliant bursts of color that rippled across the heavens. Terra paused for a moment, her breath catching in her throat. The light refracted onto her golden hair, igniting it into a shimmering cascade, a trait she had inherited from her mother—a memory that stung more than it warmed.
Her mother's voice rose unbidden in her mind, the echoes of words she tried so hard to forget.
"This is our destiny, Terra," the woman's voice whispered, soft yet heavy, the weight of resignation dripping from every word. "This is the life we have to live to survive. Just listen to your father, honey. I can't help you."
Her hands curled into fists as the memory surged forward, relentless.
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She had been younger then, her face still round with the softness of childhood, though her eyes had already begun to harden. Her mother sat across the room, her once-pristine hair now dulled and lifeless, strands falling over a face etched with weariness. Her figure, once proud and strong, had grown frail under the weight of years spent bending to the will of others. Terra remembered the way her mother's hands trembled, not from fear but from the sheer exhaustion of trying to hold on to something—anything—that might have offered hope.
"Why?" Terra had asked, her small voice trembling with anger and confusion. "Why do you just let him hurt us? Why do you let him win?"
Her mother's gaze had been distant, her pale eyes fixed on a spot somewhere beyond Terra's shoulder, as though the answer lay hidden in the empty air behind her. When she finally looked at her daughter, the light in her eyes had already been snuffed out, replaced by something hollow.
"Because that's what it means to survive," she had said, her tone flat, almost robotic. "You don't fight the storm, Terra. You endure it. Fighting only brings more pain."
"But you're wrong!" Terra had shouted, the words tearing from her throat, raw and desperate. "You don't just endure! You fight back! You have to fight back!"
Her mother's lips had curled into a ghost of a smile, so faint it could hardly be called that. It was a smile of someone who had given up long before the words had even left her daughter's mouth.
"Bravery is for people who have a chance, Terra," she had said quietly. "Not for us. Not for people like you and me."
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Terra shook her head violently, wrenching herself from the memory. The image of her mother—broken, resigned—clung to her mind like a shadow, but she shoved it down, burying it beneath the resolve that had carried her out of that house so many times before. She pushed forward, her feet moving faster, the earth beneath her kicking up soft clouds of dust.
The rural area around her was coming to life. Villagers walked along the dirt paths, their faces alight with the warmth of morning. Families gathered around tables outside their modest homes, sharing laughter over steaming bowls of stew and freshly baked bread. Children darted between them, their giggles carried on the breeze. Farmers tended to their plots, their hands deftly working the soil, their smiles unbothered by the sweat beading on their foreheads.
Everywhere she looked, there was a vibrancy she could never touch. The people here weren't unaware of the struggles others faced—they knew the pain, the hunger, the fear. But they chose to laugh anyway, to live anyway. Or maybe, she thought bitterly, they simply didn't care. Maybe their lives were so far removed from hers that the two worlds couldn't possibly connect.
The sight of their contentment felt like a knife twisting in her gut. She exhaled shakily, turning her focus to her destination, letting her legs carry her up the winding path to the temple.
The temple was a simple yet elegant structure, its white wood gotten from a rare and sacred tree gleamed faintly in the early light. Intricate carvings adorned the walls, depicting the stories of Fenrir, the seven suns, and the dark beast Tarak. They were legends she knew well, their images etched into her mind from years of quiet observation. She stepped through the wood and stone archway into the courtyard, her eyes drawn to the simple blue-green wooden amphitheater at its center. It was there she saw her—the head priestess, Baya.
Baya sat on a raised platform, her white robes catching the sunlight in a way that made her seem almost otherworldly. Her staff, topped with a crystal that shimmered like liquid light, rested easily in her hand. Her robes were adorned with intricate embroidery, the symbols of Fenrir and Tarak interwoven like the threads of fate itself. Despite her advanced age, Baya radiated vitality, her flushed cheeks and sharp gaze a testament to her indomitable spirit. And her jolly one as well. The woman had a really loud and annoying laugh.
The amphitheater was filled with young girls, their eager faces turned toward Baya as she addressed them. Her voice carried over the crowd, warm and lively, weaving encouragement into every word. Terra stayed at the edges, watching the girls train, their postures straight, their movements sharp with purpose. They were everything she had dreamed of being—proud, confident, free.
"Today," Baya announced, her voice almost brimming with excitement, "a new girl will be joining you all in learning. She is an orphan of the ongoing war with the Gu. Born blind and with a weak constitution, she has overcome every obstacle placed before her. She stands here with us today as the embodiment of what determination and desperation can achieve. Bagyagyagya, meet your new classmate, Caela!"
As if conjured by magic, a girl stepped onto the stage, previously hidden from view by some technique Terra couldn't understand. She was breathtaking—silver hair cascading like liquid light, her delicate frame exuding an ethereal fragility. Her pale blue eyes, devoid of pupils, seemed to see beyond sight, as if creation itself had bent to her will, determined to shield her from harm and propel her dreams forward.
Terra froze, a storm of emotions roiling in her chest. The girl had endured circumstances as dire as her own—maybe worse—and yet, here she stood, radiant and unbroken. It was as though the suns had chosen her, Fenrir himself had bent the world to ensure her success. It was unfair.
Terra turned away, her movements calm and measured despite the tumult within. The amphitheater and its golden promise faded behind her as she walked back toward the village. The words of her mother rang in her ears once more, each syllable cutting deeper than the last.
This is our destiny. This is the life we have to live to survive.
Her steps quickened, her jaw clenched. She didn't belong there. She didn't belong anywhere. Dreams were for people like Caela, people blessed by fate.
Not for her. Never for her.
She had made the best choice she could. There was nothing else she could do—right?
___________
As Terra walked away, the bustle of the village felt like an oppressive force pressing in on her from all sides. The lively chattering of neighbors and the clattering of tools being used for trade and craft filled the air, mixing with the sharp, distant laughter of children playing games that she could barely remember from her own fleeting moments of childhood. The sun, which had once been her beacon of freedom, now seemed harsh and overbearing, casting long shadows that mirrored the weight in her chest.
She passed through the narrow, winding streets of Shadeside, where buildings leaned precariously against one another, their walls cracked and patched with uneven planks. Each home seemed to weep decay, the roofs drooping under the weight of years without repair. She moved with a slow, detached rhythm, her golden hair catching the fading light and glinting like a cruel mockery of beauty in this pit of despair.
Men loitered on the corners, their gazes following her like predators sizing up prey. One of them, a wiry man with greasy hair and a sneer that exposed crooked teeth, stepped into her path, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his tattered coat.
"Hey, sweetheart," he drawled, his voice slithering through the air like oil. "Where ya headed in such a hurry? Got a place you need to be, or are you just lookin' for some company?"
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Terra's eyes remained fixed on the ground, her face expressionless. She didn't slow, didn't acknowledge him beyond sidestepping to continue her path. He clicked his tongue, the sound sharp and irritated.
"Too good to even look at me, huh? What's a little thing like you doing out here alone anyway?" His tone shifted, growing harsher, more taunting. "You think you're better than us or something? We can fix that, you know."
Another man, larger and broader, leaned against a nearby wall, his arms crossed as he watched with a lazy smirk. "C'mon, Rigg, she's not even gonna talk to you. Waste of time. Looks like she's got nothin' to offer but that pretty hair. Probably dead inside, anyway."
The smaller man spat on the ground, his sneer deepening as Terra continued walking without so much as a flinch. "Fuckin' bitch," he muttered under his breath before turning away, leaving her to the next set of eyes that would undoubtedly follow her every move.
More voices called out as she passed, some playful, others cruel. A drunkard stumbled out of a shadowed alley, reeking of cheap liquor, and reached out a hand, his fingers brushing against the fabric of her sleeve. "Hey, girl, don't be shy now," he slurred. "I'll show ya a good time."
She kept walking, her expression never shifting, her steps never faltering. Each word, each leer, each mocking laugh washed over her like the wind—felt but never acknowledged. Even the boldest of them, emboldened by the anonymity of the crowd, didn't dare to follow her for long. In Shadeside, there were unspoken rules even among the depraved, and broad daylight offered some semblance of protection for a girl like her.
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The light of the day faded as she finally reached the familiar rotting structure she called home. Her steps slowed as she approached the door, the edges of the wood splintered and frayed from years of neglect. The stench of mildew and rot clung to the air around it, a scent that was as much a part of her life as the bruises that painted her skin. She opened the door with a practiced silence, her movements careful, mechanical.
The room inside was dim, lit only by the faint, flickering glow of an old lantern hanging from a rusted hook on the wall. The floorboards creaked underfoot, their warped edges threatening to catch and trip her. Shadows stretched long and jagged across the walls, dancing in the unsteady light, making the space feel smaller, more suffocating.
She didn't have time to brace herself before a hand slammed her face into the wall with a force that rattled her skull. The impact sent a jarring shock through her body, her teeth clacking painfully together as her cheek scraped against the rough wood.
"This bitch… you were laughing at me, weren't you!" Allo's voice was a snarl, raw and guttural, dripping with rage.
She turned her head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of him through the corner of her eye. His face was a grotesque mask of fury, swollen and streaked with dried blood. Splinters stuck out of his skin like jagged thorns, and hastily patched bandages did little to hide the wounds that covered him. He looked like a man who had been dragged through hell and back—and he was eager to take it out on her.
Before she could even respond, his fist connected with her ribs, driving the air from her lungs in a sharp gasp. The pain radiated through her torso, a deep, throbbing ache that made her vision blur for a moment. Another blow came, this time to her stomach, and she doubled over, clutching at the wall for support as bile rose in her throat.
"Fucking piece of shit!" he screamed, punctuating his words with a backhanded slap that sent her sprawling to the ground. Her head hit the floor with a sickening thud, the world spinning around her as the taste of blood filled her mouth.
As Allo towered over her, his shadow stretching long and menacing across the floor, she looked up at him through bruised, swollen eyes. But she didn't see a person. She didn't even see an animal. All she saw was a rotting corpse, something decayed and festering, barely held together by the remnants of what had once been human. His rage, his violence, his very existence was a disease, spreading rot to everything he touched.
Her stomach churned with revulsion as he kicked her again, his boot connecting with her side and sending a wave of nausea crashing over her. Unable to hold it back, she vomited, the acidic bile splattering across his legs and the floor around her. The sight and smell made him recoil, his face twisting in disgust.
"Fucking disgusting!" he shouted, stepping back and shaking his leg as if to rid himself of her filth.
She lay there in her own vomit, her body trembling from the pain and the effort it took to breathe. Her limbs felt heavy, her mind hazy, but somewhere deep inside her, a flicker of defiance burned. Even as she lay broken on the floor, even as his shouts echoed in her ears, she refused to give him the satisfaction of a cry or a plea for mercy.
This was her place. This was her destiny, just as her mother had said. And yet, as she closed her eyes and let the darkness take her, she couldn't help but feel a deep, visceral hatred—not just for him, but for herself, for her inability to break free.
Destiny was destiny. And the weak should just focus on surviving. Living was for the lucky. She was never lucky. Not like her, not like Caela.
The room was like a small, suffocating prison, its walls closing in like the jaws of some unseen beast. The faint, sickly glow of the lantern swayed with each of Allo's movements, casting twisted shadows that seemed to writhe and mock Terra in her helplessness. Her face pressed against the splintered floorboards, a mixture of blood, vomit, and sweat smeared across her skin. The acrid stench of it filled her nose, mingling with the damp rot of the house, choking her senses.
"So this is why Mother killed herself…" she muttered, her voice barely more than a whisper, yet it carried the weight of years of anguish and bitterness.
The words hung in the air like a thunderclap, freezing the room in an eerie stillness. Allo, mid-step, stopped as if struck by an invisible force. His body went rigid, the fury etched across his face replaced for a fleeting moment by something unreadable. Confusion? Pain? Shame? It was impossible to tell, and Terra didn't care to decipher it.
But then, without warning, he lunged.
It wasn't his usual cruelty, laced with mockery and taunts; this was something raw, primal. His hands grabbed her by the hair, wrenching her head back before slamming it down with bone-jarring force against the wooden floor. The impact sent a fresh wave of pain coursing through her skull, stars bursting in her vision as the world around her blurred.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Each blow reverberated through her entire body, the sound of her head colliding with the floor mixing with the wet squelch of blood and bile. Her own numen flared weakly, a faint, flickering defense that did little more than soften the edges of her torment. She could feel it slipping away with each strike, her reserves draining as her body struggled to endure the onslaught.
Her mind became a haze, a disjointed mess of pain and resignation. This is it, she thought. Destiny. No matter how much she hated it, no matter how much she had hoped, she could not escape it. She was born into this, chained to this life, constantly walking on a tightrope one day doomed to fall it just happened her time was up now. There was no amount of defiance could change that it was how things were how they were supposed to be. People like her—weak, powerless—did not get the chance to change anything. The world didn't grant mercy to those like her. To people like Caela.
Somewhere in the white fog overtaking her vision, she saw her mother's face. That worn, defeated expression, eyes hollow with the weight of a life that had offered nothing but pain. The memory hit her like a knife to the chest, the words her mother had spoken echoing in her mind.
"Just listen to your father, honey. I can't help you."
Those words weren't a plea. They were an apology. Her mother had given up long before the end, and now Terra understood. This was why. This unending cycle of misery and degradation. It was too much for anyone to bear. The image of her mother's face began to fade, dissolving into the white void that now consumed her mind. She hated her mother then, she still did now. But perhaps she wasn't wrong. She didn't even know anymore.
Her eyelids fluttered, heavy with exhaustion and the creeping embrace of unconsciousness. She felt her body slacken, her resistance fading entirely. Her cheek rested against the floor, the blood pooling beneath her warm and sticky. The sounds around her became distant, muffled, like she was underwater. Her brother's ragged breaths, the creak of the house, the far-off laughter of the village—they all blended into an indistinct hum.
Maybe this is better, she thought as the white consumed her. Maybe this is peace. Peace and power. For the only power I can reclaim may be in death.
But then—
CRASH!
The sound of splintering wood shattered the fog, dragging her back to the present like a slap to the face. Her brother's grip loosened, and she barely registered his startled stumble as he turned toward the source of the noise. Her blurred vision caught a figure in the doorway, silhouetted against the dim light outside, their presence crackling with an energy that electrified the air.
A voice cut through the haze, raw and filled with a mixture of venomous rage and mirth? The baritone voice echoed in her ears like the roar of a storm.
"ALLO! I'm here for your ass! I'm going to fucking kill you!"
She did not know the voice, one that carried with it a feral, untamed fury that promised destruction. Her heart thudded weakly in her chest, a flicker of something stirring within her—hope? No, not quite. But something else. Something darker. Something more malevolent and ugly. More inquitous then Tarak more vile then Shadeside and yet she reveled in it. Maybe just maybe this person would see it through
The crack of wood meeting bone reverberated through the stifling room, and Terra felt the oppressive weight of her brother lifted from her bruised and battered body. Her lungs screamed for air as she gasped, coughing through the blood and bile that slicked her face. Dots of black and white danced in her vision, gradually giving way to the blurry outlines of her surroundings. Bit by bit, the scene before her sharpened, and what she saw made her breath hitch.
There, standing tall amidst the wreckage of the decrepit room, was a boy around her age. His olive skin gleamed faintly in the dim light of the single lantern, its flickering flame casting jagged shadows across his striking features. His eyes, as black as the endless night sky, held a glint of something fierce and untamed. His hair, matching the shade of his eyes, framed his face in disheveled strands that gave him an air of rebellious charm. His nose was proud and strong, and his high cheekbones added a regal sharpness to his face. His eyebrows, thick and angled like blades, gave his expression an intensity that seemed both dangerous and captivating.
And that grin. That wicked, confident grin that spread across his face, revealing a slight dimple on his cheek. Perhaps it was the haze clouding her mind, but at that moment, he looked like the most beautiful person she had ever seen. He stood in stark contrast to her own reflection—her gaunt, hollowed face and matted golden hair stained with blood and filth. He was light where she was shadow, strength where she was weakness.
He was not unscathed, though. Bandages were wrapped tightly around his torso and arms, clean and expertly done, their crispness emphasizing the careful hands that had tended to his wounds. Over these bandages, he wore armor fashioned from carapace and wood, each piece polished and fitted with precision. This was no scavenged protection from Shadeside; it was crafted with care, a testament to his place as a soldier in the army.
Terra's gaze flickered to the figure behind him—a boy a little shorter, with soft brown hair, rounded ears, and green eyes that darted nervously between Allo and the scene unfolding before them. His demeanor was calmer, more restrained, but his presence radiated an air of quiet authority. There was something in his stance, the way his hand hovered near the hilt of his weapon, that marked him as someone accustomed to holding power.
The boy—she knew not his yet before he spoke, though she did have a few theories considering how her brother was reacting—turned slightly to glance at her before shifting his attention back to Allo. His voice, low and sardonic, sliced through the tension like a blade.
"Beating your women to death in vomit and blood now, Allo?" he drawled, his grin widening with mockery. "That's a whole new low, even for you. Well no that's a lie you evil fuck."
The venom in his words was palpable, the mockery curling around every syllable like a whip. He didn't even seem to see Allo as a threat, more like a pest he had finally decided to crush.
The shorter boy behind him spoke up, his voice steady and firm despite the quiet volume. "Yes, that's against the law, and it's grounds for expulsion from the village… or imprisonment in the depths of Shadeside jail."
Terra saw Allo stiffen at the words, his bravado faltering as he recognized the authority in the shorter boy's tone. Allo's face twisted into an ugly snarl, equal parts fear and anger, as he sputtered, "YOU! Fuck, Juraf! How did you know where I live?! How does an orphan fuck like you join the army?! And that's not my woman—that useless bitch is my sister!"
The words landed like a blow, heavy and repugnant, the venom in his voice unmistakable. Terra watched as Juraf's grin evaporated the moment Allo mentioned her. The playful malice in his expression was replaced with something cold, something terrifying. His jaw clenched, and his dark eyes turned glacial, the air around him seeming to freeze with the sudden shift in his demeanor.
Juraf's voice, stripped of its earlier bravado, dropped into a frigid monotone that made the hairs on the back of Terra's neck stand on end. "This is proper grounds for arrest, right?"
The boy behind him nodded grimly, his expression tight with disapproval. "Yes, without question."
Juraf's body moved then, every step deliberate, his frame coiled with the promise of violence. He strode toward Allo with a menacing intent that filled the room, the lantern light flickering erratically as though it, too, feared the wrath descending on the wretch who had dared call Terra his sister.
The room seemed to shrink around them, the tension suffocating as the distance between Juraf and Allo closed. The once-mocking grin was gone, replaced by a look of utter contempt and borderline hatred, as though Allo were nothing more than dirt beneath his boots.
Terra's vision blurred again, not from pain but from the raw intensity of the moment. Juraf, the boy who seemed so larger-than-life, was walking toward the creature who had tormented her with the calm finality of an executioner.
_________
"Wait, wait, wait! We can talk about this! You can't do this to me, please! I'll do anything—I'm sorry—" Allo's pleading was cut off in an instant. Juraf's hand lashed out, faster than Terra could comprehend, and clamped around Allo's jaw with a force that seemed to shake the very air.
There was a sickening crack, a sound so visceral that it reverberated through Terra's bones, followed by the grotesque sight of Allo's jaw collapsing into a shapeless ruin. Blood and saliva poured freely as the mangled flesh, no longer supported by bone, sagged grotesquely. Fragments of shattered teeth fell to the floor like macabre pearls, clinking softly against the blood-slicked wood.
"HHMMMGGHHHAARRRR!!!" Allo's cry was guttural, primal, the sound of a man reduced to a beast by sheer, unrelenting agony.
The air hung thick with the stench of blood, bile, and fear, pressing down on everything like a suffocating weight. Terra's gaze remained locked on the scene unfolding before her, unable to tear herself away. Her battered body screamed at her to move but she remained frozen, transfixed by the sight of her brother's brutal comeuppance.
Juraf tilted his head, his grin widening as though relishing the sound. "Oh man, he was talking back and inciting a violent response. I had no choice! You'll vouch for me, right, Remmy?" His tone carried an exaggerated regret that made his mockery all the more cutting.
"Uh, sure. Yes, no, of course," the other boy, Remmy, responded hastily, his unease palpable as he tried to keep up with Juraf's deranged logic.
Allo's trembling hand swung out in a desperate attempt to strike back, his movements sluggish and wild from pain and fear. Juraf caught the flailing arm mid-swing with a grip like iron. Without hesitation, he twisted sharply, the wet, nauseating pop of dislocated joints accompanied by a sharp snap as the elbow shattered. The limb hung uselessly, the jagged end of a bone piercing through the skin like a white flag of surrender. Blood cascaded from the wound in sickening spurts, pooling on the floor in dark, spreading stains.
Juraf studied the exposed bone with mild curiosity before gripping it tightly. In one swift, brutal motion, he tore the fragment free from Allo's arm, ignoring the ear-splitting scream that followed.
"Ahhh, poor guy." Juraf's voice was tinged with mock sympathy as he turned the jagged shard in his hand, inspecting it like an artist admiring a new tool. "Let's put this to good use, huh?"
Before Allo could even comprehend what was happening, Juraf drove the splintered bone into his thigh with brutal force, the improvised weapon tearing through muscle and flesh until it embedded itself in the calf beneath. Allo's leg was pinned grotesquely to the floor, forcing him into a kneeling position as his blood poured out in rivulets, soaking the wood beneath him.
"Oh no, he tried resisting arrest. What a shame I had to do that to him. What a shame indeed," Juraf said, his tone dripping with feigned disappointment.
"HRMMMM guh guh!" Allo's cries had devolved into incomprehensible noises as tears mixed with the blood streaking down his face. He slammed his head against the floor in a desperate bid to escape the pain, but Juraf calmly intercepted the motion, placing his arm in the way. Each impact of Allo's head against Juraf's forearm sent fresh jolts of agony through the battered man's body.
"See that, Remmy? He attacked me. We call that inhibiting the rightful due process of the law, don't we?" Juraf's voice took on a cheerful lilt, his grin widening as he turned his attention back to Allo. "Seems we'll need more violence, huh?"
Allo's head shook frantically, his tears falling in streams, his throat working to produce frantic, incoherent pleas. But Juraf's grin turned cold, his eyes narrowing with a predatory gleam.
"I do wonder how many little girls did the same," he mused, his voice icy and deliberate. "How many times did your own sister beg you to stop Did you listen, Allo? Ever? Even once?"
Terra's chest tightened at the cold fury in Juraf's words, and her eyes darted to the jagged edge of his spear as he slowly raised it. Allo's cries grew more frantic, his broken body writhing in place as the point of the weapon hovered dangerously close to his groin.
"Ah, sorry," Juraf said conversationally, a grin splitting his face once more. "The spear isn't the best cutting tool. And the edge is a bit rough. Guess I'll have to saw that little pedo pecker of yours off. Can't have people attacking the army without consequences, now can we?"
The room filled with the sickening scrape of the serrated spearhead dragging across flesh. Allo's screams reached a crescendo, a horrifying, unearthly sound that seemed to shake the very walls. His body convulsed wildly, his cries growing hoarse and ragged as blood spurted from the mess Juraf was making.
Juraf's grin widened as he sawed methodically, his voice bright and cheerful. "Ah, there we go. That's coming off nicely. Look at that, Remmy. Isn't it just perfect?"
He reached down to pick up the mangled remnants of Allo's severed genitals, holding them up triumphantly. Blood dripped from the jagged edges as he turned to Remulus, who looked pale and visibly disturbed.
"Ha! Remmy, look at this little pedo pecker! Really fucked up, huh?" Juraf said, laughing like he'd just told a great joke.
Remulus didn't respond, his lips pressed into a thin line as he avoided looking directly at the bloodied mess in Juraf's hand. Juraf, seemingly unfazed by his companion's silence, turned his attention back to Allo.
"Hey, hey, hey!" Each word was punctuated with a heavy slap to Allo's bruised, bloodied cheek, jolting him back to consciousness. Allo groaned weakly, his body barely responsive.
"Oh, you're awake now? Good." Juraf's voice was mocking, his grin returning as he crouched down to meet Allo's tear-filled eyes. "Now we can really enjoy this."
The madness in his voice was unmistakable, and Terra, despite the agony wracking her body, couldn't help but think—he's absolutely wonderful.
As the dim, flickering light of the single oil lamp cast grotesque shadows across the walls, stretching the horror of the scene to monstrous proportions. Terra's mind swam in a haze of pain and grim satisfaction, her battered body slumped against the wall as her brother's muffled screams filled the cramped space. Juraf crouched over Allo like a predator playing with its food, his grin feral and sharp.
Allo gagged and choked, his body convulsing violently as Juraf crammed the mangled remains of his own severed genitals into his mouth. Blood bubbled at the corners of his lips as Juraf shoved his hand deeper, forcing the mutilated flesh down his throat. Allo's eyes bulged in terror, his muffled gurgles the only sound he could muster.
"Really don't like brute force when it's you on the other end, huh? Hehehahaha!" Juraf jeered, his voice a mockery of amusement as he pointed at the writhing figure beneath him. His laughter echoed through the room, casual and unbothered, as if he were telling a joke at a tavern rather than brutalizing a man in his own home.
Juraf leaned back slightly, letting out a long, exaggerated sigh as his gaze settled on Allo's face. The hatred and fear in Allo's eyes seemed to spark something in him, his grin widening into something more sinister.
"I don't like those eyes of yours, lil' Allo." Without hesitation, he jammed his thumb into one of Allo's eye sockets. The wet, sickening squelch of the orb rupturing filled the room as Juraf pressed harder, pulping the eye between his fingers. Blood and vitreous fluid oozed down Allo's face as he let out an ear-piercing scream, his body jerking in agony.
Even Remulus, who had maintained a veneer of composure throughout, recoiled at the brutality, his face paling as he took an instinctive step back. Terra, however, felt nothing but grim gratification. Ah, I'd been wanting to do that for so long. Thank you, she thought, her lips curling into the faintest hint of a smile despite the pain wracking her body.
The door burst open with a sudden crash, slamming against the wall with enough force to make the already flimsy structure shudder. Terra's head snapped toward the sound, her heart lurching in her chest. Standing in the doorway was her father, his burly frame silhouetted against the dim light of the street outside. A battered wooden mug hung loosely from one hand, the other still on the doorframe. His face was flushed red, whether from drink or anger it was hard to tell, but his wide, bloodshot eyes quickly sobered as they took in the scene before him.
His gaze darted from Allo's mutilated, kneeling form to the two young soldiers standing in his home. Juraf's armor was spattered with blood, the dark crimson streaks glinting dully in the lamplight. Remulus stood slightly behind him, his expression a mixture of unease and grim resolve. Terra lay crumpled in the corner, her body smeared with her own blood and vomit. Her father's face twisted in disbelief and growing rage as his eyes finally settled on Allo's sobbing, broken form.
"...What is this?" His voice was hoarse, the shock evident in his tone.
Remulus, the more measured of the two soldiers, stepped forward, clearing his throat. "Your son is wanted for some very serious crimes… and vehemently resisted arrest." His voice was steady but lacked the conviction of Juraf's confidence.
Her father's expression darkened, his grip tightening around the mug until his knuckles turned white. "You can't do this to me! To us! I was a veteran, you know! I worked long and hard for this village before I was cast off to this corner to rot and fucking die! And now you have the audacity to march into my home and torture my son? Fuck you!" He didn't even spare a glance for Terra, as if she were invisible, her battered form not worth his notice.
She didn't mind. Their relationship as father and daughter had been severed long ago, frayed by years of neglect and cruelty. Instead, she turned her attention to Juraf, who stood with an almost bored expression, his spear still loosely gripped in one hand.
Juraf tilted his head, his grin returning as he regarded the older man. "I wonder if you've been telling your stories so long you actually believe that shit. I've heard about you, Pritin. Allo's dad, the 'former soldier.'" His voice dripped with mocking disdain. "You go to the tavern and tell anyone who'll listen about your glory days—the monsters you slayed, the women you fucked, all your heroic tales, huh? You wonder why a mighty veteran like yourself would end up living like this. Right, Remmy?"
Remulus, clearly reluctant but understanding his role, pulled a roll of worn papyrus from his armor and began to read. "Pritin, dishonorably discharged for abandoning your soldiers and fleeing during battle. Reports from surviving soldiers state that you… used one of your men as a human shield."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence. Pritin's face twisted with a mix of rage and desperation, his chest heaving as he struggled to find a retort. Juraf simply watched, his grin widening as he stepped closer to the trembling man.
"Seems like you're not the hero you've been pretending to be, huh? Just another piece of shit who thought he could get away with it. Well, guess what? You fuck with us your time's up too old man." Juraf's voice was cold now, his mocking tone replaced with something far more dangerous.
But then Juraf's smile returned, a mask of calm menace as he turned back to Allo. His tone was deceptively light, carrying a weight that made even Terra flinch despite herself. "That's the kind of trash you're descended from. Wouldn't be a problem if you didn't take after him, but oh, you do. You fucking do. He just wanted to survive, but people like him, people like you, should've died the second after you were born."
The words slashed through the air like a blade, slicing into whatever delusions of strength Allo or his father might have clung to. Pritin's face flushed a deep crimson, his veins bulging grotesquely across his forehead and neck. His hands clenched into fists, trembling not with fear but with an impotent rage he was powerless to unleash.
"Wanna fight, you old fuck?" Juraf taunted, a wild light dancing in his dark eyes. His grin widened, baring teeth that seemed sharper in the flickering lamplight, and his stance shifted, casual yet predatory.
"GRAAAHHH!!" Pritin roared, his body lunging forward with the clumsy force of a man who relied on raw anger rather than skill. His right arm swung in a wide haymaker, the blow so telegraphed it might as well have been shouted before it landed. Juraf didn't even flinch. With a fluid motion, he sidestepped the strike and lashed out with a sharp kick to Pritin's injured leg.
The sickening crack of bone meeting bone filled the room as Pritin crumpled to the ground, howling in pain. His face smashed against the dirt-streaked floor, but Juraf wasn't finished. He grabbed a fistful of the man's graying hair, yanking him upward despite his writhing protests. Blood streamed from Pritin's nose and mouth as he clawed weakly at Juraf's hands, but it was useless. He was dragged mercilessly toward the fireplace, the heat of the flames licking at the air around them.
That very same place where he had burnt her books. "I told you not to fuck with me today. But you just had to push it. You enabling bastard." Juraf's voice was cold now, stripped of its earlier mockery. Without waiting for a reply, he slammed Pritin's face into the corner of the stone hearth. The crack of bone meeting unyielding rock echoed through the room, followed by Pritin's muffled screams as Juraf ground his face against the edge. Blood smeared the stone as his jaw was forced unnaturally open, the sound of cartilage snapping loud and sharp.
"Bite it," Juraf ordered, his voice a low growl. When Pritin resisted, Juraf twisted one of his arms behind his back, applying enough pressure to dislocate the shoulder with a nauseating pop. The old man let out a guttural scream, his body spasming as Juraf slammed his face into the stone again, forcing his teeth to clamp down on the corner.
"Perfect. Hold that for me." Juraf's voice had an almost jovial quality now, his dark amusement a chilling contrast to the brutality of his actions. With deliberate slowness, he lifted one foot high above his head, his balance unnervingly steady.
The first stomp landed with a sickening crunch. Teeth shattered like porcelain, fragments embedding themselves into Pritin's gums and throat. Blood sprayed out in thick spurts, pooling beneath his head as he choked on the jagged shards lodged in his mouth. Juraf didn't pause. The second stomp was even harder, driving the broken fragments deeper into the back of Pritin's throat and crushing the corner of his jaw entirely. The third stomp silenced any resistance, leaving behind a grotesque mess of blood, shattered bone, and pulp where Pritin's mouth had once been.
Juraf stepped back, his breathing steady, as he observed his handiwork. "Still alive," he muttered, almost to himself, before glancing at Remulus, who stood frozen with a horrified expression.
"Only reason he wasn't up for execution was because they thought he'd be worse off this way. His cultivation already had no way of advancing. He's a cripple, Remmy. Get him to a healer, and he'll survive. But Allo"—Juraf gestured toward the whimpering, mutilated man still pinned to the floor—"he's not walking away from this. He's going to die here."
Remulus hesitated, his eyes darting between the bloodied remains of Pritin and the pitiful sight of Allo. "This… this is too much. Juraf, we can't—"
"You're too soft, Remmy." Juraf cut him off, his tone one of exasperated disappointment. "We'll need to rectify that, especially considering your little crush." His lips curled into a smirk as he shook his head. "Grow a spine, kid. You're in the army now. There's no room for weakness."
"My what?" Remulus shouted, his voice cracking with surprise and fear, his wide eyes locking onto Juraf.
Juraf rolled his eyes, waving a dismissive hand. "You think I'm blind, you princely chucklefuck? Whatever. We'll talk about that later," he muttered, shaking his head before turning back to Allo. The battered man was now a mere shell of his former self, his one remaining eye dull and lifeless. He didn't scream anymore; he didn't even flinch. It was as if he had accepted his fate, resigned to whatever horrors Juraf had in store for him.
Terra watched, her broken form trembling with pain, but she couldn't deny the flicker of pleasure that sparked within her. The sight of her tormentor reduced to nothing, stripped of all his bluster and power—it was intoxicating. Her lips curled into what could only barely be called a smile, given the state of her swollen, bruised face.
Juraf turned slightly, catching the faint shift in her expression. His own lips twisted into a dark grin as he crouched next to Allo, his voice dropping to a cold, taunting lilt. "Spear intent is useful for a lot of things. But you know what its foremost trait is? The one thing you and spear intent actually share, Allo? It's all about putting holes in things that didn't have them before, against their will. Piercing forward, violating that which won't bend to your desires. Funny how that works, huh?"
He stood abruptly, hefting his spear with ease, the weapon glinting menacingly in the dim light. Allo's body twitched involuntarily, his mangled arm hanging uselessly at his side, as Juraf grabbed him by the collar and yanked him upward with almost casual strength. The sound of bone snapping as Juraf dislodged the makeshift spike pinning Allo to the floor was sickening. Allo whimpered pathetically, blood bubbling from his lips.
"Let's get you upright," Juraf said with false cheer. In one swift motion, he drove his spear upward, the jagged blade entering Allo from below and piercing clean through his chest. The force of the thrust planted the spear firmly into the floor, leaving Allo skewered and suspended like a grotesque trophy. Blood erupted from his mouth in a wet gurgle, his remaining eye rolling wildly before dulling again.
"Hey, hey, don't worry," Juraf said, patting Allo's cheek mockingly. "I avoided all the essential organs. We're not done yet, buddy."
The next hour was a symphony of agony. Juraf stood before Allo, sending out precise flicks of numen imbued with spear intent. Each flick drilled small, jagged holes into non-lethal areas—through his shoulders, thighs, and abdomen, leaving crimson trails that spilled freely onto the floor. The blood pooled beneath them, a deep, viscous red so thick that it rippled when Juraf stepped in it. Cultivators bled more than normal men, their enhanced vitality allowing them to survive far more punishment.
Terra couldn't look away, even as her own battered body ached with every breath. The sound of flesh being punctured, the wet splatter of blood against the already soaked floor, and the occasional grunt or groan from Allo as his body convulsed in pain—all of it felt surreal. The scene around her seemed both horrifying and cathartic, her mind grappling with the dichotomy of her disgust and her grim satisfaction.
By the time Allo finally stilled, his body limp and lifeless, the floor was a sea of blood. Juraf stepped back, wiping a hand across his forehead, leaving a smear of blood in its wake. His spear dripped with gore, the jagged edges gleaming darkly. "Guess that's it," he said, almost casually, as if he had just finished a routine chore.
The other boy, Remulus, was pale, his green eyes wide with shock. "Was there any reason to be so… savage?" he asked hesitantly. "You could have just killed him outright. And what you did to his father, too."
Juraf turned to him, his expression darkening briefly before breaking into a grin. "That man enabled Allo to become what he was. Didn't give a shit about his daughter, either. Honestly, I did plan on just killing Allo," he admitted, shrugging. "But doing that kind of shit to your own sister? That's sick. I had to show him who's sicker. Had to dominate him, make him understand what it's like to be completely powerless. You know… balance the scales and all that karmic shit."
____
Despite her battered and bruised body, drenched in blood, vomit, and misery, Juraf didn't falter as he looked at her. There was no disgust in his gaze—not even a flicker of hesitation. His black, marble-like eyes held no judgment, only a clarity that struck her to the core. Terra had learned to read people well; her circumstances had forced her to develop that skill as a survival mechanism. Yet, for the first time, she found herself facing someone whose emotions she couldn't categorize, someone who saw her as something other than trash or an obstacle.
Gently, as though she were the most delicate thing in the world, he scooped her up into a princess carry. The stench of vomit and the sticky sensation of her blood smeared across his armor and skin didn't deter him. His movements were careful and steady, ensuring not to jostle her injured frame. Despite the weight of her humiliation, Terra found herself clinging weakly to him, her fingers brushing against the strange textures of his carapace-and-wood armor.
The room around them was a grim tableau. Blood pooled beneath the bodies of her father and brother, staining the rough wooden planks of the floor. The air reeked of iron, sweat, and bile. Splinters from the shattered door littered the ground, glinting faintly in the light filtering through the cracks in the walls. The oppressive silence that had descended was broken only by the faint creak of Juraf's boots as he adjusted his hold on her.
He glanced back at Remulus, who stood awkwardly in the corner, his expression torn between admiration and unease. "Anyone who does this to the girl in the family deserves a trillion times worse than what I did to them, Remulus," Juraf said, his tone serious and unwavering. His voice, deep and resolute, filled the room with an undeniable weight. "A man should have an abyss in his eyes, fire in his veins, a monster in his heart, and an oasis in his soul. Remember that."
His words resonated in the stillness, hanging heavy in the air. He then looked down at Terra, his hardened features softening as his grin returned, tinged with an easy confidence that felt oddly comforting. "Sorry for, you know, killing your brother and all. And for messing up your pops. You can hate me for it later, but we gotta save you first. He really did a number on you, huh?"
The grin that had seemed so cruel and mocking earlier now held something warmer, something that spoke of an unshakable strength she had never seen before. It pulled at her in ways she couldn't articulate, her chest tightening as she stared into his face.
Her eyes widened as his words sank in. She couldn't hate him—how could she? She had dreamed of this moment for years, fantasized about someone tearing her tormentors apart and whisking her away. It wasn't supposed to be real, but here he was. She coughed, blood spilling over her cracked lips, and tried to force words from her broken throat. Her voice scraped like a dull blade against rough stone, but she pushed through the agony to say what she needed to say.
"All those ties with them… they cut me too deep. I hated them. I hated here. Would you believe me… if I told you that all my life, I couldn't breathe?" The words came out in halting gasps, her bloodied hand rising weakly to touch his face. She wanted to feel if he was real, if this moment wasn't just another cruel dream.
Juraf froze for a moment, his eyes widening slightly as her trembling fingers brushed his jaw. His expression shifted, his ever-present grin giving way to something quieter, something raw. His lips curved into a soft smile, this one devoid of mockery or savagery. It carried a tinge of melancholy, as though her words had reached a place deep within him that he rarely allowed others to see.
"I know exactly how that feels," he murmured, his voice low and steady. "I believe you. Trust me, I do."
The room seemed to exhale around them, the oppressive weight of the violence and pain lifting just slightly. The golden light of the Aspar outside filtered through the cracks in the walls, casting faint, flickering patterns on the bloodied floorboards. Terra's breath hitched as she let her eyes drift shut, the warmth of Juraf's presence enveloping her like a shield against the harshness of the world.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she didn't feel entirely alone.
___________
Caela stood silently in the cool embrace of the night, her silver locks swaying gently as the wind caressed her face. The golden aspar, those luminous, tubular creatures, floated delicately through the air, casting a soft, otherworldly glow across the landscape. Their light mingled with the radiant beams of the triple moons hanging in the sky, creating a serene tableau of silver and gold. Her hair, catching the moons' light, shimmered like a celestial halo, as though she were a spirit touched by divinity. Yet her pale blue eyes, devoid of pupils, betrayed the truth of her existence—she could not see the beauty around her as others did.
But she saw something else, something far more intricate. Caela didn't see the world in colors or shapes. Instead, she saw the flow of numen, the threads of energy that wove themselves into the fabric of existence. Where others needed concentration or deliberate effort to sense numen, Caela's vision revealed its constant, fluid movements. Every ripple, every shift of energy in the air, danced vividly in her mind's eye. This unique sight allowed her to distinguish people not by their faces, which were a mystery to her, but by the patterns of their energy—individual signatures as distinct as fingerprints.
Tonight, she could sense the familiar ripple of someone's presence behind her. She turned gracefully, her silver hair catching the light as she faced the figure she had already identified.
"Elder Hathor," she greeted, her tone neutral and unamused. "How do you do this evening?"
The elder stepped forward, his form illuminated by the soft light of the aspar. His expression held what might have seemed like benevolence to an outsider, but to Caela, his numen betrayed him. Its tendrils writhed with an oily sheen, dark and predatory. His words followed suit, dripping with feigned kindness.
"Just wondering if you've reconsidered my offer," he said, his voice smooth, almost sweet. "I am granting you love, but more importantly, peace and power. Someone with your upbringing should understand how precious that is, no?"
Caela tilted her head slightly, her expression unmoved, though her fingers clenched briefly at her side. The Aspar swirled lazily around them, their golden glow reflecting off a nearby trail of pipla—slithering creatures with translucent bodies that glimmered faintly as they wove through the underbrush.
"Elder," she said with a calmness that bordered on dismissive, "I believe I've told you the night before. And the night before that. And even the night before that. I have no wish to be your woman. Everything I have is something I clawed for. That struggle defines me, and I have no intention of falling into your arms to ease it. I am proud, Elder Hathor. Not to mention"—her voice held a sharper edge now—"you already have several wives and children. Perhaps you should worry about them instead of courting a teenager."
The silence that followed was heavy, the elder's mask of benevolence slipping for a brief moment. His numen flared briefly, dark tendrils lashing angrily before settling back into a deceptive calm. His voice, however, carried a sinister undercurrent.
"...Are you mocking me?" he asked, the syrupy sweetness gone, replaced by something colder.
"Not mocking," she replied, her tone still devoid of emotion. "Simply stating the truth, oh great elder. If you can point out the lie in my words, please do so."
The elder took a step closer, his numen shifting and coiling around him like a living shadow. "I wonder," he said, his voice low and dark, "if this sudden pride of yours is because of that boy you healed not long ago. Have you taken a liking to his looks, hmm?"
Caela almost scoffed but managed to suppress it. She couldn't even see the idiot. The absurdity of his words was only matched by their shamelessness. "And how, exactly, did you know that, Elder?" she asked, her voice now carrying a sharp edge. "Were you watching me?"
"So what if I was?" he replied, his tone taunting now. "Is it not my responsibility to watch for threats and evils? And I do wonder… what might happen if I painted a blind woman from nowhere with no background in a negative light? What would the villagers and priestesses say, hmm?" His mockery was palpable, his smile venomous.
Caela's pale blue eyes turned toward him, unseeing but piercing in their intensity nonetheless. Her voice dropped into a tone of icy disdain. "Then do so," she said simply. "Do whatever you wish. I am not your toy. I am not your woman. Oh, respected elder."
Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel, her silver hair catching the light once more as she walked away. Each step was measured, deliberate, her back straight despite the fury coiling inside her. She felt his gaze burning into her as she reached her home. His numen hovered like a stormcloud behind her, but she didn't falter. Not once.
She slammed the door shut with finality, her breaths heavy and her hands trembling slightly. She could still sense him standing outside, watching, but she refused to acknowledge him further. In the stillness of her home, she took a deep breath and straightened her posture. She wasn't afraid of him—no, she had clawed her way through far worse to get here.
She would not let anyone, not even an elder, strip her of the pride she had earned. That was her peace. That was her power.