Violet

I was standing in front of the three leaders of Gungrave. I had been through many trials or challenges that would have dwarfed what I used to fear back in Vancouver. I remember this one time; it was as if one of my greatest fears came true: public speaking. Now, I am afraid everything I have done will fall apart and everyone will die. Perspective, eh?

In the heart of my bustling school campus, amidst the echoing footsteps and chatter of students, lies the quintessential high school classroom.

The morning sun filters through the windows and casts a warm glow upon the rows of desks neatly arranged in the spacious room. The walls, adorned with educational posters and student artwork, exude an atmosphere of both learning and creativity. The faint scent of chalk lingers in the air, a remnant of countless lessons delivered on the blackboard at the front of the room. The desks, worn with years of use, bear the etchings of past students' initials and doodles, each telling a silent story of its own.

At the front of the classroom stand the teacher's desk and Mrs. Lizzy’s desk, a bastion of authority and judgment. Behind it, shelves are filled with textbooks, reference materials, and assorted teaching aids, providing a backdrop for the instructor's daily lessons. A large blackboard dominates one wall, eagerly awaiting the colourful scribbles of chalk wielded by both teachers and students alike. The teacher's chair, a well-worn throne of bias, sits empty for the moment, awaiting the arrival of its emperor.

As the minutes tick by, students trickle into the classroom, our footsteps echoing off the linoleum floor. Backpacks are unceremoniously dropped onto the floor or slung over the backs of chairs, their contents a jumble of textbooks, notebooks, and school supplies.

I hear the normal chatter. The other teens are animatedly talking with friends, their laughter filling the room with youthful energy, while others shuffle in quietly. I was one of those quiet ones, at least today.

I could feel that amidst the hum of conversation and the rustle of papers, there was an undercurrent of anticipation, a palpable sense of potential waiting to be unleashed.

Why?

It was presentation day.

For me, in the moments preceding the looming presentation, a palpable sense of dread settled upon my shoulders. Presentations, for me, felt like a suffocating blanket. Nervousness courses through my veins. My body felt like it was manifesting pure terror in the form of clammy palms that refused to be still. With each beat of my heart, it felt like a wild stallion galloping towards a certain death, its thunderous rhythm drowning out all other sounds.

As I sat there, waiting for my turn, a whirlwind of doubt and apprehension raged within my mind, threatening to engulf my thoughts in a tempest of insecurity. I fret over the possibility of forgetting my meticulously rehearsed lines. I was envisioning myself stumbling over words like a clumsy dancer on a treacherous stage. The fear of being judged by my peers weighed heavily on my conscience, a relentless spectre that taunts me with the prospect of ridicule and scorn.

The minutes tick by slowly.

Tick.

Another minute.

Tick.

Another hour.

Tick.

It was only seconds, but it felt like time was stretching to the ends of the universe.

Then my physical manifestations of anxiety begin to take hold, rendering my once steady hands into trembling messengers of my inner turmoil. A quiver runs through my fingers like a leaf caught in a fierce autumn gust. My hands betrayed the facade of composure I was desperately clinging to.

I heard that evil English teacher calling my name.

My voice, which I once thought was confident and steady, now wavers like a candle flame flickering in the wind. I felt so weak. I felt threatened by the slightest breath that would send me tumbling down. With each laboured breath, my chest constricts as if bound by invisible chains, the air thick and suffocating in my lungs.

I tried to remember what my counsellor taught me. I tried to remember my breathing exercises. To be mindful, but the beast of fear had taken hold of my heart.

I answered, “Yes, Mrs. Lizzy.”

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“It is your turn to present. Come on up, my dear.”

In this crucible of fear and anxiety, I find myself teetering on the precipice of vulnerability. My resolve was tested by the relentless onslaught of self-doubt and apprehension. Yet, amidst the chaos of my racing thoughts and trembling limbs, a glimmer of determination flickers like a distant beacon in the night—a silent reminder of my unwavering resolve to conquer my fears and emerge victorious against the odds.

I stand before my classmates, and the weight of my fears bears down upon me like an unyielding storm, threatening to crush my spirit beneath its formidable power. In a cruel twist of fate, at the time, I thought the gods were out to get me. I never would have dreamed that I would meet a god in the afterlife. At sixteen, it wasn’t something I would have thought about. Death from public speaking, yes! Gods are real, no.

Then the moment of truth arrived like a relentless tide, sweeping away any of my remaining semblance of composure in its wake. With a sinking heart, my worst nightmares materialize before my very eyes as my mind, once sharp and focused, succumbs to a suffocating blanket of paralysis. In the cruel crescendo of my presentation, I freeze—words trapped within the confines of my mind, unable to escape the prison of my fears.

All I could say was, “Umm, awe, umm, like, awe.”

A deafening silence descends upon the classroom like a shroud, enveloping me in a suffocating embrace as my classmates watch on with bated breath. Looking back now, as I am about to present to the council, my classmates didn’t care. I can remember now that half of them were looking at their phones.

I remember one boy, Thomas, picking his nose and eating it while staring out the window. No one cared about my speech. We had to do a short, three-minute presentation about the book we read for silent reading. Such a small thing, at least looking back now, but I can remember that fear.

My fear caused the air to hang heavy with anticipation, each passing second stretching into an eternity of unbearable tension. The once bustling room becomes a barren wasteland of silence, the only sound being the faint echo of my laboured breathing as I struggle to find my voice amidst the suffocating silence.

I finally just stopped and said, “Thank you for listening to my report.”

Nothing but silence.

In the wake of my faltering performance, I was consumed by a tidal wave of emotions, each more devastating than the last. Embarrassment gnaws at my insides like a ravenous beast, tearing away at my fragile sense of self-worth with merciless precision. Shame washes over me like a torrential downpour, drowning my spirit in a sea of self-doubt and recrimination.

Humiliation, like a scarlet letter branded upon my brow. I thought I was marked as a pariah in the eyes of my peers, a painful reminder of my perceived inadequacies and shortcomings.

Alone amidst the sea of judgmental gazes, I felt the sting of rejection like a dagger to the heart, and my sense of belonging shattered into a thousand irreparable fragments. In this crucible of humiliation and despair, I found myself adrift in a vast ocean of uncertainty, grappling with the bitter realization that my worst fears had become an inescapable reality.

At least the old teenage version of me thought that.

I am not that person anymore.

I took a mental breath and spoke clearly and with power.

“Hello, Council of Gungrave. I am the leader of a new settlement, looking to open up dialogue and possible friendship.” I wasn’t that scared, little girl, anymore. I have looked monsters in the face and survived. These three couldn’t be any worse than that, right? Right Journal.

Fingers crossed. Let’s go. I cheered myself on.

The farming class leader asked the first question. Her voice was young, polite, and kind, just like her image. “Well, leader of the new settlement, what should we call you?”

“Awe, yes,” I said, trying my best to sound formal, and together, “My name is Violet. Now, I was wondering if I could get your names. I have heard of your classes, but none of the guards have told me of your names yet.”

“I am Matriarch Lily Meadowbrook,” the farmer said. “To the right of me is Lady Evelyn Goldheart, and at the other end is General Marcus Stormborn.”

This is going better than that stupid book report, but this time I am in a sea of judgmental gazes. I could feel them scanning me. System messages were popping up. Thankfully, I was strong enough to block the scans, but I wasn’t so sure about the others.

The general spoke up this time. “So, Ms. Violet, why would a band of inhuman creatures wish to create an alliance or even friendship with humans? Why shouldn’t we kill you now, take your airship for our own, and burn your settlement to the ground? That is what the bugs or wolves would do and have done to our people for countless years.

“No, not years, generations,” Lily said.

“For hundreds of years, we have been the last bastion of hope. We have very few friendships, such as the Elk and Rabit clans to the north,” Goldheart added in. I made a mental note that she said those clans by name. It was easy to figure out why she named those two, because of Oliver and Grace.

“That is simple,” I said, “but the name isn’t Ms. Violet. Sorry, if I misled you, it is Queen Violet.” Then, at the end of my statement, I made a small bow.

I wish young Violet could see me now. That fear I used to feel had been washed away. Maybe my soul has gotten stronger? Who knows, but I wasn’t going to let these three lords make me feel small. I never wanted to feel that way again. I have the power now.

“And who made you a queen?" asked Evelyn Goldheart.

“Simple, the Huntress. She tasked me with rebuilding her temple for humanity, and I am doing that.”

It was my term to enjoy someone feeling nervous. I wonder if they were feeling what I felt back then. However, my joy wouldn’t last very long.

All three of them called out as one, “Guards!”

“Stay calm; do not fight them,” I said over my shoulder to my crew.

A tumultuous roar filled the air as a flood of guards stormed out from the back three doors of the council chamber. Clad in armour polished to a mirror-like sheen, they moved with a disciplined unity that spoke of rigorous training and unwavering resolve. Each guard bore the insignia of their respective class.

Their footsteps echoed loudly against the marble floors, reverberating throughout the chamber like the thunderous march of an approaching storm. With shields raised and weapons at the ready, they formed an imposing wall of defence, their ranks bristling with spears, swords, and halberds gleaming ominously in the dim light.

As they poured forth from the doors, their formation spoke of a well-coordinated response to an imminent threat, their movements swift and decisive. The sound of their synchronized footfalls filled the chamber with a sense of urgency, each step a testament to their unwavering commitment to duty and vigilance.

Behind their stoic facades, the guards' eyes burned with fierce determination, and their jaws set in grim resolve. They knew the importance of their task—to protect the council and its members at all costs. With practiced precision, they fanned out across the chamber, forming a protective perimeter around the council table. They stood at the ready with their unwavering resolve.

“I am not here to cause trouble, let me assure you,” I said, raising my hands, palms facing forward. “We aren’t here to take your territories, just to provide aid to...”

“Silence,” the general roared. “The Huntress and her agents are banned from this city. Do you want to bring the wrath of the Old One down upon us?”

Horns began to sound.