"Let silver and steel be the essence. Let stone and the Archduke of contracts be the foundation. Let Yellow be the color I pay tribute to."
This was, without a doubt, the most foolish thing I had ever done. I was currently in my parent's backyard. That isn't to say I was in a small fenced off yard - far from it. My parents, for all they were horrendously irresponsible and truant, were fairly well off Huntsmen. They had what I suppose could loosely be referred to as an 'estate'. A large plot of land the government had provided them with at a low cost, in exchange for outstanding service to the City of Vale.
"Let my great Master Leon Arc be the ancestor. Let rise a wall against the wind that shall fall."
The problem, as my sister had explained it to me, was that the whole ordeal was a bunch of bullshit. Giving my parents a huge plot of land on the outer edge of Vale wasn't a reward. It was a way to force them to police a vast area for Grimm without paying them. After all, what Huntsman would quietly allow whole packs of Grimm to simply remain on their land? More importantly, who would hire such an incompetent Huntsman?
"Let the four cardinal gates close. Let the three-forked road from the crown reaching unto the Kingdom rotate."
All that is to say, I was well out of sight of my family home as I did. . . whatever this was. I'd been aware of this book for many, many years. It was a book from my great great grandfathers time, and was said to hold the secret to his strength. Of course, that's probably why he'd written it in code and promptly never explained the key to anyone. No one had ever really been able to decipher the thing, and so it had become nothing more than a bit of memorabilia.
"I hereby declare. My body shall serve. My fate shall be your sword. Submit to the beckoning of the Holy Grail. If you will submit to this will and this reason…then answer!"
But not to me. The black sheep of the family. My parents had grown rapidly disillusioned by their time as Huntsman. More than just Grimm, which they enjoyed hunting as the simple, stark representation of evil that they were, they were fed up with people. The negativity that drew the Grimm forward was rarely the result of something petty. Far too often, the things that called to the masked monsters were entirely man made. And that was what my parents were often forced to bear witness to as they rode to battle. That was why, for all my begging, they had never awoken my aura. Never trained me.
"An oath shall be sworn here!"
That was why, when all other options had been exhausted. When every wheedling attempt to have someone awaken my aura had failed. When every exercise and avenue had been taken from me.
"I shall attain all virtues of all of Heaven."
I had turned to the book. The crazy, useless, stupid, book. And - using every purely mortal skill in my possession, I'd deciphered it. It hadn't been hard. In fact, I'd learned fairly rapidly that the key was just sitting there, waiting to be found by referencing great great grandfathers old letters. He'd clearly intended for no one but his family to be able to decipher it. He just hadn't counted on one simple thing.
Huntsman, on average, were stupid. And my entire family, every single member from then until now, had been Huntsman.
Every. Single. One.
They weren't dumb persay. They thought fast and evaluated problems at a speed most normal people could never fathom. But they were at heart, fighters. Warriors. Knights. My sisters call it having Warrior Spirit. I call it being a musclehead.
"I shall have dominion over all evils of all of Hell!"
And it turned out to be a damn magic book. Which was foolish in a way that dwarfed even the pre-war sentiment that individuality should not be allowed. Once I'd figured out how to read most of it, I'd just about put the entire stack of papers I'd been working on down in disgust. Great Great Gramps was a nutbar. Magic wasn't real. If you didn't understand how dust and aura worked, either separately or in concert, you might be fooled into believing it existed. But I grew up around Huntsmen. I know my stuff.
"From the Seventh Heaven, attended to by three great words of power."
Only apparently none of that mattered. I had less than a month before admission to Beacon Academy began. Less than a month to figure out how to use my aura, learn how to fight competently and, most importantly, find a way to fake my somewhat questionable education transcripts. That might not seem like a lot, but at present, my twelve year old sister was better qualified to enter Beacon than I was. Of course, she was also a genius and better qualified to be a full Huntsman than most adults, but the comparison remains. I sucked, and this crazy ritual was pretty much my second last resort. When this inevitably failed, I was going to have to trudge back to my room, get on my scroll, and start trying to discern if any of the stupid aura enhancement drugs that always popped up in spam were worth a damn.
That's how desperate I was. I was willing to gamble on literally anything at this point, and since all the stuff for this ritual was just laying around the attic anyway, I figured I'd give it a shot before pumping my body full of questionable substances and probably ending up dead in an alley.
"Come forth from the ring of restraints, Protector of the Holy Balance!"
It was late at night now, with the moon high above me. The book had indicated that I should finish the ritual just as the Moon reached its peak but I'm not an astrologer, and more importantly, the moons half detonated state made judging its relative position in the sky somewhat difficult. The five candles I'd lit and placed around the crudely drawn image of a pentagram I'd made in the dirt with a stick flickered and brightened suddenly as I spoke the last words of the ritual and then. . . nothing happened.
I wasn't actually expecting much, but it was still disappointing. Snorting in disgust at my newest failure I pulled the white hood of my sweater up to defend from the nights cold and moved forward into the circle to begin putting out the candles. The surrounding grass was damp enough from a recent rainfall that the pant legs of my blue jeans were moist from the hours Id spent setting all of this up and I idly went over the ritual I'd all but memorized in my head. I had no intention of bothering to do this again, but I couldn't help but feel I had gotten one of the arias wrong.
I stepped quickly between my grandfathers red wax candles, leaning over to blow each candle out one at a time. If I'd had even the slightest inkling of how to use my aura I could just cover my fingers in some and pinch the end of each candles wick or something more bad ass like swing my arms and put them all out at once. But since I can't, I opted to spin on the spot in the center of the circle like the dope I am.
Just as I finished making sure my parents estate didn't burn to the ground, a sharp pain arched through my body. I fell to the ground retching and spasming, every nerve in my body burning and tearing and shattering all at once. It was as though a white hot iron rod had been jammed down my spine, and it was all I could do to simply prevent myself from biting off my own tongue even as all dignity left me and I lost control over almost every other aspect of my body. After what felt like hours, but was probably only a few moments, the pain began to recede and a soft yellow glow suffused the the area around me. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. I was still in far too much pain to pay it any mind, and was just barely able to see a large black boot with scratched and worn iron plating on it fall into my field of view.
"Wait wasn't it 'Your body shall serve under me' and not 'My body shall serve'?"
Those were my last thoughts before blacking out.
-ooo-
When I woke up it was early morning, the light of the sun just cresting a nearby hill, as though some divine power felt it important to spotlight my stupidity for me. Several of the nearby candles lay on their sides where I'd evidently knocked them over in the midst of my. . . seizure? Oh god had I given my self a seizure? I could never tell my sisters about this. They wouldn't let me out of their sights for the rest of my natural life. There was no escaping them. They were overbearing and overprotective at the best of times, and though they tried to respect my wishes for independence, they were also, all of them, basically super powered killing machines. They could track me down and drag me back home one handed on pretty much a whim. Even my youngest sister - Jasmine, who was a scant twelve years old - could manhandle me with ridiculous ease.
These thoughts running through my mind, I slowly began to pick myself off the ground where I'd apparently spent the night. I used the sleeve of my sweater to wipe drool off my face and quickly began packing all of the nearby 'magical' tools and implements I'd pilfered from my great great grandfather into the messenger bag I'd originally carried them out here in. It was still early so I knew if I was quick I could make it home and change before anyone there took issue with my seeming disappearance. As I finished my preparations and began dragging my foot across the dirt to erase the 'magic' circle I'd sketched into it the previous night, a voice rang out behind me. It was calm and collected, and sounded like it belonged to someone far too cool to associate with someone as completely inept as myself. It was also, I noted with some irritation, in a very mocking tone.
"Well your not a vegetable, so there's that I guess."
I froze on the spot. The idea that someone from town might have been wandering by and seen me seizing up in the middle of what probably looked like a satanic ritual flickered through my mind. Images of everyone in my hometown laughing at me for my apparently insane tendencies flash by my eyes in fast forward and I whirled on whoever was behind me. I praying against all reasonable expectation that it was just someone here to rob the house that we could come to an agreement. He didn't tell anyone about this - and I didn't call the cops.
Or, barring that, maybe the would-be robber could just kill me. I wasn't sure which was preferable yet.
Instead of finding a drunk townie, or a rough and tumble criminal though, what I turned to find was a man dressed in a bright red long coat that seemed to be sewn directly onto an intricately carved and stylized black breastplate. He wore black pants of a fabric I couldn't quite recognize, and had huge black boots that looked like they'd seen a fair amount of use in recent years. His skin was a dark tan, as though he'd spent his entire life under a burning sun labouring, and his hair was white as snow. He looked confident, proud and obnoxious all at the same time.
Basically, he looked like a Huntsman.
I stared at him for a few moments as he leaned on a nearby tree, seemingly completely at ease despite being absolutely out of place for his surroundings. He had a smug look on his face that just about screamed 'I think your a moron' and had one eyebrow quirked upward as though awaiting some sort of pithey response from me. The air around him was hazy, a nearly imperceptible blur that clearly denoted him as something not of this world.
Lost for words I just continued to stare at him until he spoke again; this time a note of concern in his voice.
"I would appreciate it if you could at least pretend to be sentient Master."
That nudged me out of my stupor and left me even more confused. I mean, he was calling me Master, and clearly looked unhappy to be here so the only assumption I could make was. . .
"Are you a demon?" I blurted almost immediately regretting my sudden outburst. Here I was, confronted with someone who almost definitely looked like he could beat the shit out of me and my apparent first thought was 'Did I summon Satan?'. If he was a demon he'd probably be super unimpressed with my ignorance, and if he wasn't he'd. . . probably be super unimpressed by my ignorance. Huh.
The red coated man gave me a pensive look, then walked over to me while speaking. Each step he took punctuated what he was saying as though the words themselves had a physical weight, and the man spoke them as though they were formulaic, or pre planned.
"Servant Archer hears the call of my Master, and answers. I am yours to wield in the coming war."
He ended his sentence by kneeling before me like a knight of old, a far away look in his eyes as though he was remembering something. I got the distinct impression he was trying to copy someone else but was distracted when he stood, smiling amiably at me.
"And I'm not a 'demon'."
And that was it. He just stared at me after that like he was waiting for some response, or a command or. . . something. He seemed benign enough and I took his odd declaration to be a confirmation that I had somehow summoned him. My mind started racing and I had to take a deep breath and really analyze the situation before speaking. He'd placed an odd emphasis on the word 'Servant'. I'd start there.
"Wh- when you say 'Servant'" I started, haltingly. "What exactly does that entail? I did summon you right?" I couldn't help but add the extra question to the end. It was probably petty, but if I really did summon this. . . Archer. . . then I could safely conclude that for all the insanity inherent in the assumption, Magic really might be real.
"I'm not a maid if that's what your asking. A 'Servant' is the physical manifestation of a Heroic Spirit - someone who's legend lives on in the Throne of Heroes." Archer said, pointedly looking in the direction I'd been moving before he surprised me as though to remind me that we were just sort of standing in the middle of a forest. Which was too bad for him, because I had no intention of walking a complete stranger into my family home.
Pointedly ignoring his gesture, I asked "So you're some kind of legendary bad ass? I can't say I can think of anyone from the Great War named 'Archer'"
"Archers not my name - it's my class" Archer corrected me quickly, speaking slowly as though he was explaining to a child that water was in fact wet.
I decided to take a page from his - admittedly douchey - book and simply opted to stare at Archer as though waiting for him to continue. When our staring contest started to stretch out a little farther than I was comfortable, I relented, noting a smug smile on Archers face as I opened my mouth to speak.
"Look, I have no idea what's going on. Yesterday I thought 'Magic' was a bunch of bullshit. Assume your explaining everything going on here to a child."
"And don't be shitty about it." I added, growing more confident that I wasn't about to be murdered by a passing weirdo and seeing the obvious look of disdain and disbelief begin to creep onto Archers face before I'd even finished talking.
"Fine" he shrugged before continuing. "Magic isn't 'bullshit'. It's an ancient tradition passed down through extremely long wealthy family lines that typically grows stronger with each passing generation." He paused as though to make sure I was following, and I spun my finger in the air as though to tell him to get on with it which elicited a snort from him.
"Every sixty years, seven masters are chosen by the Holy Grail-" he raised a finger to forestall the question I was about to ask and continued. "-to summon seven Servants and do battle for the honor of claiming the grail."
"Because Servants are so powerful, the ritual casts us in one of seven different roles or 'classes'. Think of it like a mold we have to take in order to exist in this world."
Archer began counting off on his fingers, holding his hands out in front of him like a five year old.
"The classes are Saber, Lancer, Assassin, Rider, Caster, Berserker, and Archer. I am this wars Archer." He punctuated his statement by using his thumb to gesture at himself when he finished counting, and then waited for me to finally ask some of my questions.
"Whats the Holy Grail?" I finally got to ask, desperately trying to keep up with the sequence of events.
"What's the - " Archer stared at me incredulously, at a loss for words.
"The Holy Grail. You know, King Arthur's famous magic cup that provided infinite happiness and eternal youth?"
He said it like it was a vast oversimplification of what the grail was, which meant that the next thing I was going to say was probably going to piss him off.
"I... don't know who King Arthur is."
That seemed to stump the aloof Archer, because he leaned away from me and whistled, appraising me all over again as though looking at a particularly interesting bug.
". . .where exactly are we, right now." Archer eventually asked, his voice low and apprehensive.
Ok, this one I could answer without having to feel like I should find myself a dunce cap.
"The City of Vale - or the outskirts of it anyway."
"I mean, what country are we in." Archer further explained rolling his eyes at my ignorance.
Which was weird. Because I'd already answered his question. Where else would the City of Vale be except for Vale?
"Vale of course. How old are you? I guess if your from before the war then-"
"Stop. Lets try this." he said, now visibly worried by where his line of questioning was taking us.
"What planet is this." he spread his arms as though to indicate the entire world around us.
"The. . . World of Remnant?"
Archer's eyebrow twitched like I'd just said something particularly alien, and I began to have sincere second thoughts about my conclusions as to who this was. Forget an ancient hero spirit, Archer was beginning to seem a lot more like a lost insane asylum patient the more I spoke to him. I started slowly moving away from him in a direction away from my house, hoping that if he followed me I could lose him in the woods and double back to safety.
It turned out that was a really bad idea. As I whirled around to begin my escape I was faced with the dull red glow of a Beowolfs eyes shining at me. It stood all but hidden in the shadow of the forest, only its white lupine mask and burning red eyes visible. My response was instantaneous, as panic flooded my limbs and I quickly leaped to my right, just barely dodging the bipedal wolf like Grimm. The creature had jumped forward, tearing through the air where he'd just been standing and landing on its hands and feet where it skid to a halt pivoted on one leg to once more face me.
No more room in my panic frenzied thoughts to think of Archer - who was almost certainly going to be beset by the same creatures, I blindly sprinted through the woods. The crashing sound of smaller trees simply being charged through was clearly distinguishable behind me and I knew the Beowolf had begun to give chase.
Beowolves were easily the weakest varieties of Grimm. In video game terms they barely registered above minions in most cases. Any competent Huntsman could easily handle a small pack of six to ten of the things.
But I wasn't a competent Huntsman. For lack of a teacher, I was hardly even a competent fighter.
My legs pumped and my lungs burned as I continued my mad dash. I was dimly aware that I hadn't exactly checked what direction I was going, and had to try very hard not to think about whether I'd reach civilization and safety before my legs gave out or my attacker caught me.
'Oi. Send me some Prana so I can materialize.' the sound of Archer's voice blared in my head. The sound seemingly had no origin and presented more as though my inner monologue had taken on a mind of its own, but somehow I just knew it was Archer speaking to me.
I was too out of breath to even begin to formulate an answer and I ended up skidding to a stop then jerking my body to the left in order to make a sharp turn and place a large oak tree between myself and the Beowolf's most recent attack. The beast slammed into the trunk of the tree sending shards of wood and bark everywhere around it.
"I don't. . . know what. . . that is. . ." I panted as I resumed what was probably going to be the last exercise I was ever going to perform in my life. Most of my efforts to achieve the status of 'Huntsman' and activate my aura had been just that - attempts to awaken my aura. Id performed some physical exercise in passing, but for the most part I'd always assumed there wasn't any point to it until I was able to supplement my activities with aura. After all, my sisters were all easily capable of going hand to hand with the creatures of Grimm and they didn't exactly look like they spent all their time pumping iron. Something my old classmates had ribbed me over constantly when I was younger.
'Imagine all the nerves endings and pathways that wreath your veins. Gather all your will, your focus, your drive to live. Gather it up and imagine you've got it loaded into a gun. When you've gathered so much it hurts - pull back the hammer, and fire it. Shoot all that energy through those nerve endings.'
Archer sounded almost apologetic as he provided his explanation and I could almost feel him wince as he finished with
'Also, sorry.'
Deciding that I'd rather listen to the voice in my head than do nothing and die anyway, I did as he told me. It was tough going at first, my focus slipping and fraying anytime I was forced to leap or dodge away from the rampaging monster of Grimm hellbent on my end. But eventually I began to get a feel for it. I could feel the pressure building up in me as I focused, greater and greater until I could hardly breath the sensation was so all consuming.
Then I pulled the trigger, and for the second time since I left the house yesterday, the world went dark for a moment.
But just a moment.
Then the pain started. It was like the magic circle all over again. A heart attack ontop of a seizure that made every nerve ending in my body flare with pain. That wasn't an exaggeration. Every single nerve ending in my body began to pulse in time with my heart, and every single pulse felt like someone was dragging my entire body through broken glass while simultaneously setting me on fire. Part of my haggard mind had thought that Archer was just explaining a method to awaken your own Aura, but this wasn't how Aura worked. Everything I'd ever read about Aura made it seem like a soothing benevolent force. Something that, when it wrapped you for the first time, made you feel like everything was going to be okay.
That's not what this felt like. This felt like I was walking with death itself.
This time the pain didn't so much stop as some part of my mind must have simply decided I didn't need the input anymore. Like my body was a burning house and I'd simply opted to step out onto the sidewalk and watch the proceedings from a safe distance. Vision returned to me and 'I' spoke.
"Well, I'll be damned."
I hadn't said that. It was in my voice, and I'd certainly been aware of my mouth moving - but I hadn't said that.
Against my will, my body skidded to a halt and I could feel pressure building again as the channels I'd pushed all that power down began to flare to life. The Beowulf charged towards me, implacable as all the beasts of Grimm were, and contrary to my attempts to force myself to continue running, my arms shot out to either side of me like I was some kind of suicidal stage performer.
"Trace On!" my voice spoke again, and suddenly I was chillingly aware of my previous assumption that Archer was in fact some kind of demon.
As 'I' yelled those two short words, a pair of short swords appeared in my outstretched hands. Black and white falchions named Kanshou and Bakuya, though how I knew that I didn't know. I couldn't control my body anymore, and so couldn't even turn my head to examine the deadly weapons before I felt myself rocket toward the oncoming Grimm like I was propelled by a dust explosion. The world blurred around me and 'I' easily ducked under the incoming claw of the leaping Beowolf, neatly using the opening to flick my arm upward, bisecting the creature from groin to shoulder with the dark blade in my right hand. Making use of the explosive charges momentum, 'I' rammed my left shoulder into the torn chest of the Beowolf, sending it rocketing away even as its physical form began to fray and dissolve into the air.
It was over in the blink of an eye. From the initial outburst of pain to the Grimms absolute destruction, it had only been a few moments. 'I' eyed the forest around myself for a few seconds more, surveying for any more threats, before the dreadful burning pressure that'd been building inside of my body suddenly ceased and the pain I'd be hopefully ignoring rushed back in.
I fell to my knees and nearly bit my own tongue off fighting the urge to scream, an action that would definitely attract more Grimm. Beowolves tended to travel in packs. The one Archer. . .I. . .we had just killed could have been a loner, or it could have been a scout. Either way I wasn't willing to gamble on it.
Even if I did feel like I wanted to scream until I blacked out again.
"What. Was. That." I bit out between ragged breaths as the pain began to slowly dull.
'I had you open your Magic Circuits. Your lucky, without proper preparation that's usually fatal.'
What.
'You really messed the summoning up by the way. I had to use most of my own Prana to keep that possession going. I apparently don't have a body here so I can only manifest in yours.'
What.
'I'll have to rest for a bit to recuperate Master. Try not to die till I wake up'
WHAT.
"What!?" I scrambled to my feet and immediately began searching for Archer. I wasn't stupid. I could practically feel his shit-eating grin when he was explaining all that to me. I whirled around, looking for the barest hint of Archers red coat in the otherwise green and brown expanse of the forest around me but was quickly brought up short.
"Archer! What the heck is a Magic Circuit!?" I yelled into the forest, no longer heeding my own safety in the wake of my apparent possession and subsequent abandonment by the supposed 'Heroic Spirit'.
I continued like that for several minutes before common sense once more overtook me and I begrudgingly began to trudge home. Several minutes after that I broke out into a cold sweat in the face of a single realization. In the scramble I'd forgotten what time it was. I could probably navigate back to the house eventually - but there was no way I was going to be back in time for breakfast.
I briefly entertained the idea that maybe it wouldn't be so bad. It was a very brief moment.
-ooo-
When I got home nearly an hour later, Bianca was sitting in a small chair on the front deck of the house. She was dressed casually, eschewing the armor and weapons she would typically be loaded down with for a simple pair of jeans, and a plain white turtleneck sweater that was clearly fraying at the bottom where Jasmine had pulled on it one too many times in search of attention. A pair of flip flops adorned her feet and her short white hair was dangling in front of her face obscuring my view of what I knew would be bright blue eyes - a common trait of our family.
She wasn't moving. She wasn't reading. She definitely wasn't sunbathing. No, my sister was just waiting. As I walked up the worn path to the house she shifted ever so slightly to put me in her line of a sight. A gentle smile blossomed on her face as she saw me, and she completed a quick once over of my present state before rising gracefully to her feet and striding forward, easily dragging me into a warm familial hug that I'd stopped being comfortable with the moment puberty had hit.
"Jaune!" she chided me, still holding me close so she could put her chin on my head. "What happened? You left last night and never came home!"
Worry and relief were evident in Bianca's voice as she spoke, clearly happy I was home but distressed by my disappearance - whether or not I had managed to return safely.
"I - I was just out reading Great Great Grandpa's book!" I said, trying to lean away and out of the hug so I could pat my messenger bag for emphasis, and failing miserably at the feeble attempt to slip from my sisters grasp.
"I just fell asleep on a log is all!" I whined, trying to put as much feeling and emphasis into the words as I could.
"Jaune. . ." Bianca said, releasing her grip on me and grabbing me by the shoulders so she could hold me still to examine me. After a few seconds she seemed to nod in approval and I could feel the temperature drop around me as she spoke her next words.
"Your covered in grass stains and bruises. Almost like you were running through the woods and fell down. Is it possible you were running from something?"
She made it sound like a question but it really wasn't. She knew something had happened - she was just trying to decide how much she was going to punish me for it.
Her grip on my shoulders tightened until I could hear the bones grinding in their sockets and she lifted me bodily off the ground like I weighed no more than a kitten. Then she whirled around and flung me bodily into the char she had just evacuated. The breath exploded from my body as the impact pushed all the air out of my lungs and flipped the lawn chair onto its back leaving me to face the sky. Before I could catch my breath a foot slammed down next to my head mere inches from making me the 'late' Jaune Arc and Bianca's face came into view above me, still smiling as gently as when I'd first walked up the path.
"What actually happened Jaune?" her voice was sickeningly sweet, and I knew I had to give her something or I was going to be under house arrest doing chores for the rest of my life. I didn't mind doing chores. I found them relaxing and felt they let me contribute to my family of otherwise domestically useless Huntsmen. But that didn't mean I wanted to be confined to my house until school started. I had way too much to do to be locked up for a month.
"There. . . was a Beowolf. In the woods. I had to run for a while to lose it." the temperature around us continued to drop and I felt my sister grow dangerously close to using her semblance before I added;
"It was just one though! A loner! And someone had already hurt it so it wasn't hard to run from!"
All mostly true. Someone had hurt it. That someone was just me. Or Archer I guess. Ugh. This was going to give me a headache fast if I didn't figure out a better way to think about it.
Some of the terrifying pressure Bianca had been releasing receded as I spoke, but I could see she was still pretty pissed at me. Eventually though, she moved her foot from its threatening position by my head and backed up to give me space to get myself upright.
"Dishes, Laundry, and Cooking for the rest of the week. And no more going into the woods!" Bianca barked at me, all pretense of the kind older sister slipping away as the vicious drill sergeant she actually was came to the forefront. It was annoying - and I knew she was giving me a much longer punishment than she usually would just to keep me from sneaking off to work on my Aura at night - but there wasn't anything I could do to argue about it. With our parents gone, the family home was more of a roadhouse for the Arc siblings than it was a home. Only me and Jasmine were there with any regularity. If Bianca - the oldest - hadn't been around to force all of us to sit down for regular meals and pounded some basic responsibilities into me, I'd probably never see most of my family. Or wear clean clothes. Or shower.
Success will do that to you I guess.
Quickly rolling to my knees and picking myself off the ground I sighed and bowed my head in acknowledgement of my punishment. "Um. Are you home all day today sis?" I asked, to late realizing that I probably sounded like I was going to try and shirk my punishment the minute she was out of sight.
Bianca froze instantly, her eyes narrowing as she glared at me, but eventually, she sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose in irritation.
"No. I have to work - I only stayed home to wait for you."
I flinched at that, knowing that she'd willingly left her team undermanned and probably in danger because she'd been worried about me. At the same time, I was angry. It was always like this. They refused to teach me how to take care of myself, but then constantly guilt tripped me when they had to look after me. They all did this. Well. Except Jasmine - but Jasmine had her own ways of getting what she wanted from me.
". . .Sorry." I said, my eyes downcast.
Bianca continued to stare at me, pity and irritation clearly warring in her eyes before she simply shrugged and began to walk past me into the house.
"Your safe. That's all that matters." she said with conviction as she passed me, causing me to wince again as guilt continued to writhe in my stomach. With nothing else impeding me, I quickly fell into step behind her slipping through the door and letting it slam shut behind me just in time to see Bianca disappear up the stairs.
With a grunt that bordered on a moan of pain, I made my way laboriously up the old staircase lined with family photos. When I was younger I used to rearrange them so they weren't in chronological order. It always bothered me that I could see my parents slowly becoming less happy as time went on.
Eventually I made it up the stairs, and trundled to the end of the hall where my room was. Wearily I opened the door and threw off my messenger bag. Closing the door behind me, I stumbled across the piles of unfinished laundry carpeting the floor and dropped onto the edge of my bed. As I began to undo my boots I thought back on how it'd felt when Archer was controlling my body. Not the pain, which I doubted I'd ever be able to forget, but the sense of strength. The feeling as 'I' had charged to battle. And then it hit me. As much as Archer was the one that had been in control - I had been the one to do all that. If not the skill, then I, at the very least, had the potential to wield such strength.
Slowly, without getting up, I began to push power through what Archer had called my 'Magic Circuits'. Only a little at first, because I feared the explosive pain that seemed to go hand in hand with magic usage. But as I focused, I found that where before the pain had been a blinding, all consuming hammer blow, now it was merely a dull ache. It still hurt, and I could feel sweat beading on my brow as I focused. Faster and faster I moved that energy through my circuits until I had reached maximum I felt I was capable of maintaining. The ache was manageable and I sat stock still not sure what to do next.
I was 'moving' the energy around, but it wasn't the same as when Archer had been in control. With Archer it had felt like the energy was filling my body, reinforcing my muscles and bones to increase my performance. It was nothing like how Aura worked. Aura didn't suffuse things so much as surround them. An arm covered in Aura will punch harder, but the muscles aren't actually getting stronger.
Once more I tried to move my energy - what had Archer called it? My Prana around. Only this time, I took the processed energy my circuits spit out and began spreading it through my body as evenly as I could.
It was slow going, and I could tell I was losing a ton of energy in transit, but when I finally stupid up and gingerly reach down to lift my entire, steel bed frame with a single hand I knew I was on to something.
I was nowhere near as strong as Archer had been, and the amount of focus it took to maintain the effect, even imperfectly as I was, meant I could hardly even move while using it - but it was a start.
-ooo-
So this idea just sort of occurred to me over the course of a week at work and I wanted to try and write some of it out. I'll either keep it going or shrug it off and move on depending on how you guys feel about it. Hope you enjoyed it!