A young girl, Violet, mourns the loss of Olive's family before her own tragedy strikes. After moving to the city, she must find her own path forward. Building purpose and hope from grief and anger, she moves to a new horizon.
I did not expect this to take so long, but corrupted drivers and college put me back a few months. Now that I'm back, welcome to an interlude to our main story, portraying the story of Violet, an old friend of Olive's.
Dark clouds spiral down from above, spires of bone jutting from the shadowed forms as glints of steel shift atop them. Suddenly, they have landed; sharp, almost two-dimensional, like the ink drawings etched into a book. But the eyes are too real; dark red, deep red, peering forth with a wild hunger.
Suddenly, Vivian is there, staff in hand and eyes ablaze. Fire and storms whirl in unison, dancing to a melody that Violet cannot hear.
Suddenly, she is alone. Blood spilling down from above, no longer protected by the blaze. A scream tears across her mind, from some pair of unseen lips.
Suddenly, she is gone. Darkness wraps around her vision, and it takes another scream for Violet to realize that she is awake, and the darkness is her covers. It takes another moment for her to know what the scream means.
Scrambling, tearing at her covers and rushing up and out towards the dining room, Violet hears the thud of the door as her father steps inside, and the thick slam of the bolt behind him. Her mother paces, and her father holds a crossbow, good for wolves, perhaps, but never Grimm.
Her mother's gaze finds her, face shifting into a thin smile. "Violet, honey, come here and I'll make you some cocoa." The smile doesn't reach her eyes.
"What's going on?" The words swarm, hurried yet shaky.
"Nothing the hunters can't handle. It's a small group, just stay inside." Her father, Douglas says, pulling off his boots.
"Why don't you go check on Saphron, make sure she's alright. I'll make us some cocoa and start a movie." Her mother's voice spools like silk and down across the floor, and her shoulders relax a bit, tension that she wasn't even aware of sloughing off in waves, even if it still stays coiled around her feet.
"Okay. Thanks mom." Violet goes back down the hall, pulling the door to her sister's room open. The blinds are open, and she can see Saphron's form as she pulls herself from the dregs of sleep. Eyes turn towards her, brilliant green flashing in recognition, in safety.
"Vi-" She is cut off, as the roof bows in. Boards rain down in a cacophony of noise, and green becomes red. A scream tears itself out, as the shadow coils, hungry. Red eyes dart around, and Violet stumbles back, as something sprouts from the monster's back.
Beast dissolves into smoke, acrid and black. It spills forth in wave, obscuring Violet's vision. Soon, it vanishes, wind pulling it apart and leaving howls and flames in the distance.
Violet's eyes cast down, to the crushed bed beneath a mountain of rubble. Pale fingers stretched out, arm bent unnaturally, and they twitch from under the boards, then lay still, as blood pools a deeper red, reflecting the shattered moon, and darkness embraces her world.
Violet stares out at the sky. Clouds pile up across it, somewhere between thunderstorm and sunny day, carrying a slight scent of rain. Even with the glass door closed, she can still her the arguing. Not the words, but the tone, the structure. She's gotten too used to the current of it flowing onwards.
Violet tries to focus on her book for a few moments more, but the words keep slipping off the page, so she just stares out across the city, as it finally starts to rain. On the balcony, protected by her awning, she watches.
At first, there is a sense of hurry below, as people caught unaware go sprinting and swarming to shelter. But soon, peace descends. The city sounds muted by the soft pattering of rain, the lights swimming up, made murky by the droplets.
If she raises her eyes, it almost feels like home. She can see the forest in the distance, and the rain smells almost the same, if a little less earthy. But no, there is still too much metal, too much concrete, stretching out before her.
The rain helps keep her mind moving forward, but it doesn't stop the quiet anger. The world below is so indifferent. It sits, mocking her and what she's seen, what she's lost. What people did that night. The injustice of it stirs fury from her bones, demands it, and Violet wishes she could hunt them back, give the shadows the fear and pain that they gave her.
Sighing, Violet abandons her perch, slipping in through the sliding glass door. She is met with her mother's voice. "We should at least go back at do something!"
"For who? We all saw what happened that night, what people did. That place isn't safe; if not for the Grimm, for the people stealing during it all." Her father's voice is strong, loud, but empty.
Her mother's is full as she replies "Yeah, but what about the rest? The old, the families that stayed. Our friends."
"Even so, it's not like we have the money to make a long trip right now." Here, Douglas sounds sad. And Scarlet might have pushed through the practiced motions (they'd been having this same argument for a week), but just then the sound of soft crying came from the other room.
Scarlet let out a deep sigh. "Violet, there you are. Help your father get dinner ready, I'll go get Vivian." The name still cut Violet, a bit, even though it now belonged to the babe.
She started setting out the table, and, before she could think better of it, spoke. "Dad, is it normal to want to go back and not want to go back at the same time?"
He sniffed, and let the silence stretch, before "Yes. I feel the same way, so does your mother. It's our home in a lot of ways. Even though we left, even though we're trying to build something new here, that means there's a lot of old memories there." He doesn't mention Saphron, doesn't need to.
He just turns, smiles, crinkles at the corner of his eyes, and pats her on the back. "Now, want to serve dinner tonight?"
Violet manages to get a quarter of the way through her plate, slowly picking away, before her mother speaks. "What's wrong, Vi? You've hardly touched your dinner. Is it okay?"
"Yes! Of course it is, Dad's cooking is always great." And she means it; it's not the food. Scarlet seems to see that, too.
"Then what is it?" Soft, and downy, but still probing.
Violet stops and starts three times before the words come out. "I want to be a Huntress." Her mother sighs, her father chokes on a bite.
"Honey, look. I know you looked up to Vivian a lot, and your brave, and strong. But I don't know about that." Her mother's words say I'm not sure but her tone says absolutely not.
"Why not, mother? I want to fight, to keep things from going wrong again, to protect the people like us, who can't protect themselves." Violet clenches her fists, teeth almost gritted and tears budding at the corners of her eyes.
"I won't stand for it. I wont stand by and watch you- I won't let you go down that road." He almost says watch you die, but the words fade. Of course, that is the real worry. Douglas and Scarlet look at their daughter with pride, for her kindness and her bravery, and with fear, at another loss.
"But I can help! I could be the one protecting, instead of the one protected!" She's standing, hands waving to try and get her point across, but she doesn't have the words.
"No, and that's final. I won't have my daughter engaging in such a dangerous fantasy."
"Fine, then, I'll just sit around and wait for the attack that kills me instead." Violet spins around, half to show her point, half because she doesn't want to see the quiet sadness that she knows will sit behind their eyes. She walks away, fuming, but with tears streaming down her cheeks.
The park is beautiful today. Of course, Violet always thinks that, but today it seems especially so. Fall has begun to sweep in, and so the greens fluttered away, replaced by deep reds and lush golds, streaks of purple and whirlwinds of orange.
Back home, they didn't have this. Sure, fall came, and brought swaths of yellow with it, but the variety sparks some primal joy, as color spins down to fill every speck with a different shade.
Violet spends minutes staring, drinking it all in, before she begins her ritual, her training, if it can be called that. She doesn't know the forms to take, the ways to wield a blade or a pistol, so she hones her other tools. That is why it has become a ritual.
To run until her legs shake, and lift herself from the ground, and spring and leap until her body burns, dull pains burning through her, proving her trials and building her strengths.
Over the past month, since her parents cast aside her wish, she has trained, and it shows. Where before she at most could lift a few pieces of firewood, now muscle was beginning to take shape. Where before she might have been called weak, or slow, now a sharpness was beginning to form. Strength taking shape and dexterity filling in the gaps, incomplete as it was.
Violet finishes the last of her ritual, collapsing back into the leaves. As her breaths slowly begin to even out, she hears footsteps approach; two pairs, distinct by their uneven nature; one quick and light, one heavy, yet strong. Or so she thinks.
The words reach her before the faces. "That's quite a workout routine you've got goin' on! What's it for?" The voice is playful and joking, yet still solid. Violet sits up.
The voice belongs to a short girl with black hair (blond roots showing through) and deep blue eyes. As she sees Violet sit up, she smiles. Behind her stands a boy with dark brown hair and rich hazel eyes, picking at the string of a sweatshirt emblazoned with spiky font that she can't quite make out.
"I'm going to be a Huntress." Violet has always liked the word, and it feels right, somehow, to hear it from her lips. The patterns of thought continue, as they have a dozen times before.
The girl whistles (or tries to, she hasn't quite got it down). "That's some conviction! See Cyll, I told you we should talk to her! I'm Char, what's your name? Oh, by the way, we also want to be Hunters. And this is Cyll." The words flood in a little too quickly, so a moment passes before Violet replies.
"I'm Violet."
"Really? That's such a cool name; I always wanted a color name, so now I'm Char!"
The boy seems to see Violet's look of confusion, or maybe he's just had this conversation before. In either case, he says "Char as in Charlie, but she likes it as in Charcoal. We saw you working out the other day. Why are you doing it out here?" His voice is, for lack of a better word, smooth. It's not soft, necessarily, but it shifts over her like water over river stones.
"My parents don't want me to be a Huntress, and besides, the park is beautiful right now. What about you?" Violet's eyes dart back and forth, until she eventually settles on the boy, the restless movement of Char a constant distraction to her mind.
"My moms are both Huntresses, and Cyll's dad teaches at Pharos! He's not a Huntsman though, just really really smart."
As they continue, Char's energy pulls her in, and Cyll's helps keep her steady. Words fly between them. Violet waxes about her future, and slowly places out corners of her past. In turn, Char and Cyll give her pieces of their own, and it is not until the sky darkens that they part, sunbeams separating in the night, carrying stories and hopes along with them.
Violet shifts back, Cyll's fist passing a hair's breadth from her shoulder. Up-towards Violet thinks, throwing her own flash along the path to Cyll's cheek. He flinches back, aura flickering bark-brown.
He dodges the second hook, ducking as Violet dances back out of reach. She pulls her fist back, and there is a pull. She feels the slight shift of weight, cracking first down then up, reaching her fist and folding it in a gentle cocoon of aura that she did not place.
Cyll steadies himself, drawing upright again before charging in, and she throws a test-punch lure-punch out, and the pull deepens, drawing back into a coiled spring, almost vibrating, a hum running up her arm, and then Cyll is upon her.
He is a forest, bows draping down and snagging at her attempts to escape his cage, each blow slowly, carefully calculated. Force blows by her right ear, then her left, and she feels him closing in. She is a whirlwind, but a whirlwind can hardly escape the thick silence of the canopy.
Knee, fist, fist, knee come sharply up. She ducks, rolls, and finally strikes. There is no one word to describe it; it is a shock wave, a battering ram, a thunderclap. It is a spring unwinding, driving a dull spike into Cyll's side, who falls, wheezing, before his aura softly shatters, raining down around him, and he sits down, hard.
Char is immediately at their side. "Whaaat was that? How did you do it? That was like, twenty punches! No, a hundred punches! Oh, and Char, you good? Not dying after Violet destroyed- no, annihilated- no, obliterated! Yes, obliterated you!" She pauses for an answer, while spinning around in search of injuries.
"Can we not deliberate on which verb best describes my defeat please?" He says, half a chuckle half a wheeze. "I think I'll be okay, but that's definitely going to bruise. Have you always been able to punch that hard?"
A rhetorical question, but Violet answers anyway. "No! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hit you that hard, I mean, I didn't even know I could- are you alright?" She cuts herself off, dropping down to sit across from him.
"Hey no worries, things happen when you spar. But anyway, if you couldn't before, then what changed?" Cyll eases himself back onto the floor, and Char and Violet follow suit, heads twirled in a circle as they stare up at the training room's ceiling.
"I really don't know. I just felt this– this pull. I don't know how else to describe it, but when I pulled back from that missed punch, it almost felt like my aura was coiling down into my fist. Does that make sense?" Violet mimes the sensations, hand trailing up her arm, and Cyll sits up abruptly, then groans.
"Should not have sat up that quickly. And no, that doesn't make sense, but that's exciting honestly; I think you might have found your semblance." Now Char and Violet sit up.
"You think Vi's found her semblance? That would be awesome! We have to go talk to your dad right now." Char is once again a whirl of energy, lifting Violet's fist, inspecting her shoulders, before pulling back and studying her from a distance, like an artist might study their subject.
"Why Cyll's dad?" Violet asks.
"Didn't we say? My dad specializes in the study of semblances and aura. That's the only reason we were able to unlock your aura in the first place, because he taught us so much." Cyll reaches out his hand, and Violet pulls him up as they walk the short distance to his father's study.
Violet's only seen Cyll's parents a few times; she stayed over for dinner after training ran late a few times (or, just because they wanted to hang out). Cyll knocks on a door simply labeled "study," to the sound of "coming" and the shuffling of footsteps.
The door swings open to reveal a man with hair slightly darker than Cylls, and eyes slightly brighter, with glasses perched on his nose and about two days of stubble left untended. He's dressed in a pair of jeans with a white tank top (coffee stain near the right shoulder), and beams as he opens the door.
"Cyll! Char! And, let me think… Violet! Yes, Vi. What can I do for you?" He ushers them into his study, which has stacks of papers covering every surface except for a workbench in the corner, which has several somethings on them that Violet can't identify.
"Sorry for the mess, I've been working for a few days straight on a little project of mine, seeing how aura reacts to different types of dust exposure. But I won't bore you with the details, what can I do for you kids?" He sits back in an old office chair, leans forward, and rests his chin on hands on knees.
Char launches into the tale, recounting what sounds more like an epic battle between gods than an amateur fistfight. Every few seconds Cyll cuts in to say, no, it wasn't at the speed of sound, and no, he only threw two punches, and it wasn't the force of a hundred but maybe three or four punches, and so on.
As they talked, Cyll's father fidgeted. Notes spilled forth onto a pad, his hands searched through errant drawers, and bits of metal and paper swept across the table. He was only still once they finished talking. He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled above his chest.
Violet was suddenly aware of the clock on the wall, pulsing out sound into the cluttered room. Somewhere, a cog rolled, and she felt perspiration slip up on her skin as the moments stretch on. Char was, for once, blanketed in stillness. Then Cyll's father was alive again.
He rocketed from his chair, hand sweeping through his hair, and begun talking, words spilling rapidly as he searched through drawers. "Well, there are several possibilities. Amplification of natural ability through aura is one, or some sort of extension technique – although I've never heard of a blunt-force style extension. That could be mental though. Ah! Here it is."
He stood up, pulling an electronic device from the drawer. It was yellow and black, with three antennae protruding from the front. Violet pointed. "What's that?"
"This is an aura measuring device. I'll use it to see exactly where and how sharply your aura builds up. Now, back to the training room please." Cyll's father led them back down, and pulled a punching bag to the center of the room.
"Now, I want you to try and use your semblance on this bag. I'll tell you to adjust if necessary." He sat down, and Violet turned to face the punching bag.
She pulled up her fists, settling into her stance. In, out, she breathed sharp, and flung a fist forward. The impact was solid, but no different from normal. She tried again, with no results. "I really don't know how to do this." She muttered.
"Violet, try and concentrate as if you were really fighting. Get into that mental space." Cyll's voice, slipping in low and calm.
Recenter, she told herself. Velvet pulled back to her stance. She went to Cyll's fists; flying towards her as she shifted towards their slip stream, letting her aura hum to life. The purple glow blanketed her body evenly. Annoyingly, distinctly, evenly.
Frustration rose in her gut, and she false-punched, fist slipping back just before locking into the black bag before her. Then, the energy hummed to life. Her fist settles back, and leads the pull to her, that slight, shifting weight taking hold. The next punch followed through, and the sharp clap of flesh hitting cloth too hard echoed through the room.
"That was it!" She exclaimed.
"Indeed! Your aura readings spiked just as you pulled your fist back; did you feel anything unusual?" Cyll's father spoke, hands and eyes darted over the punching bag, looking for indentations.
"I felt the pull, like an extra weight was being applied to my hand. I don't really know how else to describe it." Violet opened her palm, fingers splayed as she inspected it's crevices.
"Hm, a pull you say? Very interesting." A moment passed, then "Okay, I want you to try something for me. Try focusing your aura to activate your semblance, but just feint a few times, don't actually punch."
"Okay." Violet said, as she settled back in, aura flickering to life. She punched one-two-one. Then one-one-two. Then repeat. With each jab, the pull intensified, until a sharp coil pulled her arms up and in, tension pulling at her until she could barely stand the lack of release.
"Good! Now punch, extending all the way out. Use both hands." Cyll's father had barely finished speaking when a flash of purple darted into the punching bag, and it went flying. The second punch couldn't connect, but, as the fist became fully extended, a sharp sting cut through the air, as waves filtered off from the force of Violet's fist.
"Woah, that was – woah." The force rendered even Char speechless, and the only sound was the slight rocking of the punching bag, now several feet away and on its side. Violet felt herself stumble, energy and aura drained away too quickly.
Eventually, Cyll's father broke the silence. "Well that is amazing! If I had to guess at this point, I'd say your semblance has something to do with potential and kinetic energy. Are you familiar with the concept?"
"I know what energy is. What does kinetic mean?" Violet asked.
"In simple terms, potential energy is the energy that precedes motion, and kinetic energy is the energy of motion. What I think your doing is storing kinetic energy every time you move without actually punching, and then, when you go to release, it releases all that energy at once."
"So basically, Vi is like a hundred-woman army or something? That's awesome!" Char almost shouted from hew new position crouching by the punching bag (although Violet didn't remember her moving over there).
It made sense, though. The pull was the storage of energy, winding tighter and tighter like a spring until it all came rushing out. Violet experimented again. She felt the stoppage, as each force was bundled up and pushed back, and the release, quick and sharp.
Soon her aura was depleted, but she carried the sharp spring-punch with her. Perhaps just as importantly, she carried the knowledge and the skill, adding it to her arsenal of arguments as to why she should be allowed to go to combat school.
That argument was not going well. Every time Violet brought up Pharos, her parents would either suddenly remember something they had to do, shake their heads and tell her to leave it, or otherwise occupy themselves with not letting her actually talk about it.
They're probably waiting for time to run out Violet thought. The due date for applications was only two weeks away, and while Violet had filled out all the paperwork she could, she just didn't have all the information she needed. Besides, she didn't want to forge her parents' signatures if she could avoid it.
With time running out, she called a "meeting" with Char and Cyll, who were currently sitting with legs dangling over the bridge at the park. Violet threw a piece of bread down for the ducks beneath her, slumping forward a bit in annoyance.
"I just wish they'd actually talk about it, but every time I try, they completely brush me off." Violet said, hand reaching to her shoulders for her hair, brushing against air as she remembered it was short now.
"Well, maybe if we came and talked to them it would help? I could probably get my dad to try and convince them." Cyll offered.
"Convince who of what now?" The three of them jumped, before turning towards the sound of Cyll's father's voice. Today, out of the office, Cian Faultou was much more presentable. He had shaved off his stubble and wore a green vest over jeans and a black button up.
As he walked over, he passed around steaming cups of tea, and then sat and watched them expectantly. Cyll was the first to talk. "Well, Violet's parents are kinda dead set on her not becoming a Huntress. So we were wondering if you might help?" His voice lifted slightly at the end.
"Well, Violet, you are very talented, and your fighting style complements your Semblance wonderfully. But it is also important for you to understand what your family thinks and needs." Cian paused, drinking from his own coffee cup. "Why don't they want you to become a Huntress?"
"They – they're worried for my safety. Because of what happened to our town. But I really want to become a Huntress exactly because of what happened! I just – I don't know how to get through to them."
Silence crept in for a moment. Violet felt her eyes grow wet at the corner, as a mixture of annoyance and sadness settled into her. Then, "Sure, I'll help. But only because you seem like you'll be an amazing student. Also, if your parents have good reason to keep you away, I'll not step in. Come on then, let's go."
"Right now?" Violet asked.
"No better time than the present! Let's seize the day!" Char jumped up, posing on one leg with her left arm held up above her.
The walk to Violet's apartment was filled with brainstorming and quiet. As splashes of ideas came forth from one mind, the others would turn and twist them around, discarding most, but building up a few.
Violet wished she had brought more combat-focused clothing, but warmth pervaded her needs at the moment. It was nearing the end of winter, but patches of snow still covered the ground in places, and the air was biting.
The nervousness hit as Violet was in the elevator, and kept her paralyzed for several long breaths in front of her door. Eventually, though, she brought up a hand to wrap against the wood, and after a moment, the door slipped open to reveal Scarlet.
She had oven mitts held in one hand, and her red-brown hair was pulled back in a loose bun. "Violet dear, and Cyll and Char, with... What's going on? Is everything all right?"
Cian pushed forward, hand extending. "Greetings, you must be Ms. Wilkins, correct?" The two shook hands, and he pushed on as the four were led into the living room. "I'm Cyll's father, Cian Faultou. I wanted to talk to you about your daughter, Violet."
"What's wrong? Violet, did you do something?" Scarlet's gaze was withering.
"No, not at all. I'm here about Violet's schooling." Scarlet opened her mouth, but Cian held up a hand, settling onto the sofa and leaning forward, gaze piercing across the room.
"You see, I am a teacher at Pharos Academy. Not a Huntsman, mind you. I teach history and aura management. Specifically, it's my job to assess students, both in terms of current and potential skill." He paused, dragging the last of his coffee out before placing the cup down.
"I'm here because Violet is exceptionally talented for her age. She's fast and strong, but she also has a good head on her shoulders. The kind that lets her know when to back off, as well as when to press forward. Not to mention her aura and Semblance control, which are much farther along than most who have been studying for as short a time as she has. I'd ask that you at least listen to her request."
He leaned back, sweeping out his hands as if to hand off the floor. At this point, Douglas had wandered in, but he waited until Scarlet began. "I'm sorry, but I just can't abide my daughter going off to that place. Even if…"
Scarlet trailed off, and Douglas picked up the thought. "Even if you say she's good, which I can't believe you have a way of knowing, it's still a dangerous profession, and I hardly believe that Violet's up to the task."
"But I am! I know you know I've been practicing, and I'm getting really good. Please, just –"
Douglas cut off Violet's request. "I'm not willing to entertain the idea, and that's final."
"Please, Mr. Wilkins. It's true that being a Huntress is dangerous work, and it's true that Violet isn't ready for it right now. But that's what Pharos is for. We provide the education and skills needed to make students ready for it." Cian extended his hands out.
"Besides, mom, dad, it's not like I'll be fighting Grimm immediately. But after what happened, I at least want to be able to defend myself, even if I don't become a Huntress. Pharos can teach me how to do that!" Violet implored.
Char and Cyll nodded with hums of agreement. "I understand that this is asking a lot. As a parent myself, I understand the protectiveness and fear that your feeling. But Violet could do a lot of good. Not just because she has potential as a fighter, but because she genuinely wants the job of protecting the people. It takes courage and strength, valor and kindness to take up that mantle." Cian finished.
The arsenal of arguments was laid out in front of them, and eventually Scarlet and Douglas could not fight back with wants. "Fine. We'll let you go to Pharos. Honestly, we're proud that you want to go so badly, but you have to understand that we're also worried for you." Douglas said, mist forming in the corners of his eyes.
Violet jumped across and pulled her parents into a hug. "Thank you so much." She sniffed, before breaking away smiling.
Violet stepped off the bullhead, crisp air rushing into her lungs. The river of students carried her forward, through a grand archway of marble with flowering vines twisting across its facade and into a promenade ringed by water fountains and hedges. As the throng swept onward, she saw to her right a training grounds, to her left an observatory, and many more buildings that dotted the school grounds.
Soon, she found herself pulled through an arched doorway, into a grand entrance hall with high, vaulted ceilings. Char and Cyll appeared at her side, and, elsewhere, Olive and Lily watched their future classmates pour into the building, eagerly awaiting their professors' first address.
Hopefully you enjoyed reading and, like always, feedback is much appreciated. The next few chapters of Spring's Flower will be Arc 2, covering Olive, Lily, and Violet's schooling at Pharos Academy, with special appearances from the various cadets there.
But I suspect that will take a while. In the near future, I'll be starting a longer story covering Nuts and Dolts, developing a relationship between Penny and Ruby after their Atlas reunion.