Ch. 09: Chance at Redemption
When I come to, I'm in the place I had prayed desperately that I wouldn't be. Sabertooth's hospital wing. Blurring vision greets me first, followed closely by a choir of harsh murmurs, and complemented by two unfocused figures hovering over me. There's another one that, once I peek open my swollen eye, storms out of the room, slamming the door with such force that the photographs on the wall clatter against the paint. By scent, I know it's Sting.
When I try to move, pain spreads like poison in my body, so I abandon that idea and relax my muscles.
"…Fairy Tail…some prison out in Bosco." Yukino's voice. "Gajeel Redfox and Laxus Dreyar…magical energy was almost completely drained." The taller figure to my left fumbles with its white coat's pockets before prying my eyelids open, shining a flashlight into my pupils, one eye at a time. Yuki warns him, "Please be careful."
"The black eye is moderate," this man, I assume to be a doctor, assures her. "With the acetaminophen in his IV, the swelling should subside soon. The discoloration might take a little more time." He reeks of stale coffee and a pinch of liquor. Bourbon. "But the biggest concerns are internal bleeding and fractures on some of his ribs, his right wrist, and his left humerus—" He backs off my face when I move his hands away and rub my eyes.
Yukino stands quickly and comes to my side by my IV-ed hand. "Rogue." Her huge brown eyes turn milky with worry as she places a warm hand on my slung arm. "I'm so glad you're home. What were you think—" I look at her when she pauses. The worry in her eyes shift to gentle pride. "You protected everyone." With that, she smiles serenely. "Welcome home."
"Maybe," I sigh, exhaustively. "I'm back at Sabertooth, then…"
Watching my face for anger, she slowly nods. "Y-yeah." Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful to be out of that prison. But at the same time, I'm wishing I wasn't. All those people who were caught in the crossfire between madmen and dragon-slayers. Paying for my evasion. With a grunt, I sit up and remove the IV, kicking my feet over the bed and facing the setting sun. "Rogue," Yukino halts me with a staying hand. "You're hurt. Maybe you should slow down a little." I stare at my swollen feet. After a while, she asks, "What's… What's wrong?"
"Do you know what I saw in that place, Yukino?" I glance at her from the side. Her parted lips press close together and she sits beside me, waving off the doctor to give us privacy. "I saw innocent people being ruined by something bigger than themselves." Her hands clasp together on her lap. "Those people…they're someone's mother and father…someone's son or daughter. They all have families, and they're trapped behind bars."
"I…"
"Those men make a living off of dragon-slayer blood. They call it studying when all they do is track us and abduct civilians to experiment on with dragon lacrima. They won't stop until they've found their specimen."
"Rogue, please—"
"And that's…me." My fists clench the bedsheets. "My being there, my being the newest breed of dragon-slayer, would have saved those other inmates. Hell, maybe it could have shut the entire thing down. But—" I sigh and stare into the horizon that appears only gray to me. I can't find it in my heart to admit that maybe I didn't want to be saved, that maybe my place is by Arian's side, chained to a surgery table and connected to monitors and IV drips. So, I choke out slowly, "I don't know."
Yukino stares wide-eyed at me, lacking the knowledge of what to say to combat or comfort me. I don't blame her. I don't even know what it is I want to hear. Thankfully, she scoots to the edge of the mattress and stares into the rays of orange, purple, and red mingling in scenic glory. The misty mountains seem to be shrinking. "You know that everyone's calling you a hero, right? Here and at Fairy Tail." I eye her. "Wendy and Gajeel…and all the others…they could have endured what you have, had you lacked the courage to do what you did. And who knows what further damage those people could've done to the town?" Yukino smiles again. "You have to pick and choose your battles in order to save more lives, right? You saved us all back in Magnolia. So…thank you." As much as I want to take her words in, another more stubborn part of me burns to disregard everyone's advice and rush back to the prison to help. But because I know she's trying to help me and I'm being a bit irrational, I give a slight nod. "You must be hungry. How does a killer journey to the kitchen sound?" She stands, smoothing out her dress. "If you're up for it, that is. I can always bring your food in here for you."
"I can make it," I say before trying to stand.
"Yeah? The exercise might be good."
"Are you calling me fat?" I try to sound intimidating, but I can't fight a grin. She chuckles lightly and shakes her head before offering her hand. I accept it but burden no weight on it, standing on my own. Gravity yanks my innards to my feet in an extensive agonizing downshifting motion, and my entire body is overtaken by throbbing, dulled, and numbing pain. I groan.
"Are you okay?" Yukino asks, hurriedly.
I nod. "Catching my breath." It seems the oxygen I need to sustain my body stings upon entry. I've never been blasted by a firehose before, and I can say from experience now that it's nothing near as humorous as they perceive it to be on TV. In fact, if there ever comes a time that I encounter it again, I'll make sure to ask for a crowbar to the kneecaps instead. My heart rate relaxes to a steady, even pace and I let out a long breath. "Uh, Yuki?"
"Hm?"
"About what the judge was saying…about my record? I want you to know that—"
"We don't have to talk about it, Rogue." I stare at her, baffled, as she shrugs. "People have their secrets, and we all make mistakes, right? What's important is that you've learned from them and you're a better person because of it. That's what matters to me."
"You're really gonna disregard the whole thing?"
"What the papers don't show, I'm sure, is that you have a heart of gold." She smiles. "That, I know for sure. Besides, who says the papers always tell the truth?" She holds open the door for me with her back, an uplifting grin stretching across her face. I hesitate before her, but shove down my man pride and begin slowly down the hallway. Having an elbow sling has proven to be more inconvenient than I thought. Passing one of the glass windows, I catch a glance of myself. About more than half of my body is wrapped up in white bandages—or as Sting would call them, mummy bandages—and the black eye bulges out in a swollen, purple lump. "So…" Yukino waltzes alongside me. "I hope you have an appetite. Milady made her famous chili, the one that's packed with meat and cheese!"
Absentmindedly, my tongue slips through the vacant space where my tooth was pulled. I can still faintly taste iron in the tender gum. "Yeah?" I say.
"Mm-hm," Yukino chirps. "We just had it last night."
"Did Sting eat?"
"Milady and I made sure of it." We turn the corner to the second hallway before the cafeteria. Muffled voices leak through the walls like ghosts residing in the sediment. Orange light spills in from the windows that were once concealed by dark curtains during Jiemma's reign. "So far so good?" I nod. When I try to ball my left fist, but am met with a shooting pain in my upper arm. "Good. Although, I still think I should ask the doctor to get you back on the IV."
"I think I've had enough of needles. I'll just shove some Aleve down. I'm okay."
She chuckles. "I'm relieved your spirits are up. Come on." She leads me into the kitchen once I can pick up the pace a bit. "Frosch is taking a nap with Lector in your room, and I think Sting's out in town to take a breather."
"Did something happen?" Yukino turns to me and blinks twice. The answer is right in my face. "Oh, right. Me."
"But we'll have some good news for him once he gets back. You're moving better than the doctor said you would." She carefully ladles a bowl full of chili from the cauldron. Steam rises from the brown sauce and meat. I can't remember the last meal I had, but having this as my first one in days fills me with complete euphoria. "This enough?"
"Yeah, thanks." When I hold my good hand out for it, she shakes her head. "What's wrong?"
"I'll carry it. Go find Orga and Rufus. They've wanted to see you for days!" She opens the fridge for cheese and Tabasco. "I'll get your drink, too. How does a soda sound?"
"Like heaven." I adjust the robe around my shoulders, hopelessly attempting to hide my sling and straighten my back. I'm only met with stifling pain and instinctively clutch my elbow until it dies down. "I'm fine," I stammer as to reassure her before she can worry. We lock eyes, so I repeat, "I'm okay, really. I'm gonna sit down."
The dining hall has served as both a haven of laughs and treasured moments and as a cave of taunts and dreadful events in the past. Although I've made amends with my guildmates, walking in there alone makes me feel kind of vulnerable. I hate to be so dependent on Sting and Yukino and even Frosch, but what I'd give to have either of them with me at this moment.
As I feared, the exact second my foot taps the cold marble floor, silence emits into the air and all eyes turn on me without so much as a side glance. My ears heat up, especially when I realize I'm facing everyone with bed hair and a sallow face, reeking of medicine and dried blood. But then everyone starts shouting and cheering and hooting at me…and I remember that we're a family now.
Orga stands and struts quickly to me, "Welcome home, Rogue!" He claps my back roughly. "We didn't know you were awake yet! How're you feeling?"
"Fine, I barely feel anything."
He messes up my hair and guides me down the rows of tables. His shirt gives off the scent of his most recent girlfriend's perfume whose name I can't remember. It starts with an A. People turn in their seats and give me assuring nods and proud smirks. "Come on, be honest. How're you really feeling? First step to healing is admitting."
I roll my eyes. "Had better days, but I'm here." A muscular arm wraps around my neck and yanks me into a rock-hard chest in what I think is meant to be a hug. "Ow! What the f—"
I stop fighting against the grip when I hear the goofy laughter of another guildmate, a close friend and the second loudest in the guild, Finnair. "Rogue, you look like battered shit!" He releases and takes his turn in ruffling my hair. "You crazy bastard! What kind of stunt was that back in Magnolia? You almost got yourself killed."
I shrug as we all sit down at our usual table. Peeking down from the latest botany magazine, Rufus howls out this wounded animal sound when he catches sight of me. "Oh, you poor thing!"
I stare at him. "Me? I'm fine."
"What kind of monster would do that to your face?"
"Gajeel. Apparently, the word 'please' is nowhere to be found in his vocabulary."
"Sounds like Black Steel." He shows me the paper under the magazine which displays a fuzzy picture of me shielding Yukino and Frosch before Arian's men, the aircraft behind. My shirt is melting right off my shoulders, the broken cuffs remain on my wrists. My wounds resemble something you'd see in a horror movie. The paper's entitled, The Shadow Dragon's Sacrifice! "Look at you. Our baby dragon's a superstar across Magnolia, it seems."
"More like victim, the way they wrote the article," I squint. "Jesus…Everyone's seen this?"
"Everyone and their second cousins," Orga adds under a mouthful of meat.
Finn chimes in, "People have been calling you a hero. Well, that or an idiot."
Rufus winks at me, "Or both."
I want to frown, but I find a smile forming on my bruised face. Yukino comes with my food and places it in front of me with a spoon, snapping open the soda for me. "Here," she sits next to me and then waves at Rufus and his paper. "Hey, not so fast with the news, you two. He just woke up."
"It's fine," I say, swapping the paper for my spoon. "I'm not interested in reading the glorification of something that's only instinct." It dawns on me how ravished I am when I inhale four-mile-wide mouthfuls of ground meat, sausage, and thick sauce. Pain sears through my face from my absent tooth, making me pull a face before swallowing. "What kind of person wouldn't protect a child, dragon-slayer or not?"
"I ain't having kids," Orga announces, gesturing at my arm. "They only end up hurting you."
I slit my eyes as he downs alcohol like a drain. "That's not true."
"Hmph," Rufus snickers, "and I thought you said you hate children."
"That doesn't mean I'll stand by if one gets hurt in front of me."
"What's important is that everyone's safe and you're recovering," Yukino states, cupping her hands around a steaming mug of coffee.
Orga slams down his beer, the glass bottle making a loud whacking noise against polished wood. "Yeah, she's right. Good to have you back." He pats my back again before leaving briefly to toss out the bottle. "Can't have a Sabertooth without the complete Twin Dragons."
"Sounds like a packaged deal when you put it that way, Orga," Finn jokes.
I smirk, "Buy one, get one free."
Everyone laughs before he continues, "But he's right. We all missed our spiked coffee-chugging, cigar-smoking moody ghost writer."
"Thanks, I think," I say, staring at my bowl. "I wonder what's going to happen now with the court."
"Oh, yeah. That," Yukino hums. "You've been pardoned."
Through a bulging mouthful, I ask, "What?"
Finn leans in close to my ear. "Dude, you're Russian, right?" I nod, only giving him a short glance.
"Yeah, pardoned." Orga plops down right next to Yukino, heavy arms crossed on the table. "It was all over the news, too. Everyone saw your display of selflessness; Sting said a few things—"
"Well, 'said a few things' is a euphemism for unleashed verbal hell. Long story short, the court recognized your duty as a mage of Sabertooth for years and your obvious commitment to the protection of Fiore's civilians," Rufus explains with a sophisticated sip of his tea. "I was surprised. Normally a guildmaster's words are meaningless against the Court of Magical Persons."
"You speak it, too?" Another nod. I meet Finn's eyes briefly. "What does this word mean?" He plucks out his headphones from his phone and hits play on an unnamed file, holding the device up to my ear.
"It's like…to be compliant. Yielding," I answer simply. "Why?"
Orga hums, "Our master sure is amazing to get your butt off death row."
Hearing that makes me turn quickly to him as the other problem dawns on me. "Whoa, whoa, whoa," I panic. "Are you telling me that Sting knows…about what I did to Lucy? What happened in the courtroom?" Everyone furtively watches me before, one by one, nodding twice. With my good arm, I rake my hair from my face. "Oh, my God…" Is that why I saw him storming out as I came to? Is that why he's not here at the table with us, because he's that disappointed in me?
"Does it hurt?" Yukino asks in a soft voice.
I lift my eyes from my bowl to her. "What?" As if unable to call it what it is, she trails her fingertips along the smooth curve of her neck. Automatically, I feel tenderness where the collar was and check my ashen reflection in the deep of the spoon. Lo and behold, there's a ring of purple slicing across my trachea. "Oh," I fail to mask the surprise in my voice, so I stab the spoon into the chili, watching the brown sauce and meat consume the metal. "No, it's okay."
"Ouch," Rufus says as Finn whistles. "Quite ghastly."
"It's not that bad compared to the eye," I lie. "Gajeel's fist packs more of a wallop than this."
"I'm sure he does."
"Who says wallop anymore?" Orga whispers to Finn, who shrugs.
I glare at them from the side, and then push my bowl away. "I think I'll have to finish this another time. I really should get back to bed."
Orga tilts his head and furrows his eyebrows. "You barely touched it. You really that tired, huh?"
"Well, I have to call Kagura and let her know I'm all right."
"Oh, dude," Finn starts carefully. "She…well…"
"What?" I frown. "Did something happen?"
"Rogue," Yukino scoots closer to my side.
I turn quickly to her. "What? Did she get hurt?"
Rufus sighs and crosses his arms. "She broke up with you." I gawk at him, questions barging in my head all at once. "After you were taken, she just said she obviously wasn't your priority anymore. So, she left." He picks up his magazine again and flips it open. "Quite selfish of her, in my opinion."
"Ugh…" I rub my eyes. This always happens. It's always about her getting terribly lonely the second I'm busy, about my screwing up in ways unknown to mankind. I could amputate my arm just to buy her dinner and she'll complain about the seasoning. I'd be out late in search for a surprise gift—some jewelry or some shit—only to be accused of cheating. No. I can't blame her for this. Yes, I made a sacrifice that could have gone terribly wrong, had I not been dragged out of there. And yes, maybe I was being a bit selfish when I made it. But would she honestly prefer to have a boyfriend who sits by while terrorists abduct a child? I know I don't know regret it, so shouldn't she be here with me now? After what I saw, after what I had to leave behind, I'd really appreciate her company. Her absence is beginning to ache.
"You know, she's still around," Yukino offers a comforting smile. "She came by yesterday. Maybe…if you give the word, I can get her over here. I know she'll be happy to see you awake."
I shake my head. "No, you don't have to. She's my girlfriend, so I have to—"
"It's no big deal," she says. "Plus you shouldn't be pushing yourself with your injuries." I open my mouth to protest when she puts a hand on my shoulder. "I'll tell her to come by for you. You have a good reason to stay in bed. She can't be mad."
"You'd do that?"
"Of course. You two might just need to talk things out."
"Yeah…maybe."
"You sound so reluctant," Rufus adds.
I give a half-hearted shrug. Reluctance would be an understatement. Reluctance would mean that confronting my girlfriend is actually an option, that I have the right words to say to her when she chews me out. Which I don't. I can't think of anything else to say than that it was what I thought was right. But she's not the type of woman to understand sacrifice that applies to anything that's hers. But because Yukino's trying to help, I say, "I left my phone in the hospital wing."
She smiles. "No worries. I'll find her and have her come by around 4."
That's in another two hours. I disregard my hesitation and give her a smile that aches every muscle in my face. "That'll be great, Yuki. Thanks."
##
It was a particularly grim winter day with intertwined clouds. It was a day nearing a time of rejoice and gathering, and yet strangers would throw suspicious glances over their shoulder for the sole reason of the dreary sky above them. None apart from the crowd, he too found a biting compulsion to scan his surroundings; however, it was not out of trepidation, but rather curiosity. His prolonged stare bode nothing outside of strange. Instead a flurry of colliding stages of shock and partial disbelief seized him when he realized his eyes were met by those he had so fiercely yearned for. The eyes that haunted his dreams, warmed his soul, and galvanized his senses. It was not curiosity that stayed his feet or alerted his mind. It was—
"Rogue?"
I drag my mind from the story, peel my eyes from the screen, and avert them to Yukino, who peeks her head in through the door. Her voice sprinkled with a dash of restive intent that lets me know she's been calling my name more than once. "Yeah?" I take off my glasses.
"Kagura's here." She opens the door and motions her hand towards me. My girlfriend's sharp hazel eyes stay planted on me as soon as she enters the wind. My heart drops. "I'll give you two privacy," Yukino chimes, excusing herself.
"Thanks, Yuki." She hums and soon becomes a pair of fading footsteps. Tension grows like mold on the walls. "Kagura," I say, a bit shocked she actually came. Before I can go on, she advances towards me, winds her arm as far back as it can go, and smacks me across the face, the slicing sound of flesh on flesh bouncing from wall to wall. I catch my balance with a hand on the mattress, my vision altered with discs of green and red. "You're mad."
"Damn right, I'm mad!" Kagura takes back her hand. "What the hell were you thinking? How dare you pull a move like that!" I dab my eye with my finger to check for swelling as she rants.
My ear rings. "Don't give me that. You shouldn't be angry at me for what I did. A child's life holds more value than mine."
"Angry is an understatement, and what you did was selfish and reckless."
"What I did meant Wendy was safe. Try to be a little understanding." I can't help but doubt my words. Was that the reason I did what I did? Or did I simply do it to show Gajeel I'm strong?
"Why should I? You're my boyfriend!" Kagura whacks me again, harder this time. "You don't get to make sacrifices like that!"
"You don't get to order me around and control what I do while you're too busy—" Sleeping around with other men. At my raised voice, she falls dangerously silent. There's no point in bringing that up right now, so I sigh and motion for her to sit on the bed with me. After a moment, she does, plopping down like a petulant child not getting her way. I take her soft hand in mine, studying each line in her palm. "I'm sorry I worried you, but I'm not sorry for taking Wendy's place." Her fine eyebrows draw down slowly, but she's listening. "As a mage of an allied guild, I refuse to let someone be abducted right in front of me. You can't make me apologize for that." I watch as her scowl slowly melts away to be replaced by a blank, almost testing squint. "So, can you just…not be mad?"
Right when I think she might be understanding enough to accept my words, to comfort me, she cranks her hand back to hit me again. This time I catch her wrist as it comes crashing down. "Stop putting yourself in danger and just be my damn boyfriend."
"I am your boyfriend."
"You don't need to get involved in every crazy battle, especially with your illness—"
"You're asking me to go against what I stand for, and to abandon my position as a mage of Sabertooth."
We grimace in sync with each other. "I'm asking you to be here for me. It's hard enough we live in separate guilds."
"I need you to be supportive."
"I need you to be here. What happened to my sweet boyfriend who would do anything for me? You disappear for a week, and then you come back, beaten beyond consciousness and ready to fight me on everything."
"Well, do you want a boyfriend or a yes-man?"
"You're making this difficult."
"So are you."
"What? Are you going to try to make me happy, for once, or what?"
Even I know this is selfish of her to ask. But I also have to consider that even though I defended Wendy, it might have been selfish of me to put myself in that situation and leave Kagura by herself. But I have no regrets. It's either to please her for now or because I'm actually embracing her false words that make me mutter, "You know I want nothing but for you to be happy." My stomach churns in nauseating rolls, but this is for the woman I love. "I can't sit around and do nothing when there's danger. I'm still loyal to this land and this guild." Arian is still a free man.
"Fine," she agrees after a moment of ruminating silence.
She gathers close to me, head resting on my chest, and clutches the fabric of my shirt in her hand. Her weight spikes pain through my ribs; she flinches away when I fail to stifle a wince. "Sorry," I say, motioning for her to lie back down and wrapping an arm around her when she complies. "You could've just asked me to spend more time with you. You didn't have to pretend to break up with me. Or slap me." Ironic; she just went on a date with Rufus the other day. In this kind of relationship, you'd think time apart would be something we'd constantly do with ease. But apparently not.
"And you could've just said no."
I chuckle. "Stubborn."
"You're stubborn. I'm just trying to teach you how to behave in a relationship, since you obviously don't know."
"Kagura."
"Whatever. I'm over it."
"No, you're not."
"Stop it."
"I have responsibilities as a mage. It's like me asking you not to take on jobs to come tend to me and my needs."
"So, our relationship is like a mission to you."
I groan when she glares at me. "No. That came out wrong."
"Hell of wrong."
"I'm not going to change my mind."
She sighs heavily. "I know." The bones constructing my being ache beyond comprehension and following through with this argument any further would exhaust me more than the trek to the kitchen did.
"I can't make money unless I complete jobs, some more dangerous than others. If I can't make money, I can't buy you that Rolex you wanted." Hearing this, she smiles a bit. "I'll make more of an effort to visit you at Mermaid Heel. Once I'm out, we'll go to dinner and that beach you wanted to go to last week."
"The nude beach?"
My face heats up. "Uh…maybe not that one. Another one." I pull her closer, putting my face in her hair. "I don't think I want to show you off like that." For the first time in a while, I'm truthful about my feelings about our relationship.
But she dismisses my comment as a sarcastic joke. "Don't be a greedy prude." I bite my tongue and distract myself by taking in her powdery scent. I run my fingers through it with my good arm and she sinks in closer with her face in my bruised neck, eyes looking up at me. Her hand trails up my cheek. "Ouch. Why would you let them hurt your face?"
"Oh, this?" Her thumb lightly runs over the inflamed skin surrounding my eye. "That's from Gajeel. He doesn't accept no as an answer." She chuckles and starts about her day and some new erotic fantasy she wants to experiment with. My vision blurs and fades to black before I can hear the climax of it.
—one and a half centuries ago—
"Did you just look at me?" a tall man with dyed blond hair stopped his authoritative pace down the line and towered over me. He slit his eyes and turned his body to me full-on. A cold sweat ran down the side of my face, but I kept my eyes forward, as we were taught to. I stared without blinking at the snow-chilled buttons of his trench coat. Out of nowhere, he smacked me hard on the side of my head, making my ear scream a long, high-pitched shriek. When I opened my eyes, I was facing the door behind me where I knew my classmates were listening. I found myself shaking as I brought my hand—callused and bruised at the base of the palm from training—to my face, but when I looked at him, he squinted and hummed. "What eyes…"
"He's the best we have," one of the instructors said, indifferently. "But do excuse his stares, sir."
Madam Vanderbilt stepped in front of the other instructors, the apple tint of her lips almost blinding. "He's deaf. Deaf, but definitely not useless. Nowhere near it."
The man cocked an eyebrow, eyes shifting between me and her. "Him? He's so young." He approached me, as I took a step back, and snatched my face quickly. A gasp rose from my chest, but I forced it back down. "A dumb, cowardly thing. But those eyes of his…they're intriguing." His hand ripped away and he crossed his arms, never taking his eyes off me. "This can't be the only boy with the same skill set you mentioned."
"He is. However, most of his class has height over him. He may lack the appearance, but he is considerably strong."
The man knelt down to meet my eyes directly and grabbed my arm at the bicep. "Make a muscle, boy." Regrettably, I obeyed. The treacherous shock in his countenance infected me with soul-crushing fear. "Impressive. By his flimsy disposition, you'd assume he lacks such raw arm strength. The girls appear to have much more confidence in their muscle mass."
"Be that as it may," Madam V excused, glaring down at me, a lecture forming, "he excels beyond the limits. He's fast, agile, dead-silent. Surprisingly, persistent in combat. Above all, he's obedient. Deadly. He'd be perfect in your line of work."
"Ah," the man's face stretched in a smile. "A perfect assassin. Capable, but too naïve to know a decent paycheck."
"His sex is no catalyst, sir. He exceeds far beyond the abilities of the rare male student, beyond the only male instructor at the academy."
"If I'm not mistaken, the Red Room Circus has no male graduates. The training regime of a Black Widow is too complex, too graceful an art to be achieved by a male. But this child," he places a hand on my head, "he might be the first to prove me wrong. And he follows the exact same schedule as the ladies?"
"Yes."
"Every specialty?"
"He excels in every one of them."
The man's face stretched wide in a delighted smile. "How perfect."
I swallowed nervous mucus down my parched throat, and though there was no gulping sound, Madam V shot me a warning glare. "He is also hesitant. He allows mercy to stay his hand and lacks the audacity to fend off bullies. Outside of training, he is socially weak."
"With time, that will be mended."
"He has issues with sleep, as well. Night terrors, insomnia, sleepwalking—"
"That will not be of concern." He turned to her, eyes shining in the moonlight. "Sleeping will be the least of his worries. The work he will be assigned under me is pressing and his skills will be needed night and day." When he turned back to me, I understood the fear a rabbit succumbs to as a fox sneers over it. The dimmed room enhanced the malice in his dark eyes. "My name is Arian. What is your name?"
With a glance at my instructor, who nodded sternly with tightened lips, I answered, "R-Ryos." It'd been so long since I'd heard my own voice.
Arian's grin softened. "Hello, Ryos." For a moment, he appeared kind when he was reduced to my eye level. "So, what's your act?"
"Trapeze, sir."
"Wow! That sounds like fun." I nodded slowly. "Do you ever think about what might happen if you fall?"
"Yes, sir."
Arian's smile settled as a thin line only slightly curves at the corners, an expression that brought out the lethal ambition in his eyes. "I hear you're quite strong. Do you think you're strong?"
"I…try to be." Another stern glare from the madam. "I…The answer is yes…sir."
"Interesting."
I remember thinking of what great terrors awaited me, what hard labor I was to endure. I was smaller than the others, but not weaker. Not to mention I was the one of the rare boys there, the only one to get as far as I had. My weakness was hesitance. What was this man planning to do to 'mend' that? All I could think about was Sting. I wanted him to come find me. I wanted him to blast the academy away with his Roar so I can start forgetting about it. I certainly did not wish to graduate.
"All I need from you," he gently took ahold of my stinging face, "is absolute obedience."
It was about a half hour later when I noticed I was indeed being taken from Red Room, but not by the magic of Sting or my own. We traveled for what seemed like an entire day before I was shut in a claustrophobic bedroom with nothing more than a lumpy mattress, a mashed pillow, and a thin blanket that scratched my skin. A flickering lamp on the floor in the corner. Patches fell from the walls and crumbs from the ceiling. When I lay my head down to sleep that night, I held my wrist to the wall—a habit yet to be broken. It was rule #1 for bedtime at Red Room: every trainee is to be handcuffed to their bed until morning. A lockdown routine disguised as a safety precaution. As much as I had despised that routine, it was a part of me. And it wasn't like I was through with the academy yet. There was really no one to wait for me. I had sent Frosch to search for Sting—wherever he was—over three months ago. Why leave? There wsteras a roof over my head, food in my stomach, and muscles forming under my skin. Knowledge I thought to be inaccessible held a special place in my soul. That was all I could think about as I retrieved a spring from the mattress and bound my wrist to one of the bars supporting it. For comfort's sake. There was nowhere else I could belong, so I figured I'd make my own home with what I got.
Or so I'd thought.
The next month was brutal, unforgiving, and frigid. Every single day brought a routine entirely different than RR. I was awake by 4 a.m. and out for Arian's version of training in the snow. The rules were simple—Arian's words. No complaining, no quitting, and no mercy. If I complained, I had to trudge through the snow barefoot. If I quit, I'd be denied food for the day. I tried to quit once during a sparring match against a heavyset adult. He nearly beat my bones to dust and surely would have killed me if I hadn't said I was through—no, he would have killed me if I didn't self-heal. Arian snatched me off the ground and scolded me for cowering, proceeding to then dangle me over a cliff of jagged, ice-matted shards about 50 feet down by the back of my shirt. He dropped me, but I caught the first slippery rock. For two days, I had to sustain my body on the meal I had before the match. But I learned my lesson. From then on, as a means of survival, I stopped giving up. Showing mercy would merit a beating that shook my core. Needless to say, I did exactly what I was told, no matter what my conscience screamed for me to do. I slaughtered entire coalitions with my bare hands. My physical appearance was one of a six-year-old and I fired more guns than tears shed. I became widely known as the epitome of cold-blooded murder. All without the use of my magic. The shadow inside only demanded more blood, more shrieks of terror, more withheld mercy. It'd be safe to say I was slowly giving in—selfishly to avoid a thrashing. In a matter of days, I became heartless.
No. Heartless is what Arian proudly claimed me to be. Heartless would imply that killing progressively became child's play to me, that the chill of stagnant blood on my skin no longer caused me to tremble. In reality, I just learned how to show my heart less. I learned to sheathe the pain with a dull tint of unconditional stoicism. Emotions cloud judgment, and judgment is vital for an assassin. It was what scared me straight, more than the trip over the cliff. Poor judgment was what almost got me killed. I knew if I were to continue living without anyone knowing of what I truly was, I had to drown myself in Arian's ambitions and morph into his image.
I asked myself repeatedly as I lurked through the night, wiping blood from my face: You still believe the monster only resides in your magic? In time, I stopped asking. I didn't care. I was a killer, but it didn't matter anymore. I no longer thought of Sting or Frosch. Or Gajeel. How could I, with so much red staining my soul? How could I crave for something I subconsciously gave up? I was an assassin, and even though I didn't choose that life, I'd succumbed to it. My loyalty was to Arian, and I assumed my feelings to be mutual. That was one of my mistakes.
After two decades, Arian sought out to purchase captives in the black market as slaves. Mages from Fairy Tail and Blue Pegasus found their way to us at the last second. For the captives, that meant hope and freedom. But for me, it meant I was Arian's last shot at gaining a fortune in money and power. He gave them an ultimatum—hand over the slaves or I, a young child, died. I can still hear the incessant ticking of the clock. I can still feel the heaviness of the pound of dynamite over my chest. Ready to implode before their eyes in a minute-twenty. Down to the last second, the deal was made. Arian won. When the bomb was disabled, my heartbeat busted in my ears as my legs gave. Every part of me was quivering in relief. Or perhaps disappointment that I was not spared this life, if I was even worthy of such a pardon. I wouldn't be dead for long, but long enough to make Arian believe so. My chance at freedom, like the captives, had been washed away as violently as the rainwater outside. As I watched Arian waltz out the door with pockets full of profit and a swagger of success, I remembered the initial fear I held for him—and I realized that was only the beginning of his ruthlessness. I didn't know what to do but stay. I pledged my allegiance to him, I was his property, sold to him at the price of a worn-out toy. I meant nothing to him but power, and I knew that at some point, but I couldn't go anywhere else.
What I knew for sure was that there was not a shred of humanity in Arian's body.
Against my will, I was returned to Red Room the day after to complete my final year of training. When graduation day came, it was anything but exhilarating, as the word bodes. I am the youngest graduate of Red Room as well as the only male to achieve the Widow title.
Sure, it sounded dandy—like a reward, maybe. Until I was brought there; a terrifying white room with blank tile, a surgical table, and a huge white light. The stench of blood under rubbing alcohol was everywhere, in every crevice and crack. Graduation did not only mean release from the academy. It meant being strapped down while the instructors sliced through me and implanted a chip in the inner wall of my appendix. The chip was small enough to be taken orally, painlessly sticking to the stomach's wall, but the tradition of RR was to break the breakable and damage the unbreakable into submission. No anesthetics were allowed.
When I heard I'd be graduating early, I failed the final physical test. I let my opponent, the male instructor, trap me in a chokehold and waited for him to end it, as RR rules demand. But Madam V drew a close to the spar and stood over me. "Sloppy, pretending to fail." I kept my head down, cautious of her eyes, and coughed for air. "Ah, I see. You're afraid." She then turned to the stunned crowd. I never lost. "The ceremony is necessary for you to take your place in the world."
On my hands and knees, I caught my breath enough to say in a hoarse voice, "We have no place in this world." The others stared wide-eyed at me as I sported my bold statement on my face. No one dared speak out against the instructors, certainly not the only child among twenty-year-olds.
She sneered down at me and the temperature in the room instantly declined. "Exactly." To this day, I still tremble in memory of the way her eyes burned into mine when she said that. But I lose the ability to even speak when I remember the ceremony.
When it came time, I tried hiding in the air vent in the dining hall. I stayed up there for almost five hours before Madam V found me. As she dragged me along by the wrist, I fought her for the first time. I became deadweight and clung to anything I could grab. It was strange, but there was this odd cringe of trust and heartbreak inside me that manifested as the claws shooting out my knuckles. I pleaded to be held back; she refused. In response, I swiped me claws across her leg and she turned on me. My answer was an open palm to the face. "We are all you have in this world! Don't you want to stay with us?" she shouted in stinging Russian. "Ungrateful child!" I didn't answer, and she yanked me along.
It all began with the pierce of cold metal against bare skin and a five-inch incision. I remember it so placidly…how I was stripped naked for humiliation purposes, how my screams ricocheted off the walls and fell onto deaf ears, how they sneered at the way my body jerked, at every time the agony became too great, and how they turned away when I cried and begged for it to stop. My claws—that were only bone at the time—lunged through my knuckles for the second time that evening. I slashed a few of the doctors, but the cuffs prevented me from killing anyone. They did something to me, injected me with a foreign substance that prevented me from self-healing. The worst part was that I never lost consciousness until the operation was through and I was left lying in my own blood. I was only a child, and yet all I could think about was how they'd stolen one of the few ways I could make my life seem normal. I was only a child, and all I could think about was dying. Not only was I their pawn, I was a machine. I had no reason not to complete a mission. There was no way I could have what most people could.
It ruined me.
That was the one night I truly desired to be chained to a bed, so that I could relish the comfort of hopelessness. Stationary hopelessness that no one could drag me from. Untouched. Solitary. I desired to be force to study the 64th broadcast of Snow White to learn to feign oblivion and innocence, a useful skill for espionage. I needed to be in the air, soaring, with no support beside the thin bar for my legs to clutch, flipping, unsure if this time I'll be plummeting to the ground. I wanted to endure hours and hours of tap-dancing lessons until my feet swelled up, until I got yelled at for crying. I yearned to see my classmates, let them shove me around and pull at my hair and even hear them snicker when I got in trouble. That was all I craved. But I'd graduated; I was done with the classes and lessons, and my classmates…well, at least 95% of them were killed. "For weakness," Madam V mentioned. With thirty-seven empty beds to stare at that night, I touched the gauze over the incision site and found how it burned more with pressure. Something I was in control of. Madness would have overtaken me if I had not been cuffed that night.
After about three decades—years and years of cooperating according to my disgusting alliance with Arian, more years of needless killing sprees and crime—I'd had enough. I was through lying to my own brother, who was a mere entity in my mind at the time as I had no idea where he was. I was through ending lives and watching my records bleed through my fingers. I woke up a second time. What am I doing this for, I had asked. Did it take the risk of having to explain to Sting why my head was shaved or why I was sneaking out every night for me to wake up? Was I too inattentive to my own actions before, at the expense of my manhood, dignity, and ledger? I didn't suspect I'd be so careless with myself to lose touch with who I was. Never again, I swore. Whatever the turn of events, enough was enough. I found the thinnest opportunity to escape and ran as far as my legs could carry me through the foot of snow. Arian shot a retractable cable at me, and I unleashed an overwhelming Roar at him, the cry of a dragon in sync with my voice. Shadows blasted snow everywhere, forming a dark compass in the white with a snapping sound, thrashing and cascading in the thin air after decades of being retained. Even in the blizzard, I could see Arian staring in awe at me, eyes wide and mouth agape. I wasted no time in making distance between us.
I managed to evade him for another five decades, changed my name and took up a new façade, grew my hair out, and joined Sabertooth with Sting. Little did I know that exposing him to dragon-slaying magic would spark up his hectic experimentation and search for more of my kind. Had I known he'd dissect and torture innocent people to find answers, I would have remained by his side to this day. I would be dead by now, I'm sure, and Arian would move on to the next slave in line.
As cruel as it is to say, what's done is done. I can't change the past. But now, like all things in the past, he's resurfaced. With every falter in control over my magic, I know I'm not in the best shape to take him on. Our history serves as another nightmare I have to stash away—hearing his name is enough to uncoil the binds I have on my emotions and reduce my body to a trembling stupor. But no matter how vulnerable I am, no matter how brutal my magic is against his army, I have to make sure he perishes. I've been on this planet for almost 400 years; Sting and I didn't have the luxury of leaping through the Eclipse Gate. We lived and waited patiently for centuries to be where we are now, to find the family we have today. I'm a very old man and I'm exhausted, but I'm way too old to run away from people. I'm wise enough to know that. My skill in killing someone is damn-near perfect, and making someone suffer is an art I can practice with my hands tied. I have to kill him. In all the wrong I've done, this is my unreserved duty.
And mine alone.
