2/3- The Thirteen

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The Hunt

The wind blew harshly through the narrow mountain pass, sending chills down Manon's spine. Her silver white hair was pulled back into a loose braid and it whipped around in the air, almost blending in with the pale blizzard that raged ferociously. Manon's face was beginning to sting, her ears frozen and her lips dry. But she did not move. Not yet. Manon had been tracking the Crochan witch through Rosamel for days, hiding in the shadows. And here they were.

Manon Blackbeak leaned against the side of the mountain even harder, willing herself to lie flat. A novice's tactic, but at least it worked. Manon couldn't lie; this was nothing like training. Less exciting, but more exciting at the same time. The wind roared around her once again, as if cheering her on. Oh three-faced goddess, guide my way.

Manon's heartbeat quickened against her will. She willed herself to stay calm, to keep her composure until it was done. It wasn't working very well. The Crochan bitch's red cloak flapped in the wind like a flag bathed in fresh blood. The same cloak that was given to every Crochan upon their first bleeding, a gift to celebrate the transition into womanhood. But all it did now was mark them as prey. It was no longer a gift. It was a death sentence.

The Crochan pulled the cloak around her tighter in an attempt to keep warm as the unforgiving winter left its mark on the Staghorn mountains. She was barely sixteen, the same age as Manon, and undeservingly beautiful. Dark hair, pale skin, eyes green like a summer meadow. It was sickening.

Manon unsheathed her claws and moved forward, silent as night itself. Her own eyes, pools of melting gold, followed the Crochan almost obsessively, never lifting off of her. A fool's mistake, her grandmother would sneer. She might as well walk off a cliff with that sort of awareness of her surroundings. But in the moment Manon could care less about what her grandmother thought. She moved forward almost hypnotically, so slowly that it was almost painful. The roaring winds covered up Manon's harsh, excited breaths. Her cheeks burned in the cold, but she payed no attention. Manon's mouth opened slightly and her iron teeth snapped downwards. Manon crouched down slightly and moved just a bit faster. The hunt had truly began.

She was so close. So close that Manon could almost taste the Crochan's blood in her mouth and then Manon raised her claws as the Crochan turned around and the world stopped.

Manon would never forget the look on the Crochan's face, the glorious look of utter terror and fear, the panic and despair in those crystal green eyes as Manon raked her claws down the Crochan's chest. The bitch screamed and Manon laughed, a terrible and wicked sound as she swiped her claws at the Crochan witch's stomach. The contents spilled out and Manon relished in the feeling of warm blood on her hands and the fear in the air. With another move Manon ripped out the Crochan's throat with her teeth like a wild animal, effectively cutting off her scream.

Oh, she had never felt more alive. With a final move, Manon ripped her still-beating heart out of her chest and gazed into those eyes again as the life drained out of the damned Crochan's body. Manon could see herself reflected in the Crochan's eyes, bloody and triumphant and beautiful and wicked. She cradled the warm heart in her hands. Victory was so, so sweet. Her gaze swept back to the Crochan's corpse, still fresh on the ground, her blood-red cloak now drenched in real blood. Swift as steel Manon pulled the cloak away from the Crochan's body, running her fingers through the fabric. How ironic. A cloak presented after her first bleeding, now taken away after her last. No longer would this cloak symbolize fertility and life. In the hands of Manon Blackbeak, heir to the Blackbeak Witch clan, the fiercest Ironteeth clan of all, this cloak would come to symbolized death and the purging of those cursed Crochans. And Manon would hunt those witches down until the Darkness became her and then she would rise again to end the Crochan race. She swore it.

Silent Harmony

Asterin followed the human male deeper into the woods. She could hear his nervous breathing and sense his discomfort. Not that she'd blame him. They both knew what she was and what she could do to him. But he had saved her life, even when he knew he probably shouldn't have. The birds twittered in the trees above, their wing beats fluttering like drums. Asterin focused on the sound of nature, let it's ringing fill her ears, as if it could block out the silence between them, so imposingly loud.

The human turned around and motioned for her to stop. Asterin watched as he gestured to the ground and began to set traps. For food, Asterin realized. Why not just hunt using bow and arrows? Why set traps? Asterin desperately wanted to say something, to tell him that she could just go out and easily kill dinner for him. But she couldn't find the words. And this wasn't her place to make decisions. So she walked over, bent down, and began to work.

There were no words exchanged between them, but something about it made Asterin feel calm, at peace. Some would argue that fire could not be tempered, but right now she was not that raging wildfire that tore through the skies like a meteor, but the fire that warmed homes and brought light. Manon would say that she was being weak, subjecting herself to emotions and allowing herself to be content while working with a human, but maybe some things were meant to be kept to herself. A small smile crossed Asterin's face and she knew the human was watching her. She turned around and met his gaze. They stared at each other for a moment before returning to their own work. There was no tension or awkwardness, but something else entirely. Something twenty-eight years of being a Blackbeak witch never taught her. Asterin felt a flutter in her chest, and was filled with the overwhelming sense of harmony.

Faultless

Sorrel's expression was one of steel. Anger coursed through her veins, anger and fear, but she smoothed her features into one void of emotion. Vesta grabbed blankets and began to heat some water.

"Why are you doing this?" Asterin choked out, voice heavy with emotion. "Just leave me or Mother Blackbeak will-"

"It doesn't matter what she will do," Vesta hissed. "She won't find out."

"But when she does-"

"You're our sister," Sorrel said sharply as she paced around the cabin. "We don't leave our sister to die. You didn't deserve what she did, and what happened wasn't your fault."

"You don't understand," Asterin said miserably. "I've failed the clan. I've failed the Matron. I've failed Manon."

"No, you haven't," Sorrel replied fiercely. "We keep this to ourselves. No one will know about this."

"But what if Mother Blackbeak's told her already? Told her about my pathetic failure and my worthlessness?"

"Then we do what we have always done," Vesta says with certainty. She looked around the room and met Sorrel's eyes before turning her gaze back to Asterin. "We stick together and stand up for each other. We're loyal to Manon, but we're also loyal to each other. We're the Thirteen, and god help anyone who stands between us."

For a minute, the room was filled with nothing but the crackling of the fire and Asterin's sniffles. Sorrel's chest felt heavy and she swallowed, not sure how to break the silence, not sure what words to use.

"Do you think she will hate me?" Asterin asked softly after a moment, turning her head away from the others and staring at the wall.

Sorrel and Vesta exchanged a look.

"No," Sorrel murmured. "No, I don't think she will." Sorrel looked at Asterin's beautiful golden hair, still wet from the cold snow she had been thrown in earlier and felt a wave of protectiveness overcome her. "I think she'll be proud. Proud to have such a loyal second who wants nothing but the best for her coven and for her clan."

"Yet that same second was the one who bore a stillborn witchling, one who couldn't face the duty of the clan," Asterin muttered bitterly.

"There was nothing you could do about it, Asterin," Vesta said sadly. "It was never your fault. Sometimes, things don't go as planned but there's nothing we can do about it now. I'm sorry."

"I…I just don't know what went wrong," Asterin shakily breathed out after a moment, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. "Was it something I did? Was I not a good enough mother or, or-"

"You did nothing wrong," Vesta assured, sitting next to where Asterin lay on the bed, wrapped in blankets and grabbed her cold hand. Sorrel stood, sturdy as rock and watched as Vesta consoled the grieving young witch.

"So what do I do now?" Asterin asked quietly.

"For now, you rest," Sorrel responded, voice firm but gentle. "Then you train. Train for witchling, for the clan, for Manon, but most importantly, train for yourself."

Sorrel stepped forward and grasped Asterin's other hand. The three of them looked at each other, a promise made with swallows and gestures.

"We'll get through this," Sorrel said. "Together."

Legacy

The Thirteen stood together with their mounts on a cliff near Morath. Manon breathed in the fresh air, the smell of the mountains. It was something she would never tire of.

"What do you suppose we do now?" Asterin asked her, walking over to stand next to Manon, her golden eyes fixed on the horizon.

"I don't know," Manon finally answered. The shadows surveyed the area while Ghislane and Vesta talked quietly among themselves about the structure of the land. For once, Manon felt at peace. A part of her worried slightly about Elide, but Manon smothered that feeling as much as she could. Elide was a Blackbeak witch. She was a fighter. Manon was absolutely certain that Elide didn't need any help.

Manon let out a breath and stared up at the sky. The sun was just beginning to set and stars were barely visible in the sky. The sky was a stark contrast to the fire of the sun. Blue and gold. Just like the Terrasen Queen's eyes.

Manon let out a scoff. She was young and arrogant but Manon couldn't deny it; the Queen was a good fighter. Better than most. Better than her? Over Manon's dead body. It'd been awhile since Manon had really met her match. She was slightly impressed. Their paths would cross again- Manon was sure of it. And when they did, Manon would make sure that she did not suffer another humiliating defeat. A wicked smile graced Manon's face and she turned towards Asterin.

"Prep your mounts," she ordered, marching over to where Abraxos was happily eating flowers. He looked up at her and tilted his head lazily, as if to say 'what do you want now?'.

"Where are we going?" Asterin asked as she mounted her her own wyvren.

"Wherever the wind takes us," Manon responded, her wicked grin growing wider. She turned to the rest of the Thirteen as was met with the same grin. They were the Thirteen, to the end of time and beyond. And Manon loved it.

I won't lie, this was probably my favourite one to write xD I wrote the first part at 2 in the morning so I was kinda...you know. I actually toned down the goriness of it because I felt it was a little OOC. The original included more gutting and slashing, but uh...I think I need counselling. It was definitely fun to write and was a great way to vent xD

edit: original title of chapter was Red As Blood, Fire Like Ice, Stone Like Steel but was too long xD

Part 3: Dreams Born From Fire And Ash