Chapter Twenty-Three
"Are you sure we shouldn't wait longer?" A muffled voice asks.
"It's been two weeks," another responds, trying to sound strong, but his voice has an undercurrent of uncertainty. "It's time. She wants to go back."
"We still haven't gotten her completely he-"
"Akira!" the second voice whispers back ferociously. "Just… we've tried. No mage here knows even where to start, and that's without factoring in the money they'd need…they all say it's impossible to heal..."
"There has to be someone," Akira responds, his voice oddly calm.
"Maybe," the other sighs. "But, for now… we do what we can. Why don't you go get her ready?"
A silence settles, followed shortly by a huff of air and footsteps on a wooden floor. There's a soft knock, and I see the shadow of a figure through the paper panels of my shōji door, a small remnant of Ionian culture.
"Aria?" Akira asks. "Are you ready?"
I pound on the floor with my foot, sending two, hollow thumps echoing through the room.
"Alright," Akira says back, his voice gentle. "I'll be waiting right here, but… we've got to leave soon."
I sigh, too quietly for him to hear, turning from the door.
My room is fairly sparse, only a few pieces of furniture occupying the small space. A bed lies in the corner with a wooden chest underneath it, looking slightly out of place with the Ionian architecture, but… an actual mattress and frame is all I can sleep on now…
The rest of the room is filled with a dresser, a desk, chair, and a mirror resting on over the desk. The mirror is broken, cracks turning the glass oval into concentric shards reflecting distorted images of the room. A window with blinds drawn keeps the light in the room to a minimum.
I get up, heading to my wardrobe, my bare feet sticking on the wooden floor. I guess I should be thankful I wasn't hurt that badly, my wounds already almost if not completely healed. That is, every wound except for my throat and…
The healers and doctors said I had damaged my vocal cords because of how long I was screaming. They were so badly damaged that even with healing medicines, I still haven't regained my voice yet. I can speak a few words, but it comes out hoarse and painfully. In time, one of my wise doctors said, all wounds heal, and my voice would eventually be back to normal.
I still remember the paling face of doctor after he said that, when he saw my back. I remember the way he had tried to backtrack those words, justifying them by the "uniqueness" of my "situation".
Two doctors, three healers, and one scholar had all said a variation of the same thing. None had ever seen anything like it, and the only thing they knew was it shouldn't be possible, the general consensus being that what can't be figured out can't be healed.
One of the healers, a nice volunteer from a local clinic named Emerick, had tried to heal my back with his magic anyway. It had been excruciating painful… for both of us. Even though the symbol radiated absolutely zero magical energy whatsoever, it refused to be removed, and Emerick had found that out the hard way. He had come away with blood coming from his nose, eyes, and ears, his teeth stained red.
He told me later, after he recovered and was able to talk, that it had been like trying to move a steel wall. No matter how hard he tried to even make a dent or scratch, it had just remained.
None of it made sense, not to them and not to me. Every book I've read has simply said this isn't possible. The mark exudes absolutely no trace of magical energy, but yet it somehow stays. More than that, it's changed me.
I open the wardrobe. It's a lot emptier than what I'm used to, which isn't surprising. After I realized I wouldn't be getting the scars off, I went through my clothes and gave away anything that even showed off some of my back. Most of it had been dresses and things that were white and thin enough to let the black bleed through, but that made up a lot more of my small stockpile than I had realized.
I slip out of my nightgown, grabbing my uniform's various components. My back tingles uncomfortably as the air touches my scar, and I suppress a shiver. I get the bottom half of my outfit, my undergarment, leggings, socks, skirt, and shoes all put on without too much difficulty, but the movements that make my back muscles shift by any margin send more electric pinpricks along my back.
I lay out my white dress shirt and blazer on the bed, sitting down on the floor facing away from my door. I cover my chest with my hands and arms, and then tap my knee against the floor loudly. The door slides open and shut a moment later, and I look at the covered window as Akira sits behind me. His hand work professionally and quickly, beginning to wrap the bandages around my waist and moving up, careful not to directly touch the mark or my skin.
The procedure has become uncomfortably routine, Akira taking over wrapping my back in the white bandages when Mom fell ill again. Still, my face burns with embarrassment at being half-naked in front of my brother, even if he was careful not to see anything more than my back. The very act of him just wrapping bandages around me was… uncomfortable.
"Lift," Akira says, and I raise my arms.
I hold my breath as he continues wrapping me in the soft cloth, my face reddening further when he gets to my chest. Still, he manages to wrap me up quickly without ever moving from where he sits behind me, his long, lanky arms and dexterous hands saving what little modesty I have left.
He finishes with a sigh, standing up, and I hear him walk out of the room, shutting the sliding door behind him firmly. My organs and lungs feel compressed, but I ignore the feeling, putting on my shirt and blazer quickly. The bandages helped keep me from being in too much pain from wearing clothes, but it also reminded me of the fact that I can't even dress myself anymore.
I finish and walk out of my room, Akira is waiting in the hallway for me, and he gives me a steady but somehow stern look, holding another roll of bandages in his hand.
"Your hand," he says simply, and I sigh, more embarrassment flooding through me.
I was hoping he hadn't noticed the mirror, that I had punched it hard enough to crack the glass. I show him my right hand, and he sucks in a breath as he sees the cuts on my knuckles, some of them fairly deep. He gingerly starts wrapping my hand up, somehow covering my fingers separate from each other so I can still move them fairly independently. He doesn't say anything, and I feel a small amount of relief.
When he finishes, he gives a firm nod underneath his medium length brown hair, heading towards the front door. I stop briefly in front of my mother's room, looking at the closed door.
"She's out talking to Fairfax," Akira says, making me jump slightly.
I don't know why she would be doing that, I mean, it's not like he protected us in the first place. His oh so precious word and honor meant nothing to me now, and I don't know why my family still seems enthralled by him. Even with him promising justice, and saying that he owed me his life now for letting me get hurt, it didn't amount to much.
What happened… happened. No kind or remorseful words will ever change that.
I continue following my brother, turning my head from the door as we head outside. Zane is waiting outside for us, giving a nod to Akira and a weak smile to me.
I wish he would stop pretending like everything's okay, like nothing ever happened. He always tries to smile when he sees me, and it's one of the most painful looks I've ever seen on him. The forced expression is entirely too obvious on his face, his eyes flickering with hatred that slips through his mask.
"You ready?" Zane asks, and I blink slightly, tilting my head in confusion.
It's then I realized I haven't stepped from the doorway; that my brothers are waiting for me on the street. I suck in a breath, now keenly aware of my pounding heartbeat and buzzing nerves. Nervousness, fear, and anxiety combine into a sword that stabs into my guts, a cold and sharp sense of dread haunting the edge of my senses.
I swallow, forcing myself to step down, keeping my head low and following as Zane and Akira take the lead. Each step is shaky, my hand trembling so much that I have to press them against my skirt and legs to make them stop. My breaths are like hiccups, forced and uneven, compressed even more by the bandages around my chest and back.
Akira seems to notice me stumbling through the hallway, and his pace slows down slightly, just enough that I eventually overtake him. He walks behind me, his presence much more reassuring than the openness that once surrounded me. I give him a quick look and thankful nod that he returns, and my steps gain in some strength.
I can't stop my eyes from darting around, though, the slightest movement making me jump and twitch until I identify it. Some people roam the streets in the early hours, especially in the neighborhood around my house, and unfortunately, those are the ones that know me, or, at least, know of me.
I shiver underneath their stares, crossing my arms tightly. Everyone's heard the story or some version of it. I can see it in their eyes, the pity and assumptions they make about me because of what they heard. I don't have to see Zane's face to notice he starts returning their gazes with a deadly glare, eventually driving away the gawkers and sending them back to their business.
Shopkeepers, children, guards, and hobos all stare at me equally. Mr. Shu, the fruit merchant, turns his head away when I look at him. Any guards we meet pass on the way stiffen, giving us a respectful distance but keeping an eye on us. The only people who don't seem bothered are the local drunks, stumbling through the chilly morning air obliviously. One almost bumps into a guy shrouded by his black traveler's cloak, but he manages to swerve around the spectator at the last second, continuing on his path.
It takes years to get to the school, shame and anxiety gnawing at me the whole way there. I expected some sort of relief or safety, but my pulse only quickens as I begin to see familiar faces looking at me. The Noxians look at me with humor in their eyes, but none dare to say anything in front of Akira and Zane.
The first few days after they went back to school, they had both come home with bloody uniforms and bloodier hands. They didn't tell me from what, but they didn't have to. I knew they were trying to fight the rumors, both the truth and the lies, but it obviously hadn't worked. How could it when gossip is a staple food of teenage culture, both Noxian and Ionian?
The Ionians stare just as much as the Noxians, and I wonder if they look with cold curiosity or misplaced pity. A few whispers from both groups of students sing through the warm air as we walk through the courtyard, and my muscles tighten.
"Isn't that the girl?" an Ionian guy whispers.
"Look," a Noxian sneers. "It's that wench Kor taught a lesson to."
"Does anyone know exactly what they did to her?" a Ionian girl whispers to her friend.
"No," the other replies. "Just that she was found seriously hurt. They say she screamed so much she can't talk anymore, and they found her with clothes torn…"
"You don't think they…?"
"If you believe the rumors," she shrugs, her voice quiet and grim.
"I mean, that's all they are though, right? They wouldn't-"
"Look at her," the other says softly. "The way she walks and holds herself. I don't think any of us are safe anymore…"
They trail off as we pass them, and I can see their stares out of the corner of my eye. Pity and fear mingle in them, and I have to fight off shamed tears with clenched hands. It takes all of a second to pass them, but it might as well have been an hour of them staring at me, judging me in silence.
The fact of the matter is it doesn't matter if the rumors are true or not. All that matters is what people think is the truth, and I know what they think about what happened, about me.
An overwhelming flood of helplessness soaks into me, into my bones, and my balance wavers. I don't cry, no, not here in public. I've done enough of that in my room to last a lifetime, trying to desperately spare my family.
Shadows fall over me as I enter the school, hiding my face from onlookers, and I let out a tense breath, my strength leaving with it.
All this pain, suffering, anxiety, and the burden on my family… all my fault…
Honestly, sometimes I wonder if it would have been better if I had just been killed that night. My family would have to go through the initial shock, but at least it wouldn't be a knife wound, twisting in their gut every time they saw or even thought of me. Eventually, they would move on, they would heal, but now, with me still here…
We reach my classroom, and Zane gives a nod to Akira.
"You able to set things up?" Zane asks him.
"Yeah," Akira says, rolling a shoulder. "Just give me a few minutes. I'll be back when we're ready."
I raise an eyebrow, and open my mouth to ask what they're talking about. A raspy wisp of air comes out on my exhale and I wince in pain. Zane notices, giving me a reassuring smile.
"It's alright," he says, reaching to rest a hand on my shoulder, and then pulling it back quickly, trying to hide the movement. "Just making sure no one tries anything today. That's all."
I give a small tilt of my head and shrug. He seems to take it as acceptance instead of my actual indifference. He opens the door for me, and I hesitate a moment before I enter.
Everyone is going to be inside, everyone I know and everyone who knows. I know what they think of me, of who I've become to them. I'm not a friend or classmate anymore, I'm just that girl now. Not a person, not even a martyr, I'm just what happened to me. I'm the victim now and in every way that matters, that's all I'll ever be.
I swallow, steeling myself, trying to build the courage to walk into the room, but Zane moves before I can, striding in confidently and waiting in the doorway for me to start following. The voices of my chattering classmates wash over me in a wave, and more tension enters me.
"Mr. Kessler," the dry humored voice of my teacher states, a crisp edge to his words. "How wonderful to see you again."
"You too Mr. Sosuke," Zane sys back nonchalantly, giving a small wave.
I can practically hear the long-suffering sigh from my teacher as Zane ignores the implied question.
"Is there any particular reason for your visit, or may I start teaching those who are actually in this class?"
"Oh, you know," Zane says with a shrug. "Just thought I'd drop by and sit in for awhile. Never too old to brush up on the fundamentals, right?"
"Or even learn them, in your case." Mr. Sosuke responds dryly, a few snickers already starting from the class. "If I recall your abysmal grades correctly-"
"Pssh," Zane interrupts, brushing the comment off. "A genius like me can't make it look too easy, or else people get jealous. You should know what I'm talking about, sensei. We all know you're smarter than you let on."
Mr. Sosuke lets out a huff of laughter, and I can hear the smile in his voice I wish I could say the banter cheers me up even a little, but it doesn't. It just reminds me of what I'll never get back.
"As much as I do miss your sharp tongue, Mr. Kessler, I do find this highly irregular." My teacher continues.
"I mean, that's just me in a nutshell," Zane shrugs, moving further into the room. "You really shouldn't be that surprised by now, sir."
Zane's moved into the room enough that Mr. Sosuke can see me now, his trimmed black hair and stubble giving him a young look that his deep eyes completely negate. The second he sees me, a sliver of realization and acknowledgement flashes into existence in his emerald gaze.
"Well it is always nice to see one so studious as yourself Mr. Kessler," he smoothly transitions, sliding his gaze back to my brother. "Maybe some students here can learn a few things from you."
He pauses a moment.
"On second thought, you had just better take a seat and try not to corrupt any of them too much."
"Owch," Zane winces playfully, a breath of thankfulness in his voice. "But fair enough, I suppose."
Zane continues walking into the room, and I find myself following him instinctually. His whole exchange with Mr. Sosuke was carefully crafted, but the undertone was painfully obvious. Zane's forcing himself to act normal, his body stiff and clenched fists pocketed in his blazer to stay hidden from me. Mr. Sosuke seemed to have caught on pretty quickly, and seeing me was clearly the last puzzle piece.
There's a brief moment of silent gratitude to my brother for staying in the same room with me my first day back, but it disappears the second I step into the room, a hush falling on everyone. Conversations and friendly jabs end mid-sentence, eyes turning to stare at me, at the local victim, and all my gratitude and love is replaced with self-disgust and loathing.
I manage to make myself keep walking forward, looking at the ground the whole time, heading to my usual spot. There's rows of tables set up in the room, each with two chairs for students to sit behind. My normal spot is midway down and against the wall, right next to the large windows looking outside. People make way around Zane and I, giving us more than a clear path. When I sit down, Zane sits right next to me, crossing his arms and leaning back in the chair, pretending to be oblivious to the stares and muted whispers.
I stare down at the wooden desk. I don't move, and I barely breathe. Eventually, people start talking again, but their tones are much softer and quiet as a summer breeze.
Footsteps approach, and I feel the presence of two people standing to the side of the desk, next to Zane. They don't say anything, and the awkward pressure grows until I finally look up at them, giving in. If they want to look and see the freak show, than who am I to deny-
Amara and Eliza stand there, faces pale, and I instantly regret meeting their gaze. They were some of the last people I wanted to see me. It's the same reason I broke my mirror, really. I didn't want anyone, including myself, to see how much I've changed.
I can practically see my reflection in their big, glassy eyes. My posture is limp, filled with exhaustion and defeat. My eyes are hollow, shadows lingering within and around them, and my face is a shallow shell. A thin line and two dark orbs are all that remains of my once soft smile and glittering eyes.
I can't force myself to look away from them, so I just stare back. I don't know what I expected to feel, but it's just more of the same. Guilt, shame, and mind numbing emptiness, like my soul left but my body has yet to die.
I see their shocked expressions turn to ones of horror, and that's when I look away, before they change to disgust. I would probably cry, knowing that I'll never be friends with them, or anyone really, ever again, but I've already used up all my tears. There really is nothing left in me. I'm just as hollow as a puppet, moving only because it entertains the people who actually matter.
"Aria," I hear Amara whisper accompanied by the sniffling of Eliza. "I promise you, they'll pay for this."
I slowly look over at her blankly.
"For what?" I manage to whisper, my voice shredded and barely audible.
Amara blinks, and then looks away. She trembles for a moment, clenching her teeth, and then she softly takes Eliza's hand, walking away. Eliza follows, too stunned to do anything else, and I watch them leave the room, probably heading to their own classroom.
They mean well.
But so did I.
A few more minutes of studying the wood grain yields no results except for Mr. Sosuke calling the class into order, beginning his lesson. I listen half-heartedly, my drumming heart pounding the blood in my ears too loudly for me to really pay attention. The weight of the glances, both subtle and overt, and the stares of the people behind me is almost too much to bear. My back itches and tingles fiercely, breaking out into a thousand pinpricks of jagged glass under the weight of the eyes on me, and I have to bite my lip hard to stop myself from giving in to the panic.
The only thing that keeps me sane is my brother sitting next to me, looking as steady as a rock. He leans back in his chair, legs on the desk and eyes lazily drifting around the room. He bears that sort of relaxed, challenging look, and more than a few times I see him give the less stealthy of my staring classmates looks that snap their attention back to the front. It's the only thing that keeps the pressure from being unbearable, keeping me still breathing under the heavy weight crushing my chest.
Maybe a half hour passes, maybe not. Time doesn't really seem linear to me anymore now that I only live in the past, in that one moment. Still, it's not a long time before there's a loud knock on the door, Mr. Sosuke looking at it wearily as it opens.
Akira steps into the room, and my heart leaps into my throat.
He's discarded his blazer and rolled up his sleeves, his lanky arms with wired muscle tensed quitely. Standing in the doorway just behind him is Amara and Eliza. Amara looks much the same as him, sleeves rolled up and all, but her hands are wrapped in cloth the way fist fighters do before a match. Eliza stands next to her, holding a white case with a red "plus" sign on it, and she looks sick to her stomach with nerves.
My stomach tightens, eyes widening. They're dressed for fighting, and if there's three of them, plus Zane… they're going to retaliate. They're going to start a brawl right in the middle of school to show everyone what they think of Noxians hurting me, even though I deserved it, even though I messed up. The Noxians weren't even out of line! I broke the rules of dueling! I hid my magic, I lied to Kyle and I deserve-
"Excuse me, Sosuke sensei," Akira bows politely. "Apologies for interrupting, but I need to borrow Zane and Aria for a moment."
A stillness takes the room, the only movement being Mr. Sosuke's head turning slowly from them to us with a troubled look. He seems to run calculations in his eyes for a moment, and a second later he gives a shrug, returning to looking down at the pedestal with his notes.
"Of course," Mr Sosuke nods nonchalantly. "I understand there is some teaching in order. Just make sure the lessons are taught clearly as I would be quite furious if any mistakes were made on your part, especially ones that might concern my star pupil."
"Yes sir," Akira says with a grim smile, nodding to Zane afterwards.
"Come on," Zane says, reaching for my hand but not grabbing it.
It's something my family has gotten miserably good at, reaching to touch me but just stopping short. It might as well be the same as directly touching me, my skin tingling slightly at just the proximity, and I stand with the movement, not really having a choice unless I want Zane actually grabbing me. I walk quickly out of the room with him, spinning around and glaring at my brothers with a hot face after they close the door.
They see my glare, but only return it with grim looks.
"I know you don't think this-"
I let out a hiss of air, eyes narrowing further. I start clenching my fists, building up my strength to talk, to yell at Zane and Akira for trying this. There's just no point in retaliation, which is what I assume this is. Only they will get hurt, and it will once again be because of me. Can't they see that? I'm a lost cause, and they'd be better off just forgetting about me, just like I wish I could forget about that night.
"Aria," Akira interjects, his voice soft as water. "Please. Trust us."
I swallow, his words a punch in the gut.
His words hold all the hurt in the world, and I look away.
This… it isn't about me. Maybe that's what it is for them, but not for me. They need this, even if it is fruitless, even if it will only get all of us in more trouble. I wasn't the only one who got hurt that night, and if this is what it takes for them to heal…
Well, at least someone can get over this, then. I can do that much for them.
I give a reluctant nod, and Akira smiles back, gesturing for me to follow as he starts walking.
We go up the stairs to the second floor, heading out onto the catwalk. The pace of my heart quickens the closer we get to the Noxian side of the building, blood becoming liquid fear in my veins. I try to stop shaking, I do, but it might as well be trying to hold back a flood, each pounding beat sending tremors through me.
We enter on the second floor, and Zane takes the lead walking confidently to a room about halfway down the hallway. He stops outside the wood door, turning to Eliza.
"Stay outside," He says calmly, slipping off and handing her his blazer. "No matter what you hear. Don't come in unless one of us gets you."
She gives a jerky nod, her knuckles white around the handle to the first-aid case. Amara takes a moment to take deep, steady breaths, making sure her wrap is tight around her hands. Akira calmly adjust his sleeves, pulling them back over his arms and buttoning them back up with a focused look when he realizes his too baggy shirt will cause them to fall back down in a fight anyway. Zane rolls up his sleeves, his shirt sticking tight to his slabs of muscle.
Shame burns in my cheeks, and I look down. All of them, taking sacrifices to get some misplaced revenge for me because I'm too weak to even fight for myself. They must have put hours and days into this, getting Eliza a certificate to be a duel mediator, findinding out what classroom the Noxians were in, and all the other minute details. They labored and worried and worked for days.
And all the while, I was just at home, lying face down and crying because that's all I can really do anymore.
Zane gives a grunt, and I realize everyone's ready. Akira takes out a small knife from his pocket, heading over to the wall. He starts to slowly scratch into the wood a symbol, and I realize it's the same one on my back, a rune meant to nullify magic. The wood is hard, but Akira keeps scratching firmly into the wood with a focused glint in his eyes.
"This is the rune that will keep them from using magic while we do this," Akira says, responding to Amara and Eliza's questioning looks. "Runes don't really require that much magical energy to activate, so even a non-mage can make them work if they focus hard-"
I walk up to Akira and snatch the knife from his hand, giving him a flat look and shooing him away with it. He raises an eyebrow, but does so, giving me access to the crude symbol.
I know what they're doing, trying to hide the truth from the other Noxians and even Amara and Eliza, but being so useless finally gets to me. I'm not supposed to be able to use magic anymore, so this symbol is necessary to hide the fact that their mark on me didn't exactly fail, but it didn't do what was expected either. That's why they gave the explanation to Amra and Eliza.
I look at the crude cuts in the wood, biting my lip softly. Akira was doing a decent job, but the more real the rune is, the more of a mark it actually has on reality, the stronger the magic. Cutting the symbol into the wood would suffice, but strong mages would be able to break through it easily, something Kor and his gang might question later on.
I think of how to make the mark more tangible, tapping the flat of the blade against my hand a few times, the cold metal bouncing off my soft skin.
I blink and look down at my hand, stopping the tapping and resting the blade in my palm.
Then I grip the blade tightly and slice it against my left palm before anyone can stop me.
There's the revolting feeling of skin and flesh parting, the knife entering into my hand with a sharpness that electrocutes my nerves all the way to my brain. The good thing about not being able to speak is that I can't cry out in pain, a simple grunt being the loudest sound I make.
A collection of gasps and quiet hisses of shocked movement come from behind me, but I'm already done, having cut a little deeper than I meant to. Hopefully it won't scar.
Heh.
Like it matters anymore.
I move my left hand quickly as the blood starts pooling in my cupped palm, smearing it into the symbol of the cross with the horizontal ends diagonally upturned. My blood drips down the wall slightly, giving the symbol an even more haunting look. Then I just rest my left palm in the center of the cross, narrowing my eyes.
I send a flicker of will filled with rage, and the blood seems to instantly dry against the wall, taking on a black color with a dark glossy red reflecting off it. There's a sudden snap as the air seems to just tighten in the immediate area, suddenly becoming more noticeable. It smells like stuffy textbooks and cheap perfume, a tight current of humming electricity underscoring the normally subtle scents.
I turn, and Eliza is there with a roll of gauze, holding it out as if to quickly wrap my hand. I grab it from her before she can touch me, wrapping my hand myself after I wipe the blood off the knife and hand it back to Akira. I get disapproving and unsettled looks from everyone, but that's okay. My wrap isn't nearly as nice as Akira's, tying all the fingers on my left hand together tightly, a simple and quick fix not meant to provide mobility.
I hand back the bandages with the the slightest of nods, Eliza just looking down awkwardly. Zane stares at me with a stern look, but I brush it off with a simple gesture to the door, both my hands now covered in bandages. He sighs.
"Right," Zane shakes his head, focusing himself. "Amara, you take that girl Mira on."
"Should be quick without her using any tricks," Amara nods, finishing tying back her hair.
"Hit her fast and hard," Zane nods. "Once you finish, you'll be taking on Damon."
She lets out a huff of air, jumping up and down a few times on her toes. Sometimes I forget that she's the second best in the martial arts club. Akira might be able to beat her, considering he spars with Zane at home so often, but I haven't seen him fight seriously in a long time.
"Akira, you protect Aria and assist me if it looks like I need it," Zane orders. "I'll take on the rest."
"I know you're good," Akira says carefully. "But that leaves three on one by my count. You can't take on Kyle, Kor, and Evan at the same time."
"I won't have to," Zane shrugs. "Kor won't fight unless everyone else is out of the picture, and I'm guessing Kyle will go for Aria, meaning you. It'll be fine."
I see my family and old friends preparing to fight, and something breaks inside of me. They're going to get hurt because of me. Again. Even if this is what they think they want, what they need to heal… I can't let them do it, not because of me.
I tap my foot loud enough to be heard, tilting my head at Zane with fire in my eyes.
"I...don't...want...this," I choke out, eyes watering as what feels like glass swirls in my throat. "We...can't…my fault...no basis...for...us to...retaliate...make...things worse..."
I break out into a fit of coughs, trying to regain my breath, Zane leaning down to look me in the eyes.
"I know," he whispers, a miserable smile wobbling on his otherwise stoic face. "But this isn't just about retaliation or even showing them we won't let them bend the rules."
I look at him in confusion, and Akira moves next to Zane.
"They hurt our little sister," Zane says, fists turning white.
"And nobody hurts our family," Akira finishes, eyes darker than black.
The words hit me right in the heart, and I tremble, struggling not to cry as relief and love wash over me, smothering the fear.
"You didn't deserve this," Akira whispers. "I've seen that look on your face, and I know how it must feel, but you did nothing wrong. Bad things don't just happen to bad people, Sis. Bad things just happen. Good, bad, it doesn't matter what kind of person you are. The only thing that matters is what you do with it, and I'll be forsaken if I just stand by while you suffer instead of showing my own little sister that she's still the best of all of us. No matter what happens, you're always going to be you. So no more shame or guilt or anything else, because those don't belong, not in you."
"The only true thing that you should be feeling right now is rage, Aria," Zane adds. "Because that is what they deserve."
I feel it, deep inside, hidden under all the pity, doubt, guilt, shame, hurt, and fear. The second Zane calls it out, it breaks to the surface, bubbling and searing my muscles. Hate, pure and justified anger, flows through me, and I find my eyes watering not from misery, but from being unable to control the strength of the feelings. I use the energy the rage brings, wiping away the build up of exhaustion and apprehension.
I look at both of them, steadying myself, and I give a silent but strong nod, one they return. They turn away, facing the door once again.
"Alright," Zane says with a breath. "Remember, first impressions are everything. Take a second and steady yourselves until nothing's left but anger."
I see the three of them begin staring into nothingness, focusing their intent. Something still doesn't feel right, and I realize there's still a hint of nervousness in them. They haven't given in to the rage completely like I have. They're too worried about failing, and they can't afford that right now. They need to be living in the moment, directed only by hatred.
I know what I have to do.
I slowly turn my back to them. With trembling hands, I pull off my blazer and unbutton my shirt, letting it fall to the floor. All that remains are the bandages wrapped around my torso, and I grab them, unwrapping them swiftly to reveal my back. I hold the unraveled gauze to my chest, doing my best to cover myself as I pull away the last bit, and I hear hisses of breath come from behind me.
I turn my head to them to see them staring. Zane looks, his eyes growing fiercer with each passing second, his body taking a deathly stillness and focus to it. Shadows enter Akira's eyes, a darkness taking over him that I only remember him having after his parents died. Amara, seeing it for the first time, has her eyes squeezed shut, staring at the ground and breathing heavy, her mouth in an open snarl of clenched fangs. Eliza is shocked, too surprised to do anything.
My gaze seems to catch all of theirs after I turn my head, and I can feel my eyes practically smoldering with cinders.
"Hurt them," I whisper, and their eyes flash.
I pick my shirt back up, awkwardly putting it back on and buttoning it up with one hand, only then releasing the clump of gauze and letting it fall. I put my blazer back on too, buttoning it up all the way as I try to ignore the itching fabric on my naked back.
I turn around to see Zane facing the door, and my heart jitters when I see the completely empty expression on his face. No anger, no emotion, just plain focus.
He looks at the door as one might a puddle of water, tilting his head slightly at the nuisance.
Zane lifts a foot a kicks the door completely off it's hinges.
The loud crack of splintering, shattering wood snaps through the air, a deep boom echoing through the hallway as the door is simply flung away from the kick, sliding a few inches into the classroom before falling onto the ground with a crash of finality. Zane trods in, the door creaking as he walks over it, and Akira and Amara follow. I stand at the entrance, peering slightly in but remaining hidden from sight.
The room is much like my classroom, filled with two-person desks, chairs, and a podium at the front. I can only see the Noxian teacher from where I am. He's an older man, and he looks in absolute shock as Zane enter, eyes flickering with something akin to understanding. Zane ignores him, standing in front of the podium with Akira on his right and Amara on his left. There's a startling silence in the room, everyone giving attention to the three Ionians dressed to fight.
"Kor," Zane spits, voice ringing loudly. "Kyle. Evan. Mira. Damon. Everyone else, leave. Now."
A voice from inside speaks up, and I notice Akira's hand suddenly slip into his pocket.
"If you think you can just come in here and-"
I don't see Akira throw the knife so much as I hear the whistling air and resounding crack of splitting wood when the knife lands. There's no cry of pain, so Akira must have purposefully missed, only throwing it near the one who talked.
What a shame.
"Leave," Zane says exactly the same way. "Now."
I can sense the hesitation in the room, an uncertainty in them, and that's when I choose to walk in.
I step over the door, walking towards the teacher, and he moves out of the way quickly. I take his place, leaning against the podium, eyes sweeping the room slowly.
I see them. All of them. Damon looks surprised but somehow excited, Mira and Kyle look sick and worried, and Kor and Evan somehow maintain their facade of being unconcerned even after I enter. The others in the room seem to pale, especially one who is standing behind a desk with a knife thrown a few inches into the solid wood. They all seem to be looking around, waiting for something.
Kor sighs, closing his eyes lazily.
"Go," he says dismissively. "They won't be a problem."
People move, clearing out of the room swiftly, and the teacher is the last of the bystanders to leave, looking from the door to us and shaking his head as he goes.
Then the room's empty except for the people I hate and the people I love.
"Quite dramatic," Kor says, making a gesture with his hand. "Don't you think?"
The other Noxians all stand up, Evan taking a few steps towards us, eyes narrowing as he pulls his hands from his pockets. He gives a few of the desks pushes, moving the ones nearest to him to the sides of the room with loud screeches of scratching wood, already clearing an area to fight in.
"Not really," Zane says, still as a statue.
"I would ask what you are doing here," Kor smiles, holding up his hands in a shrug. "But even that would be an insult to your already lacking intelligence."
"This ends today, Kor," Zane murmurs.
"Does it though?" he laughs, his allies shifting in positions on the now open floor. "Even if you beat all of us, all you accomplish is earning the entire wrath of the Noxian students here. You have no standing to fight us like this! It'll be open season for us, and all your weak little Ionian friends will suffer, so why don't you stop posturing and run with your tail tucked between your legs already?
Zane smiles.
He reaches into his pocket, and he throws out a small scroll at Kor. Evan catches it in midair, unfolding it and giving it a quick glance before handing it to Kor. Kor's eyes skim it quickly, and even through his usual emotionless mask I can see him pale, desperation suddenly entering into his eyes.
"What?" he spits, looking up in surprise.
"You aren't the only one with political connections," Zane sighs. "So you really should have taken a second to think before you hurt my little sister, one of the blacksmiths to the captain of the guard here in Sakura, a person with enough power to issue blood debts. With that order, I have every right to get vengeance."
He stares with calculating, slowly rolling the scroll back up.
"Evan," he murmurs. "It would appear we can't afford to lose here."
"That was never going to happen anyway," Evan shrugs.
Kor turns back to us with a satisfied nod.
"I hope you realize what happens afterwards," Kor says, folding his arms calmly. "After we beat you bloody, everyone will know what happened here, and then all the Ionians here are going to be in trouble. I hope you're ready to make that sacrifice because some little wench couldn't keep her own body undefil-"
There's one table left between Zane and the Noxians.
It might as well have not been there.
Zane blurs, a hurricane of speed that closes the distance unimaginably fast. He reaches under the heavy oak table, and with one hand, flips the entire thing into the air, throwing at the Noxians with horrifying ease.
Evan somehow manages to step between it and Kor, grabbing it with a grunt, bending on one knee as he heaves it flying to the side, clattering awkwardly against the other tables just to Kor's left, barely saving him.
The table wasn't Zane's attack though. No, he simply used it to hide his actual movements, and by the time Evan gets the table out of the air, Zane has already reached Damon. His hand lashes out viciously in a punch that crunches into Damon's neck. Damon stumbles all of one step backwards with wide, breathless eyes before Zane grabs him by the collar of his uniform, twisting to the left as he sends him sprawling into some of the desks, his limbs and head smashing painfully into the corners. His head ricochets off the floor viciously, and his body shudders.
Zane uses the momentum of the throw to spin away, back towards us, returning back to us. Faint coughing moans can be heard from Damon as he slowly stumbles to his feet, looking around blearily. His eyes are slightly glazed, and his face grows a darker red as he sucks in air, holding onto his throat. His legs shake slightly, but he does his best to look unfazed by the vicious assault that maybe took five seconds.
"Did you want to finish that sentence?" Zane snarls, voice more animal than human. "Or should I just finish you?"
Kor's eyes narrow, a something like concern actually beginning to show.
"Put them out of their misery already," Kor sneers.
Everyone moves pretty much at once, Damon stumbles forward at Zane recklessly, pained anger blinding him. Zane does a light throw, using Damon's momentum and pushing him in Akira's direction as Zane continues towards Evan.
Evan starts to step forward, crouching ever so slightly with his face set in concentration, obviously reaching for magic. His cold expressions is shattered a moment later as he blinks in surprise, looking at the wall where the silencing symbol would be if it were on this side. He recovers quickly, stepping forward to meet Zane in the middle of the room with slight caution in his steps.
Akira engages the stumbling Damon quickly, a blur of slow grace and calculated movements, using the least possible effort to dodge and counter each of Damon's attacks. Akira's speed shifts from sluggish to blinding at times, but he always knows when he can afford to expend his energy, his breathing always silent and steady.
Amara sprints towards a wide-eyed Mira like lightning, and I see the Noxian pale as she puts her hands up in a poor imitation of a fighter's pose. It takes Amara maybe two seconds to break her defence and start unleashing a relentless assault, driving the girl against one of the desks even as she starts screaming in pain.
Evan and my brother seem to be having a more even fight, but it's hard to tell with how fast they move. Zane's force is like a storm, relentless and uncaring, and only Evan's speed and deceptive strength save him from the onslaught.
Kor just watches everyone fight, never leaving his desk.
I notice all of this in the span of seconds as the all out brawl begins, each moment passing with a fury of desperation and anger. I only watch with my peripheral vision, though, because my eyes have locked with the final person in the room who walks towards me steadily, through the fight.
Kyle's steps are quick and angry, his voice rising above the din of battle.
"Why do you have to ruin everything?" Kyle shouts, halfway to me, fists clenching.
I stare at him, saying nothing, my heartbeat echoing in my ears.
"What right do you have?" he seethes, drawing closer. "What right do you have to do this to me just because I know who I am?"
Whatever fiery anger inside me seems to instantly freeze at his words, and I feel the ice in my veins. The hate becomes sharp but somehow calm, and my thoughts seem to have a sudden intense clarity to them as I a response that chills my bones screams in my thoughts.
I have the only right.
"You played me, and now you fight?" Kyle screams. "Because I called you out on it? Because I got justice for what you did to me?"
What I did to him?
Ah.
I see.
In his mind, it's always been about him, even from the beginning. He saved me the day we met because he wanted to feel better about himself. It wasn't about helping me, but helping himself.
He wasn't sticking up to Kor for the Ionians, he was doing it because he was too prideful to give in, to admit someone was stronger than him.
He never thought of me as a friend, just a tool to be used.
It wasn't ever personal to him.
It was only ever necessary.
My back explodes at that thought, shards of frozen agony stabbing into me, a silent scream rippling through me. My vision darkens briefly at the pain, legs threatening to fold under me. It wants me to give in, and I don't fight it.
I embrace it.
My vision clears along with the pain, leaving me with a crystal clarity I've never felt before. I can smell the sweat, and I hear every punch that lands, meaty thunks of flesh and grunts of pain filling the room. The air tastes dry on my tongue as I exhale, and for the first time in two weeks, my body feels light and painless.
Kyle gets near me, snarling as he raises a fist and takes a step to lunge at me, trying to hit me even though there's a wooden podium between us.
He doesn't come close.
Akira seems to melt into reality from nowhere, a mix of speed and silence bringing him sliding in front of Kyle. He moves like liquid steel, precise but sharp, and he grabs Kyle's comparatively slow attack with both hands, twisting and bending forward. Kyle's momentum and the sheer force of Akira's counter sends Kyle flipping over Akira's bent back, and instead of letting go of Kyle's arm, Akira holds it steady, yanking it in the opposite direction.
There's an audible pop, Kyle's face suddenly going white, but he doesn't even have time to scream. Akira, still holding Kyle's dislocated arm, jumps backwards, pushing with all his weight. Kyle's face comes rushing towards the podium, smashing against it with a crunch of blood and bone.
Akira releases the arm, spinning around to face Kyle, who I assume to be now slumping against the podium. Kyle seems to still be conscious, because Akira pulls back a leg to kick him hard, most likely in the ribs. I see movement behind him, Damon going for Akira's exposed back, his face bloody but still grinning wildly.
Akira's dark eyes flick to the side, somehow aware of Damon's attack, and he lets out a snarl, bending lightly on his other knee.
Then he simply jumps up into the air with a spinning kick, the sheer ferocity of the jump and spin giving a blow that smashes Damon's head. Globes of scarlet explode from his mouth, and I see pieces of teeth shoot out. The sheer ridiculous force behind Akira's jump kick sends Damon twirling away, slamming into the wall and careening away.
Akira lands the jump, having gone in a complete 360 with his deadly, airborne spin, falling into a slight crouch next Kyle. Akira seems to grab onto something of Kyle's, his blazer, maybe, and drags him up into a somewhat standing position, pushing him to the side and past the podium into the wall behind me.
"I have words for you," the demon in front of Kyle snarls, ravenous hunger in each word.
I look away, not because I don't want to see what Akira will do to him, but because I want to make sure everyone responsible gets the same treatment.
I turn just in time to see Damon, somehow still awake, rushing at Akira and me once again with an enraged scream, his broken teeth stained red. Before he can make it a few steps, Amara comes skidding across the floor in front of him, standing just in time to receive his frenzied attacks. She grunts in surprise, but seems able to hold him off at least, letting him wear out whatever fight he has left in him.
If Amara's over here, that means…
I gaze over the raging wildfire that is Zane and Evan, my eyes settling on the still form of Mira. She lays on the floor, limp and body sprawled facedown, a small pool of blood forming under a broken nose. I find myself walking over to her, looking down at the Noxian.
If I recall correctly, Kor had called Mira an artist. The frail, skinny girl obviously was no fighter, and her art on my back had been unnaturally steady, each line and curve perfectly applied with professional aptitude. She referred to it as painting too, so she must really be into art, building her life around it completely.
I bring my right foot over, slowly resting it on her right hand.
I wonder how hard it is to paint with crushed bones in your dominant hand?
I start applying pressure, adding more and more until I feel more than just a few satisfying pops. There begins to be a cracking as I slam down force on her hand over and over again, and I feel the bones beginning to splinter into smaller and smaller pieces.
Could she get her hand healed with magic? Sure, but the thing about healing magic is that the more complicated the wound, the harder it is to heal. Things like blood loss, cuts, and stabs are all fairly easy, but the more internal and severe the wound, the more difficult it becomes. Things like broken bones required a lot of time and effort on the mages part to heal, and even then, it's only possible to make the bone heal faster.
In other words, even though she might be able to get her hand fixed the second she hires a healing mage or gets a healing potion, her bones will never heal back the same way they were. Normally, this wouldn't be an issue. People break bones all the time, and little abnormalities from the healing process are commonplace.
However, I'm not just breaking her hand bones. I'm crushing them to dust, slamming the weight of my body and the force of my muscles into my foot over and over again.
I'd be surprised if she was able to hold something in that hand ever again.
"W...why?" A gurgle says, drawing my attention away, and I turn, finished with Mira's hand.
Kyle slumps against the wall, his face all bruised and bleeding flesh, and I barely recognize him. Kyle's body is slightly misshapen, a multitude of broken and misplaced bones making him look less human and more like a ragdoll. Akira stands in front of him, his hands completely scarlet and dripping, large open cuts on his knuckles. There's a faint splatter of blood on his cheek, but his eyes look completely uncaring.
I walk over, standing next to Akira and looking down at Kyle. His eyes are unfocused and mostly closed.
"It's….not…" he begins, his voice thick and barely audible. "We...didn't...even...ra-"
Akira kicks Kyle in his teeth.
They don't so much as shatter as they just snap, a few teeth ripping from his gums while the rest just get chipped into dozens of little white shards stained with crimson.
His eye's roll back into his head, and I lean down slowly tilting my head.
He barely even looks human anymore, and the only thing that indicates he's still alive is his weak, ragged breathing, a slight wet sound in each desperate breath. It's hard to believe I thought of him as a person I could trust once, or even as a person at all.
I could do things to him, but I don't. I've already taken the most important thing from him, just like I did to Mira. Even if Kyle miraculously heals completely, he will never be the same, but unlike Mira, it won't be about him physically. Every Noxian in the school will spread rumors about how he lost, about how weak he is, and about the wrath he brought down on the Noxians of this school.
He'll become the center of their blame, and he won't be able to fight it at all.
The thing about everyone knowing about what they did to me is that everyone will be just as keen to hear about what happened after. They might have shamed me with their rumors, but now they're going to destroy themselves with the very words they've already said. For Kyle, that's enough punishment.
In the end, Kyle was never truly the one responsible for what happened to me. He might have been the person to give away my relationship to Zane, to talk about my magic, but he's just a tool. He probably would have been fine just dueling me, or even beating me unconscious. He just wanted to hurt me for what I did to him, and now, he's paying for letting the real person who I should be hating.
The one who really deserves to be punished is the one who was in control, the mastermind who was sick enough to come up with such a plan, the one who talked them all into it.
I stand up, turning away, and Akira follows me.
Damon lies motionless on the ground, Amara standing over him gasping for breath, a single black eye and smeared blood on her cheek revealing the effort it took to finally put him down. She gives us a singular nod, joining us as we step to the edge of where Zane and Evan fight.
It's almost beautiful, the way they react to each other's barest movements, constantly shifting their weight and postures even as they attack and defend against the other. Both seem to have sustained wounds, Zane having a trickle of blood coming from his mouth and nose and Evan limping slightly, his left leg not quite working properly.
It's actually a little terrifying seeing the two fight, each incredibly proficient in their own schools of combat. Zane is all power and counters, his martial art training giving him answers to all of Evan's moves, but whoever taught Evan taught him well. He fights patiently, using his speed to pull out of any serious engagements while he uses different types of attacks against my brother, trying to find a weak point.
One of Evan's jabs lands true, hitting Zane in the gut and taking the breath from him. Evan moves forward, trying to take advantage, but he doesn't realize that's exactly what Zane wanted.
It's a tactic Zane's used a thousand times before, taking one hit so he can deliver a bigger one. The thing is, it always works for him because he's built like a mountain.
Zane ducks under the follow-up swing at his head and piledrives into Evan, keeping his own body low as he pushes his feet at a full sprint and letting out a roar. Evan grabs his shoulders, trying to stop Zane and push him back.
The low man wins, and Zane practically ends up pushing Evan off his feet as he slams him into the classroom's back wall. The force of the blow is enough that the wood cracks and splinters as Evan's back leaves a dent in the wall. The sound is deafening, and for the first time, I see Evan's neutral expression slip into one of shock and pain even as his eyes roll up into his head.
Zane lets out a grunt, dropping Evan's unconscious body to the ground unceremoniously.
We all turn, looking at the final Noxian left awake in the room.
Kor sits there, looking genuinely surprised, his eyes darting around the room at the various forms of his defeated allies. I can see him trying to come up with a plan, or at least some sort of way to escape what's coming to him. I can practically smell the fear on him.
"I don't understand," Kor snarls, voice breaking. "How…"
"This is what happens," Zane spits. "When you torture someone I love."
"Torture?" Kor says, panic entering his voice. "We only made it so she couldn't use magic anymore! We didn't spread those other rumors! Nothing else happened, so why are you so upset?"
"How is it any differen-" Zane begins, but I interrupt him by taking a step forward, standing between him and Kor.
I look at the Noxian cooly.
"You wanted to get rid of my magic," I rasp, ignoring the agony in my throat. "But you failed."
I raise my hand, and focus, pouring energy into a spell. Even though the silencing mark still hums almost annoyingly against my consciousness, it doesn't blot out my magic. Because I made the mark, with my own blood no less, it simply resonates with my spell, ignoring it. So I draw the power from within me, and push it out.
A purple-black orb forms in my hand, almost screaming with energy, and I see Kor's eyes widen.
"H-how?" he stutters. "We did everything right…"
"Oh you took something away from me alright," I laugh. "Don't you notice something odd about my magic?"
His jaw drops, and I see flickers of surprise in even my allies.
"It doesn't… why isn't it drawing the heat from everything around it? Why isn't everything getting cold? Where is the ice?"
"I don't know what happened," I say, letting the orb of energy disappear. "But instead of sealing away my magic, you only sealed away one single part. Maybe I should be thanking you. After all, my sickness seems to have gone away too."
Zane and Akira's heads snap towards me in surprise.
"I've been practicing every day," I seethe, my voice beginning to hit its limit. "I used to have symptoms flare up if I used to much magic at once, but now, I can't seem to use anywhere close to enough."
Kor shakes his head, half in confusion and half in disbelief. He doesn't know about my sickness or symptoms, but it was time to tell Zane and Akira. Whatever they did to me, it replaced the side-effects of my sickness. No more flare ups of anger or weird thoughts, and no more of my magic freezing everything around me.
But there's always a price for change, and just getting the mark wasn't enough.
I slowly walk forward, the others surrounding Kor and making sure he has nowhere to go.
"Don't worry," I murmur, holding out my right, less bandaged hand. "Your plan didn't completely fail. Go on, grab my hand."
Kor hesitates, looking around before slowly reaching for my hand.
"Try anything," Zane growls. "And you're going to lose more than just a hand."
Kor swallows, stopping his hand, and I move, quickly grabbing it with my own.
His eyes widen as he feel's the ice cold touch of my skin.
"That's right," I say softly, tilting my head. "Your physical mark made it so my magic doesn't steal heat anymore because my body is having its heat stolen."
"W-wait, that doesn't-"
"You killed who I was that night," I snarl, gripping his hand tight enough to make him wince in pain. "And this is who I am now. I'm a walking corpse, and everyone knows… so I think it's only fair that I take something from you."
Genuine, actual panic appears on his face, and he tries to pull away from me. My grasp is firm though, and Zane and Akira grab his shoulders, keeping him from backing away.
"It occurred to me," I say quietly, looking at his hand intently. "That you knew a lot about how magic worked, but even that night, you were careful to never use it. That's when I realized that maybe I haven't been the only one hiding a trump card from everyone."
He lets out a choked sound.
"So let me show you how you should have gone about taking my magic."
I close my eyes, and I focus on his hand, reaching out with my mind as I search for magic energy.
I can sense the magic in him almost immediately, the clumped nodes and branching magic circuits humming quietly in him. He has a decent aptitude for it, judging by the strength of the vein like lines running throughout his body. In a few years, he might even be skilled enough to become a battlemage of some renown.
I focus on those circuits, starting with the ones in his fingertips, and in my mind's eye I can see the flowing blue mana in branching tunnels. I focus even more, drawing from that coldness inside my own skin, and start using ice magic. It seems fitting. He made me this cold, so it should only seems reasonable to have that very same cold steal his future from him.
I pour the ice magic into his magic circuits, freezing the flowing blue rivers with meticulous care. The mana snaps and hisses, but the constant misting cold eventually begins to overcome it, and the mana freezes, slowly turning to ice and dying.
Most mages burn out their magic circuits by trying to push too much magic through at once, basically exploding the imaginary veins inside them. I'm doing the almost exact opposite, simply freezing the flow so that as the mana dies out in an embrace of ice, and then the circuits are permanently destroyed as the icy remains melt.
It must be excruciatingly painful.
That would makes sense with the screaming I can vaguely hear coming from Kor, but it only pushes me further, putting more energy into my efforts.
I follow the paths all the way up to the node in the center of his palm, and that takes time, relatively speaking, anyway. It's a bastion of sizzling energy, like a pool of burning oil in a snowstorm, but snowstorm's don't have the precise, hate-coordinated desire that I have. Eventually, it freezes into a ball of ice, and the sudden mass of coldness travels up his forearm in a type of backlash, destroying even more circuits as they then begin to melt.
My magic keeps pushing against his, destroying it with a meticulous patience, the same kind that was used to scorch a void mask and silencing mark onto my flesh. It's actually fairly easy, especially because any attempt by him to fight back, to push magic energy back against mine, is negated by the silencing rune, defusing any amount of magic past his natural.
I can vaguely hear more sounds, but I ignore them, continuing my work. I don't have time for interruptions if I want to destroy every circuit and node in his body. Distractions could cost me minutes.
Something shakes me by the shoulders, breaking my concentration, and I open my eyes with a snarl, grabbing a handful of energy in my left hand and turning it into a spike of ice to slam into whoever grabbed me.
Zane stares at me, eyes wide and scared, and I blink, the world suddenly coming back to me.
Kor is screaming in pain, and when I look at him, I see why. His left hand that I hold is black and gnarled, something akin to the most vicious frostbite I've ever seen destroying his flesh. Ice has formed around my hand, snowflakes falling to the ground from the pure cold, and my breath forms mist. Patches of frost have formed around the room, covering the windows and darkening the room ominously.
Kor meets my eyes, his face wet with agony.
"My hand!" he screams, stopping only when he sees my eyes. "Your eyes! What are you?"
I blink, turning to look at my reflection in the ice spike in my left hand. My shock disrupts my concentration though, and I look just in time to see it shatter against the floor, red refractions of light spiraling from the ice. I turn, looking back to Kor and releasing his hand with loud cracks and snaps of breaking ice.
Kor stumbles backward, holding his right hand in an expression of horror. I look around, confusion blurring my vision.
That shouldn't be possible. How… it couldn't… I was freezing his magic circuits, not his hand! Why did it… and why is the room also froze-
No. No, no, no!
I look up and quickly flick my hand at the far wall, shaping energy into a thin and panicked form with my desperation. There's a flash of light and small boom as a thin line of lightning arcs from my hand, hitting the wall and turning a small spot black. When the lightning disappears, I see the path it followed is filled with cold mist, and even the blast mark against the far wall has ice around it.
I fall to my knees.
No, no, no, this can't be happening. Why is it back?
I hold my head in my hands as the words repeat over and over again, Kor's screams fading to whines.
It didn't… every time I practiced at home, my magic refused to steal heat from the surroundings. So what's different about now?
Wait.
I open up my hand once again, creating a ball of light. It shimmers into existence, and I immediately look around the brightness, searching for signs of more freezing. There is none, though, and my heart falls to my stomach, the light flickering out of existence.
My magic didn't take heat from the surroundings before because I never was using combat magic, offensive magic meant to hurt someone.
All my other magics are safe, everything but the magic I use to hurt people.
A laugh bubbles inside me, my shoulders shaking. Why would it be any other way? Of course I can't use the one type of magic I need to get my justice, not without being reminded of everything, anyway. Maybe I can get used to the tingling of my back and the deathly cold of my skin, but now, every time I use magic, I'll know just how much I've changed, how what little hope that something decent could have come from that night was nothing more than a dream.
I hear a laughing behind me, and I turn to see Kor's shaking with hysterics, his right arm hanging limply at his side.
"You idiots!" Kor froths, madness tinting his glassy eyes. "Now you'll never get away with this! You're done for, you hear me?"
His voice is unsettling as screeching metal, and his wild eyes fall onto me.
"And you!" He shouts, pointing with his left hand. "All of you are dead! No one leaves here knowing my secret! Especially you! I'm going to make sure everyone knows about your magic, about what you're capable of! You'll burn for this!"
I see Zane take a step forward in the startling silence, opening his mouth to say something, but the sudden sound of a door opening makes all of us snap our heads in that direction.
Vice-captain Sevran walks into the room, closing the door gently behind him, He wears his crimson guard armor with a cloak the color of dried blood over it. He wears his usual rice hat, the brim hanging low to cover his eyes, a scimitar and gladius hanging from his sword belt. He walks towards us purposefully, but something seems off about him to me, something I can't quite put my finger on.
"Ah!" Kor shouts, a childlike glee in his voice. "And so it begins! Guard! Arrest them! Their executions will come only after I tell everyone about this witch! She'll suffer for this!"
The Vice-captain of the Sakura city guard stops in his tracks, and when he talks, his voice has a haunting calmness to it.
"How are you going to tell everyone," Sevran asks almost humorously, sounding as if he's responding to a child. "When you don't have a throat?"
That's when I realize that what feels so off about Sevran's appearance is the blood spattered on his boots.
There's a flash of movement, and Sevran's silver scimitar hisses through the air.
Kor's neck explodes into a spray of blood.
A choked scream gets trapped inside me as I watch Kor stumble backwards from the initial blow, a horrific fascination gripping me. The blood sprays in tune with his beating heart, flinging it across the room, onto the walls and ceiling. Kor gurgles, slapping at his neck, his eyes confused and scared as he futilely tries to stop the blood.
Sevran just stands there, head tilted down. The blood occasionally sprays onto him, but his hat protects his face from the aftermath. His scimitar drips with mischievous nonchalance, its razor edge sparkling with satisfaction.
The door slams open, and Fairfax enters with a panicked look.
"Sevran!" he shouts.
Sevran looks over, blinking quickly and then smiling.
"Don't worry, captain," Sevran says, sheathing his sword. "See, the duel just got out of hand and Kor happened to take a little trip."
Sevran moves suddenly, grabbing Kor and pulling him to the wall with the windows outside. He adjusts his grip, crouching to give himself more leverage, and then he swings the boy, heaving with his strength as he throws him through the window, flinging him out over the catwalk and into the trees and rocks of the courtyard below.
Kor doesn't make a sound except for the snapping of thick tree branches and meaty crunch of his body ricocheting against rocks.
"See?" Sevran says, turning with an expressionless face. "Now no one will know what really happened. The wounds from the fall will disguise the cut, so people will just think the duel got crazy. The only one at fault for his death will be whoever was officiating, and according to records-"
"You," Fairfax snarls. "The records say it was you, don't they? Why? Why would you do this? There's no honor in this!"
"I did this," Sevran says simply. "Because I'm tired of reacting, of people getting hurt. This isn't the job for me, captain. Sorry, but I can't just stand around and be polite anymore."
Sevran turns from him to me, crouching down to where I kneel, and I feel a sliver of fear curl inside me.
"Don't worry, little princess," Sevran says softly, a sad smile on his face. "Conroy and Lorry, the two guards who were in on it, also died for their evil."
That's why there was blood sprayed on his boots, I realize dimly. He must have killed them before coming here.
"All I ever wanted," He sighs, looking defeated. "Was to protect people, good people, like you and your family. I should have realized sooner that I can't do that in this job. I'm sorry, princess. I don't have the forgiveness or patience to accept what happens here."
I look up at him, my mind still reeling.
"You… you killed him…" I whisper. "No…. I… I killed him."
"No!" Sevran says suddenly and firmly, eyes flaring bright. "I did. You didn't even want to come here, and even when you were convinced, you still were willing to settle for just hurting them a little bit. You're too kind for this, Aria. That's why people like me exist, and I realize that now. Sometimes, you can't just defend against evil. You have to hunt it."
He smiles again, lip wobbling.
"So… I'm not going to be around anymore… I can't, not after all this… not after failing you. You don't have to worry about me though, my princess. I know where I'm going, what I'm going to do, and I promise you, I'll do my best to get you all out of here. Until then… well, Captain Fairfax will protect you. I promise."
At that, he stands up, walking to the door. For a moment, I don't think Fairfax will move, and I see his hand clenched on the hilt of his sword. He closes his eyes, though, letting out a frustrated tsk as he steps out of Sevran's way, leaving us in the half frozen, blood stained classroom, mist rising from the warm liquid.
"It's time to wake up."
"Open your eyes and realize."
"Plans are in motion, and shadows stir. "
"So open your eyes, and remember your Origin."
"Before it's too late."