THE BITTER MEMORY

Have you ever wondered what happened to our parents?

Many times, but why do you ask?

A few years ago, our mother discovered that we are descendants of the Knight of the Fairies, Gawain. It is said that he was the last knight to face the maddened Lancelot during the fall of Britain. According to the story, Lancelot and Gawain engaged in a bloody battle in which Lancelot lost his life, but before dying, he cursed Gawain's sword, Galatine.

[Let me tell you something. When Gawain finally succumbed to his wounds and died, his family split in two. One part went to a realm known as the world of the fairies, while the other remained in the human world and dispersed across several European countries. Over time, the magical bloodline diluted until it reached our era. Our mother was the last descendant who still carried a tiny trace of the blood of that knight. It is said that the original Gawain, like King Arthur, was half-fairy. However, that blood and its abilities have been lost over time.

We, although we don't notice it, sometimes feel small bursts of power. But this power is not sacred nor does it come from our faith in God. It seems more like an external energy that many call "magical power," the true magic that comes from the fairies.

Our mother was kidnapped by occultists who wanted to sacrifice her to summon a demon. I still remember it as if it were yesterday. I was seven years old and aware of everything. They managed to use her to summon a very powerful demon, who even mentioned his name while I held you in my arms, and our father lay dying on the floor, restrained by some men who were trying to rescue our mother. Unfortunately, she had already passed away. The demon's name was Zekram Bael, and he apparently desired the power of the fairies, which he took from our mother's body. I saw our father's face distort in tears and pain. As best I could, I took you in my arms, you being just a baby, and left that place until I found Sister Griselda, who took us in here.]

There was a young man with blue hair who was speaking while staring intently at a girl, also with blue hair, named Xenovia. However, the young man did not reveal his name. They were accompanied by another woman who appeared to be a bit younger than him. This girl, or rather woman, was Sister Griselda, who watched both siblings calmly.

"It is known that only women can fully use the power of the fairies, or at least what's left of it. We no longer have the blood of that knight; now, it's just us with a small part of that power. I imagine you'll be able to make better use of it than I can. Though I can use it, it's useless to me, as it is very limited," he said as a portal gently opened near him. From it appeared what seemed to be the hilt of a sword. When he grabbed the hilt, he drew a sword covered with some sort of mantle, which he didn't remove. He simply handed the covered sword to her. "This is Durandal. You have trained for so long that I feel I don't deserve this sacred weapon. In my heart, there is still too much resentment and hatred, which is why I want you to have it. You haven't experienced what I have, you haven't felt the suffering I have felt. As my younger sister, I want to leave you something so you can protect yourself."

"Why are you talking about leaving me something to protect myself? Are you planning to leave?"—Xenovia, only 15 years old, looked at her older brother with concern in her eyes—. "You and Sister Griselda are all I have. Besides, you're a powerful exorcist. Though I admit I nearly lost my life on my first mission, I promise you I'll get stronger, brother. But you don't have to leave."

He simply smiled as another small portal opened, revealing the hilt of another sword. At the same time, he placed Durandal in Xenovia's arms. Just as she took the sword, she saw her brother unsheathe the other one. In an instant, he struck her with the flat, non-cutting side of the blade, knocking her unconscious. Her vision blurred, and she fell to the ground. Though everything was hazy and the sounds blended into a cacophony, she could hear some blows and screams.

[First-person perspective: Xenovia]

As if it were some kind of mist, darkness enveloped my mind until, finally, I opened my eyes. I was on the ground, and when I tried to move my right hand, I felt something metallic. As I focused my vision, I could see Durandal lying beside me. Near the sword and me, there were broken crystals and cut marks on the floor. I jumped to my feet, holding Durandal, and saw how the house where I had grown up with my brother and Sister Griselda was destroyed.

I heard a groan and started walking softly, trying not to make noise, though it was impossible to avoid stepping on pieces of wood and roof scattered on the floor. I stopped occasionally, afraid that someone would attack me or that something else might happen. I still didn't understand what had happened. The last thing I remembered was my brother's smile.

With my heart racing and my hand trembling slightly, I continued walking, gripping Durandal, until I reached the kitchen. There I saw Sister Griselda, with her clothes torn, tears in her eyes, and clearly wounded. She had scratches and bloodstains all over her body.

Or at least that's what remained as a bitter memory. It was my own brother who hit me in the head to knock me out, and then he attacked Sister Griselda, provoking a brutal fight in which she lost and was violated by him. I don't understand, I simply don't understand my brother's thoughts. Why did he do this? Why was he smiling? I can't comprehend why he gave me Durandal if he was the one fit to wield it. Why did the strongest exorcist of his time abandon everything and commit this atrocity? It's something I can't understand.

Now, I find myself looking at little James, a child who is the result of my brother's crime against Sister Griselda. She never wanted to speak concretely about it or tell me everything they discussed before he disappeared three years ago. I recently turned 18, and I haven't stopped training and strengthening myself to reach his level. This time, I am determined to make him pay for the horrible act he committed against Sister Griselda. I need justice, and I also need answers.

I could see the little boy clearly. Fortunately, the only thing he shares with my brother are those eyes. I clenched my fist as I watched him play with his toys. I couldn't see him as a nephew, or as the child of someone close to me, but simply as the offspring of that man who caused so much harm to an innocent woman for reasons I still don't know. My heart tightened, and tears began to flow from my eyes uncontrollably. I don't understand why the person who raised me, the person who saved me, could do something so horrible and still maintain that warm, kind smile. Why?

I couldn't take it anymore. I fell to my knees and started to cry, covering my eyes with my hands. I didn't understand. The person I loved most, who was always by my side, my example of what an exorcist and a true swordsman should be, had acted that way. The only person who shares my blood, the one who was supposed to be my support, took the wrong path, becoming a mere traitor.

I could hear footsteps running toward me, and soon I was wrapped in a warm embrace as I couldn't hold back my sobs.

"Why?" —between broken sobs, I asked Sister Griselda, who now hugged me—. "Why did he do something so horrible?"

I removed my hands from my face as the accumulated tears began to flow again.

"He didn't do anything wrong. It happened because I allowed it. I tried to cover the sun with one finger and couldn't see that he still harbored resentment. What happened that day was, as I already said, because I allowed it,"— Griselda said softly as she gently moved Xenovia's blue hair—. "But he still made his choice. I only ask that you don't fill yourself with resentment and end up like him."

I couldn't take it anymore and continued crying for a few hours, but eventually, I had to stop and head to the Vatican offices, where we would be assigned a new mission. There, I met my friend Irina, and we were given the briefest report possible: recover the stolen sacred swords, which were fragments of Excalibur. Apparently, they had been taken by fallen angels and brought to a region of Japan or, in general, to the Asian continent, where there had also been reports of frequent thefts of sacred items, especially swords.

We boarded a plane provided by the Vatican. After a few minutes of waiting, the plane took off. It was time to see the results of my three years of training, which had been practically deadly, carrying out all sorts of missions and exercises beyond the human capacity. My goal: to reach the abysmal strength of my brother, and now, to make him pay for what he had done.

autor: --

The prologue as such is not a complete sample of what I can end up writing, this is only the introduction.

To answer the question in any case the Xenovia of this story is multiple times stronger and more capable than the original story product of the events that occurred