Crowned - 11 | Death pulls a real number on us

 CHAPTER 11

The man scoffed at the cold avoidance of the girl who had been siphoning his magic for the past five years, rendering him almost incapable in battlefield.

He was about to grab her hand and pull her back when the sudden exclamation of her name caused her to trip over her own shaky feet. He rolled his eyes, astounded over how she was still alive.

The girl looked up, her eyes widened and the umbrella fell to the floor. Her heart thundered in her ears as she faced the familiar features of Kairo, smiling at her from a distance. She recognised him instantly – the brilliant jade eyes, the curly blonde hair, the lean erudite build and a bright smile greeting her.

No way he was real – alive and breathing, standing in front of her.

“Kairo?” Elvira mumbled, frowning at the sound of her own voice.

“Brilliant! You win a hug!” Kairo exclaimed and ran up to her.

Upon seeing him up close, tears ran down Elvira’s face. “I th-thought, I thought you were-- where were you? I thought I dreamt it all up! I thought you didn’t exist!” Elvira burst into wails, broken and hoarse. Her chest heaved and shoulders fluttered up and down until Kairo wrapped his arms around her.

Her pulled her into an embrace and ran a soothing hand over her back, “Everything will be fine now, you’re safe.” He whispered as she sobbed into his shirt.

Behind her, Kaeo raised a scowl. Kairo flipped a middle finger to his face.

“W-w-what happened to Kaeo? How did you escape? Where have you been? Are you okay?” Elvira spat questions in between sniffles.

“I’m standing right behind you,” the man snapped upon being mentioned.

Elvira stiffened in Kairo’s arms and the blonde noticed the sudden switch.

“It’s okay, you should eat something, sit down and I’ll explain everything. Kaeo is very much alive, all thanks to you, Elvira.” Kairo sneaked a magic circle under her feet which allowed her to float beside him.

“Because of me?” Elvira asked, frowning. She turned to catch a glimpse of the man behind them and flipped as soon as she witnessed his dark scowl. “You must be mistaken, he is dead,” she mumbled.

Her petulant pout birthed a chuckle in Kairo.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve wanted me dead over these five years,” Kaeo scoffed, yet, his feet followed as Kairo led them toward the dining hall.

“You, Elvira, are highly misunderstood about yourself. You do have magic but it isn’t one of the four established types, maybe that is why you failed your Awakening. I have been researching but I don’t think I understand exactly how your magic works— or what its scope is. But yeah, you can technically, sort of, bring the dead back to life…?” Kairo smiled with clenched teeth.

Elvira blinked at him.

Turned to frown at the man following them.

Then, she slapped herself.

“Woah! Woah, stop!” Kairo exclaimed at the same time as Kaeo, mumbled, “Shit that stings,” under his breath.

“I must be dreaming. This is a dream. I have to wake up and see if Clary is okay, wake up, wake up, wake up—” Elvira muttered as she closed her eyes and patted her arms, chanting, “Wake up, wake up, wake up.”

“Elvira!” Kairo snapped and grabbed a hold of her hands, “You are not asleep! This is reality,” he said as he teleported them outside, over the castle roof, to let her view the morning sun – much to Kaeo’s distaste, who was left behind frowning at thin air.

Elvira gasped, “This is how dreams work, we shift and jump from one place to another, nothing makes sense!” she exclaimed and looked up, grinning at him with widened hollow eyes.

Kairo couldn’t help but laugh at Elvira’s logical exasperation.

“See the world around you, it is breathing, alive, thrumming with power,” Kairo said as he opened his arms in front of the rising sun, “Do it, close your eyes and feel the warmth.”

Reluctantly, still believing it to be a dream, Elvira spread out her arms and closed her eyes.

“Inhale the scent of your world.”

Elvira sucked in an elongated breath. The sun felt real against her skin and her lungs were whelmed of fresh North Hill air. Her moment of serenity lasted until, her skin started burning under the direct light – a side effect of Kindlers’ bites – and Elvira, for the first time, felt grateful towards them.

“Magic is all around us but we only have the ability to harness it from within us. Enhancer Types, especially Induced, are at the lowest tier because they keep their magic within themselves. They use it to enhance their own self and have no magical impact on the outer world. Unless, they are able to up-class into a Type II.”

Birds chirped in agreement and a soft gale danced around them. The prickling sensation grounded her to reality.

“Next in line are Enhancer Type II: The Projectors, who are able to lend their power to the world in order to enhance its attributes. They are able to make flowers bloom, calm a turbulent mind, accelerate healing, alter gravity...their mind is the limit.”

Elvira nodded. She knew all that. Zinna was an Enhancer Type II Mage.

“The Conjurors harness their magic into spells. They learn ancient languages to create special spells and use their magic to implement them. The juvenile mages have to write each spell in real time or have a pre-written spell card in order to quick cast. But mages of higher class, like me, are able to store our spell cards, in our finger tips. Each spell has their own special gesture to be activated and used. We harness our magic for external use.”

Elvira’s skin was burning and this reality was droning on. It felt like a high school class, all over again.

“Alchemy type mages are alike Conjuror mages in a way that, instead of creating their own spells, they invent and innovate materials to aid their magic. It can be a wand, a healing pin, a vial of potion...anything that their mind desires, their magic can make it work. They harness their magic for external, material, use.”

Alchemy Type mages were very rare to come across, Elvira knew.

“Lastly, there are the Elementals. They lend magic from the world around them and mould it according to the magic within them. That is why some can wield a fire, move mountains, break open the ground or part seas.”

Elvira remembered Danzel clearing up the skies at her Awakening.

“Your magic, the world lends it to you. The very atmosphere around you is charged and willing but something within you is not letting it in. So, it works externally, at its own will, when it deems its owner desperate enough. When Kaeo was dying, your magic caught onto your desperation and intervened with the force of life. It’s like you are not harnessing it but commanding it. It’s uncalled for, impossible even, yet, it has happened twice and I have seen it with my very own eyes.”

“Twice?”

“Yes. The magic around you is loyal. It bonds you with all whom it affects, I believe, so it can trace a path back to you. That is what it did with Kaeo and you. It bonded him to you as a form of…redemption? I don’t quite understand, but, because Kaeo is a higher-class mage, your magic has been siphoning his in order to sustain the hollow within you. Maybe it is a form of payback? I don’t know. But that was how you survived the Kindler attack. Kaeo’s Induced healing has been a null ever since you brought him back. Your magic is actively using him to shield you from harm.”

“I seem to have an awful sort of magic…” Elvira scoffed.

“Precisely why you are in a wedding dress! Once you get married to him, your Stars will align and hopefully the magic will stabilise itself!”

“Marriage?!” Elvira snapped, opening her eyes.

“Hopefully?!” Kaeo snapped, having finally caught up to them. He stood on the roof, scowling at the girl in front.

“I am not marrying anybody! I do not believe a bloody thing you’re on about!” Elvira shrieked.

Kaeo rolled his eyes and scoffed, “As if I want to,” he spat. “See?” he looked up at a scowling Kairo, “It won’t work. Let’s just kill her instead.”

“Woah—what!?”

“Kaeo! No!” Kairo snapped then apologetically turned to Elvira, “Don’t mind him, death and constant power-loss has made him into an awful sort of person. He was used to feeling powerful and better than everyone else…but the past five years have been tough on him, mentally and physically.”

“And that is my problem…?” Elvira frowned, not believing Kairo one bit. How could she have magic? She felt hollow, weak and human. But…his story did explain why she survived the Kindlers.

“Oh? So, you won’t even take responsibility after using me for so long?!” Kaeo shouted, baffled by the causal disrespect.

“You’re nothing like the Kaeo I knew!” Elvira shouted back.

“That’s because he died on D’amar Square!”

“Exactly my point! You’re an imposter!”

“Kai, I am going to kill her myself—” Kaeo lunged at them but Kairo was swift enough to snap his fingers and teleport Elvira away.

They reached the Dining Hall and Kairo let out a nervous chuckle as Elvira glared at him. “Death pulls a real number on us, eh?” he laughed.

Crowned 2 - left to die.

 

CHAPTER 2

 

“Mhm…arrgh…”

Elvira’s eyes blinked in an attempt to open. The sudden light was blinding so she placed a hand over her eyes. The action birthed instant regret as a goop of mud landed on her face. Her left hand stung and the pain shot through her entire arm.

“Arff-argh-thoo-thoo!”

Elvira spat the gross wetness from her mouth and forced herself to get up. She opened her eyes and confirmed her surroundings to be the Humid Linch forest in the East. Her torso was soaked in mud and quite possibly Linch dung, she guessed from the stench of it. Her head and feet were relatively dry, covered only in dirt and moss.

She grimaced as she looked around to spot a giant tree with a hollow bark behind her.

“Ha--!” Elvira scoffed, “How kind of them to provide me with a new home,” she scoffed again, exasperation dripping off her frowning face. “In a Linch forest, no less, three towns away from home!” she grumbled to herself as she stood up.

All she had on was the white ceremonial dress and the excuse of a tree-house. “Not a single penny, nothing, pfft,” Elvira spat again, blowing the mud off her lips. She looked around at the short bushes, prickly vines, blue berries and lilac flowers around her.

“Perfect place they picked,” she snorted, “Not a single thing that isn’t poisonous! Well, the mud isn’t, yet—but who knows?!” she exclaimed to the bushes and the bees, whosoever was listening.

Linches were giant creatures with cylindrical body shapes and an inflated middle abdomen. They were characteristic for their more-than-a-thousand mini tentacle-like feet which possessed enough suction to suck the living juice out of anything that came in contact with it. They thrived on Purbush Berries and their poison, which made their skin equally venomous. They had a soft sheen of hair over their skin, both of which were lethal.

“One touch and you’re dead,” Elvira giggled to herself. “What am I supposed to do now?” she grinned at the flowers. “Why am I behaving like this?” she giggled again, “Zinna must have given me a big boost. Ahahahahaha.”

She stopped talking and her face fell. Carefully, Elvira got up. Her stiff limbs ached with every step she took towards the hollow tree-trunk. Only to find it empty and narrow enough to only let her stand and move her arms.

“What was I expecting even…?”

She picked up a thick branch from the foot of the tree and inspected it. Though, before she could draw a conclusion—her ears picked up the subtle rustling of mud and leaves. Her academy teacher’s words resonated in her head. She remembered her class, the small muddy glass bowl everyone was given and the angry little Linch inside it.

“Linches want to be as stealthy as snakes but the sheer number of their so-called feet affects their mobility, quite a lot. Remember to never come in direct skin contact with a Linch or you will die before you could even call for death. Now, you see that thin membrane below its head and over its body? That is the only weak point of a Linch. This right here—hey! Pay attention! This, this is the vessel that can burst—”

The crawling closed in.

Goosebumps travelled all over Elvira’s body.

She struck the stick against the bark of the tree and created a, albeit weak, lance for herself.

“Distance, distance, I must maintain distance…”

She looked around in order to determine the direction of its location. Her left hand was still covered in mud, which was seeping through the open gashes from last night. If Elvira did not find a water source as soon as possible—she would have to lose a hand.

She needed to escape fast but the only way out of the Linch Forest of the East was the Linch cliff. Beyond it, Elvira closed her eyes to imagine the world map, “Come on…what’s beyond Linch Cliff? I know there’s Amoris Town but what’s in between? Forest? What forest? Marshes?”

Leaves rustled.

Elvira put her right leg out and leaned slightly, readying the makeshift lance.

“What am I doing…I should be running away?” she mumbled to herself, head jerking per second in all four directions, “But mother did not raise a quitter…” she whispered, subconsciously enough.

Then, Elvira grimaced, halted her fighting stance and got back into talking position, as if explaining to herself, “No girl, mother raised no one.”

The words were confirmation enough for Elvira to nod and shrug. “True that,” she mumbled.

“Are…you talking to yourself?”

“AAAAAHHH!” Elvira screamed, jumped to switch her stance, slipped over a wet leaf and fell face-first into the mud-dung puddle again.

“Woah, woah, easy there!”

Elvira jolted to a stand, her wooden lance wielded as a sword. She looked around only to find a Linch nearing her.

“AAAAH WHY ARE YOU TALKING?!”

“What do you mean talking?” the creature stopped and stared at Elvira with big beady eyes.

“This—words, what?! I am talking to a CREATURE! Bug-Insect Creature—Linchs cannot talk!” Elvira shouted and grabbed the end of the wood lance with both of her hands.

“Oh! come on, sweets, all creatures talk!”

Elvira grimaced. Her brows mushed, eyes crinkled, nostrils flared and lips flattened to a line.

“Please do not call me sweets,” Elvira gagged, “Knowing that you could literally consume me any moment does not help your case.”

“But mages are desserts,” the Linch replied in a matter-of-fact-tone. It began crawling again.

“The Linchs I saw in class did not talk! You cannot talk! I’ve never read about it!” Elvira exclaimed, backing off into more mud puddles.

“Way to deny reality and awful that you’re getting reality checks from the lowest ranked creature out there…but yes, all creatures, who are naturally bred, can talk.”

“Wow…this is a real low for me.” Elvira dragged out in a breath.

“But hopefully a pleasant meal for me!” the creature exclaimed and pounced at its prey.

“NOO! I WON’T DIE BEING YOUR FOOD!”

Elvira shouted and ran all the way back into the hollow tree.

“Why run when you cannot hide, sweets?” the Linch sang. It had a deep voice with a resounding baritone to it.

“Come on, think about it…what was the weak point of Linchs? We covered it last year, I should remember this…”

The creepy crawling neared with every second Elvira spent thinking. The hollow was small enough for someone with Elvira’s lanky limbs to hide.

“Come out, sweets!”

Suddenly, its forebody was grasping at the edge of Elvira’s skirt, pulling it outside. Its middle abdomen was too big to enter the hollow so it resorted to dragging Elvira out.

Though, his tugs snapped just the right memory.

When the creature recoiled with every pull, the thin membrane hidden between his forebody and middle abdomen would show up.

“Just a little touch would be enough!” the creature sang.

“Just a little touch, yes,” Elvira sang back and stabbed the wooden lance right into his weak-spot.

Mauve fluid oozed out as the creature burst open, its body scattering around the forest floor in hundreds of bite-sized pieces.

“Argh…gross!” Elvira moaned as she placed the wood lance right before the edge of the cloth that Linch had died grasping. Then, she pulled her dress from behind it. What could have been a perfect horizontal tear suddenly ran all the way up to her waist, vertically.

Elvira yelped as she let go of the fabric before it could cross all of her thigh. Though, instead of catching a glance of her pale skin, Elvira spotted a piece of paper taped over her right thigh. She ripped it off, owing to surprise—and instantly regretted it because of the pain.

The paper read: Meet me at Dowdry Lane, FX83551

“Huh? 83551? Zinna? It’s her handwriting.”

Elvira mumbled as she stepped out of the hollow. As if on cue, a blob of mauve fluid dropped from the tree and drenched her in Linch blood.

“Arrghhh, CoMe On!” Elvira stomped as she marched out with the stick in one hand and the paper in another, her white dress-skirt now flailing like a flag of defeat. She tried to wipe the fluid off of her but the more it came in contact with its kind, the more it kept sticking into each other.

“There was something about these…the Linch blood…I remember…what was it?”

She marched past a cluster of dense Purbush Berries.

“Umm…it isn’t deathly, I know that, but…”

She turned back after reaching a rock wall. The deeper she walked into the forest, the more it rustled, as if trying to communicate with her presence.

“What was it?”

Beady eyes glinted behind a tree as they caught the sun.

“Where even is Dowdry Lane? Is it in a town? A city? Who stuck the note?”

Leaves rustled behind her, as if crunching notes of doom in her behest.

“Note? Oh! I remember!” Elvira’s face perked up, “It was in the upper left side of the textbook, in a yellow box reading note to remember! Linch blood attracts other Linchs and in mourning they consume the remanent of the dead Linch in order to immortalise the memory of the lost!” she clapped.

“Well done, sweets.” Another deep voice complimented.

The non-existent colour drained from Elvira’s being. Hair stood up on her face as her eyes widened in the horror the realisation had created.

Elvira did not turn.

Elvira bloody ran.

The You in Me: 6 - Trust.

 

CHAPTER 5

In her dream, the world was simpler. She was a teenager living at the periphery like all humans, trying to make ends meet, trying to find value in life. She was plain yet dreamed of fame every night she went to bed. Though, when the morning sun would dawn on her window the dream would dissipate and she would come to a realisation, “I am good for nothing.”

The sun was bright and its rays were scorching, burning holes through the tree leaves guarding her window pane. Cicadas were set to world domination with the sheer collective force of their chorusing. The rays were getting hotter by the second when she sat up in her bed and held her face in her hands, unable to face herself. Then, the might of a singular sunbeam melted the window glass only to penetrate inside and light her house on fire.

Flames engulfed her.

She was outside, suddenly, running and screaming for her parents.

“Ma! Papa! Where are you?”

Her vision was red and her senses hot, tall skyscrapers crumbled to dust before her. She climbed the debris, desperate in her efforts to dig into it and find something…or was it someone? In her subconscious, she knew the rest of the neighbourhood would be safe. Still, her hands clawed into the broken glass, sharp iron beams and chalky cement – where were her parents? They were nowhere to be found. She screamed and screamed her mother’s name as the flames took down her town and memories. They drew closer with every breath she took, lusting for the oxygen within her. The fire was there to burn her, but somehow, it wasn’t touching her.

“What is the cost of one kind deed?”

The sentence echoed in her head, over and over. Suddenly, there was a mirror in front of her and she couldn’t avoid facing herself this time. Seraphina Dysis. The skin was melting off her face and body, leaving a bony skeleton and piercing grey eyes bleeding in the consequence of kindness.

“If you continue like this, it’ll only bring your ruination.”

It was her mother’s voice this time, echoing through the fire. Suddenly, the flames were smoke and the smoke clustered in the sky as clouds and a new day dawned.

An electric current shot through her body and Seraphina was jolted awake.

“Ah, Dread Dysis,” the matron called, flipped through the many pages on her notepad, and scratched her name off. “You will find your items inside your drawer. The classes commence in ten so I’d recommend you make haste.” The old lady, tall and skeletal, white as bone itself, passed a smile to Seraphina and walked away to zap the student on the next bed.

The ravenette, still in the midst of deciphering dream from reality couldn’t help but gasp at the heavenly white aesthetic of the infirmary. “Am I dead?” she whispered to herself as she scrutinized her arms and legs for burn scars. She found none. She flipped her head to the bedside table and shoved her face in the mirror. It reflected a perfect glass skin, sharp scarlet eyes and shiny raven hair. Seraphina pinched her cheeks and ruffled her hair to confirm reality from illusion again.

“You’re not gone yet? You could miss your chance if someone steals your seat, Dread Dysis,” the bony matron commented, voice nasally and crisp.

Ah, yes, the Choosing Ceremony. She was going to hug Ahren…only to be tasered in the back?

Et tu, Ahren?

Seraphina shook her head in exasperation. Her trust, yet again, was too easily earned with simple acts of kindness. Maybe this was what her dream was alluding to.

She pulled the bedside drawer open and found a glossy black bag inside. Its handles were intricately carved as golden vines spreading into the bag’s fabric on the front. Her jaw dropped in awe as she carefully picked up the bag and placed it on the bed, handling it with only her index fingers and thumbs to avoid leaving any dirty fingerprints of her hands.

Seraphina searched high and low to find a zip or a buckle on the bag but to no avail. Instead, she just sat straight for a good minute and stared at its glossy finish, then realising that time was running out, she cradled the bag in her arms like a million-dollar child and jumped off the bed. She had seven minutes to navigate her way to the first class – whatever it may be, she wondered as she shoved her feet in her shoes, careful not to crush the heels.

There must be someone around, Seraphina thought, who could help her.

The ravenette circled the bed and pulled away the white curtains separating her from the person beside. The fluid motion of her hand led to reveal a face likely to help her with her demise instead. Soft dark hair ruffled out of their style and piercing golden eyes narrowed at her with obvious grudge, greeted her sight. Instantly, Seraphina pulled the curtain back in its place.

“You saw nothing,” she said and fled out of her curtain containment. She may not know where to go, but she did know not to interact with a true Astherian without magic constraints around him. No matter how appealing even as a dread.

Just as Seraphina was about to step out of the infirmary, a hand grabbed her by the shoulder and twisted her to face its owner. The said owner had the curtsey to lower his neck from the clouds to meet her eyes; pinned against the infirmary wall, caged in between Kaizer’s arms, the ravenette gulped.

“That would be impossible, I see everything. I have six eyes,” Kaizer deadpanned. On cue, the tiny iridescent crystals embedded above his brows blinked open and golden irises meandered in the small space they were provided with.

“That’s…” Seraphina sucked in a breath, “truly creepy,” she breathed out and bent under his arm to walk out of his armed-cage. Only for him to push his palm against her forehead and bring her back in, against the wall.

“I can see things before they happen,” he stated, pointing at his eyes, looking dead on the inside.

“Well then, can your eyes see how late we will be if we don’t get going right this instant?!” Seraphina exhaled, frowning at his dead-faced persistence.

“But I cannot see why I don’t want to kill you…” his words dragged to a whisper.

Seraphina raised her brows in exasperation, “Why thank you? For being a decent hero?!”

“It goes against my basic principles…” he leaned in, close enough for their noses to be inches apart.

“I t-think the professor c-can refresh that when he’s, uh, dishing out our punishment!” Seraphina pressed a hand against his chest and pushed him away.

Kaizer sucked in a sharp breath and took several steps away from her; his brows joined together in a frown, as if repulsed. Though, his words seemed to betray his actions as he whispered, “Our sounds nice.”

Blood rushed to Seraphina’s face as she kicked the infirmary door open and stormed into the hallway. “What the heck is his deal?! If he doesn’t want to kill me, he’ll jump me instead?! Can’t he just stay away?!” she fanned her face with both her hands, consequently her bag fell to the marbled floor. “Dammit!” she cursed and bent down to pick it up, instinctively, by its golden handle.

The bag clicked open upon her touch.

“Ah, you figured it out,” a dead gasp birthed itself above her ear, warm breath fanned her nape. Seraphina felt an overwhelming presence shadow over her, so close to her back that she could feel the warmth trapped in between their bodies.

“What is wrong with you?! Are you following me?” Seraphina snapped and jumped several steps away from Kaizer, lest she’d do something unreasonable as lean into the warmth. Oh, the horror!

“Being choked by a microphone wire does things to you,” he shrugged, nonchalant.

Though, before Seraphina could fathom a response, a string of violin notes resonated through the wooden walls, slowly but aggressively building up into a crescendo.

“That’d be the warning music,” Kaizer pointed his finger at the sky-high ceilings vibrating the music through the ancient castle.

“You folks surely have a thing for dramatics,” Seraphina rolled her eyes and pulled out a map from the bag. The sheer thickness of its folds indicated her probable failure, so, taking a hint, she tucked it back inside her bag and faced Kaizer.

His lower lip curved into the tiniest of smiles as he held out a hand for her to take. The music was building up faster, every note louder than the last. Hesitantly, Seraphina placed her hand over his, avoiding eye contact.

“I meant the bag; it’d have your teleportation device…but this is okay as well,” Kaizer winked. Flustered, Seraphina was about to snatch her hand away when his slender fingers held onto her hand, encasing it.

The last memory Seraphina held of someone holding her hand with such firmness was her with mother, when Seraphina was a toddler in human kindergarten and was being bullied for crying too much. She missed her home, her dolls, her story books and her puzzle pieces that she had to leave behind in order to attend school – a place feted with snobbish kids who never asked her to play with. The loneliness led to tears, the tears were an excuse for the mockeries and the bullies – a symbol of weakness which she wielding everyday until her mother would come to pick her up, at the end of the day. She’d hold her hand with firmness and reaffirmation; and she wouldn’t let go until they were home.

There was a warm attachment Seraphina associated with handholding and to share such a moment with an Astherian who should hate her mere existence was appalling.

“Let’s go,” he whispered.

Seraphina did not know where, but she followed anyway. It’s almost as if she was compelled to. One step turned into golden leap and suddenly the hallways around them phased away and she found herself at the foot of what seemed like an empty battle ground. Surprised, Seraphina turned to look for Kaizer only to find him no one behind her.

So much for trusting a person again.

The You in Me: 4 - What fun.

 

CHAPTER 3

The world has always had an unfair power dynamic, even when it was only littered with humans. There’s always someone in whose favour the scales of fate tip just a little more – enough to annoy someone less favoured. The Astherians were no different, owing to their bifurcated society subdivided by classes in pursuit of a constant power struggle. Every breath was an occasion to do better for these souls.

So, it was a surprise to Seraphina when the white aether circle erupted all over the crystal floor and their academy uniforms dissipated into plain white overalls.

“Your class and identities will remain anonymous for this competition in order to bring out fair results. Your abilities will be nullified by the crystal that surrounds you, instead, you shall be provided with human weapons to sustain!” an invisible announcer announced.

Seraphina slapped a hand against her forehead. The Astherians’ fascination with everything human was their only consistent character trait. So much for being a superior species when the crux of their existence was merely being copycats.

“Additionally, the student who chose number one will not be able to see everyone else’s ranks, for fun, of course.” The invisible announcer added.

Seraphina facepalmed, again, as the number clouds over everyone else’s head disappeared for her sight.

‘Hiding identities was a good idea but subduing abilities…’ Seraphina clenched her jaw, ‘I am nothing without the aether.’

Suddenly, the phrase ‘haste makes waste’ made so much sense to her as the number of peering eyes increased on her back. The crowd was dead still, maybe choosing their targets, baited breaths awaited the weapon stands materializing though the crystal walls. Iridescent shelves came forth, housing an array of weapons ranging from a gun, sword, saber, nun-chunk, net, scythes, spatula to a microphone.

“Before you choose a weapon, know that you can only see the chosen number of a person within the same range as yours. So, if you’ve chosen 599 as your number, then, you can only see the numbers of students 590 to 600. Though, as you move up in your ranks, your range may expand.”

As soon as the announcement ceased, whispers and gasps rose amidst the students. Seraphina looked around and sighed in relief as formerly piercing glances tore away from her head and found newer targets to pursue. This was nice. This was easier. This meant her opponent count took a staggering hit from 1199 to a mere 10! This was some good, good, fate! Even though she was standing at the very end of the room, an aeon away from the weapon shelves.

A grin snuck its way to Seraphina’s lips. Upon two and three observations, she gathered that no one in her immediate proximity was within her fighting range, hence, making it a good circle to hide behind.

Now, all she needed was a good weapon which would work well in long as well as short range combat and she’d be set to win!

“On the count of three, run for the weapons!”

Seraphina did not know why she waited for the system to stay loyal to the countdown. Maybe she was distracted by the fact that the they were attempting a jab at fairness. Yes, that should be it. But when the system went, “Zero, one, three!” Seraphina realised that her trust was easily earned.

The crowd rushed like starved cattle let loose on a fresh grass pasture. All they missed were pointy horns to impale Seraphina and lift her into the air like a sad battle prize. If it wasn’t obvious enough, Seraphina had never been the most athletic person in the lot.

But she knew a few mundane tricks like elbowing people in the sides to move forward.

It came up as an unsaid fact that the only way to reach the best weapon was through mortal combat, as the Dreads believed; or a stampede, as the Heroes figured.

Someone pulled the other in a chokehold; another threw a resounding, concussion inducing, kick to the person in front; some girl grabbed two others by their hair; screams erupted within the crystal hall, vibrating through its aether and reaching up to the upper-most section, behind which the Aetherunes Staff sat and giggled.

What fun.

Seraphina avoided a trip and pushed her hair in a bun for safety measures. She crouched low and poked her elbows out, hoping to survive the battlefield like a lucky grandma if she figured the best way to reach the gun shelf.

She winced as she saw two people in an intense punch fight right in front of the gun. Those hefty bruises would require a Class 2 Healer, at least, she thought to herself.

Suddenly, Seraphina doubled over, grappled with pain as someone punched her side. “Freaking hell, are you trying to sell me life insurance? Because I’m almost convinced,” she spat out. Her face fell into a grimace as looked up to see a smirking curly haired ravenette wriggling her wrists, steadying, for another punch.

“I dunno what that is but I’m only trying to win over rank one,” the girl replied with a click of her tongue.

She threw another punch but Seraphina blocked it with a knife-hand-strike. She lunged her foot forward to wrap it around Seraphina’s but the latter found it as an opportunity to grab a hold of the hand she struck and gain a footing. The girl tried to trip Seraphina while simultaneously attempting to choke her, but Seraphina twisted with the grip on her hand and swung her over her shoulder and onto the crystal floor.

The loud thump attracted more attention than she was comfortable with and Seraphina couldn’t help the maniacal grin on her face. Her body was moving on instinct, as if some latent muscle memory had decided to resurface in the face of flight or fight. It was way nicer than being beaten to a pulp.

Another student slung an arm around her neck and clenched it for a choke. Seraphina elbowed him, but to no momentary avail. She began clawing her nails into his arm only for him to grab them by his free hand and twist it behind her back. Choking for air, Seraphina haphazardly looked around for some kind of help. Then, she saw it. A sturdy back in proximity.

Seraphina used one leg to propel herself and another to bounce off the sturdy back, using momentum to throw her attacker off balance. She landed behind him, twisted and in a heap. She had a moment to pant and suddenly there was a gun shot.

Oh, this was fun. The best weapon was already grabbed. Seraphina couldn’t lose anymore time. She stepped over the boy and grabbed a hold of the splattered curly haired girl. She slid her hands under her armpits and began circling; as her steps grew wider, the body swayed harder and faster. Like a man-made tornado, Seraphina stormed through the crowds, parting them with partial awe and partial annoyance.

She succeeded halfway through, until someone grabbed the girl’s foot, mid-sway, and flung her off balance. Seraphina fell and the world zoomed around her; left momentarily vulnerable, a sword wielding student raised his arm, ready for slaughter, but was stopped by a bullet being shot into his armed hand.

“No attacking the defenseless. Haven’t you learnt?” the gun wielder snapped.

Seraphina’s hands grappled against the crystal, trying to hinge herself back into reality. The sword fell beside her, clanking, and a hoard of students clamored forth for the taking. Instinct drove her to kick a person’s shin and pull them down so she could stand up. She turned to face her savior but caught no glimpse of him as another body lunged at her.

Seraphina merely stepped away and missed the attack by a finger’s width. She sped towards the weapon shelf, only to be caught again, this time in the middle of already two fighting students.

“Do you even know how to use nun-chunks? Do you even know what they are, you hard boiled egg brain?” the girl shouted, throwing a punch.

“I, for one, pay attention during weapon mastery. Have been doing it for fifty years now, unlike someone who constantly simps for the professor!” the boy scowled, as he stopped the girl’s punch with one hand.

Seraphina was brought into it as the girl interlocked her fingers with the boy’s and they flung a kick each in her direction. Sandwiched, Seraphina stalled the kicks by holding onto their ankles, midway. She hurled a kick at the boy but he was swift to stop it with a mid-way grab of his own. She smirked and using his grasp as a hinge, Seraphina twisted into a jump and knocked her foot into the girl’s jaw.

She faltered, about to fall, when the boy rushed to grab her by the collar. Slanted, scowling, but conscious, the girl gained back her footing. Seraphina barely landed on her two feet when the girl was chucked at her.

“Can you see how she fights better than you? You’re disappointing, Nysa,” the boy taunted.

Nysa growled as she threw punch after punch at Seraphina, haphazardly.

“Who are you? My love rival? How dare you try to hit on my man?!” Nysa screamed as Seraphina tried to block the punches being rained down on her.

“Are you kidding me? You call that your man?!” Seraphina tsked and blocked a punch to her nose. “And you guys literally pulled me in this!” she tsked.

Without a pattern to observe, several of Nysa’s bony fists landed on Seraphina’s gut before she realised the uselessness of Nysa’s feet and kneed her groin.

“Shit,” Nysa jumped into a backflip and swung a kick at the boy’s head. “How dare you try to manipulate me, you dog, Irewin. I bet you’re trying to hit on her!”

Irewin, mostly out of shock, could not avoid the kick and spun a three-sixty on his heel. Though, before Nysa could attack again, he leaped forward, grabbed her by her hair, pulled her back and launched himself at Seraphina like a bullet.

In the blink of an eye, his hands were grabbing her by the shoulders whilst he was suspended over her head and he was able to pull her along in a semi-circle and thrashed her into the floor.

“How dare you turn my girlfriend against me, you bitch, do you like me?” he mocked her.

Seraphina groaned. “There is something wrong with your head, but, thankfully, both of ours is a Class 1 healer’s problem,” she smiled and swooped her foot to make him trip. Irewin jumped but Seraphina was already twirling into another kick as she shot up. The blow struck against his face, hard and he propelled into another person nearby.

Nysa instantly went for an underhook, a chin for a chin or some poetic revenge, but Seraphina evaded with backward bend. The punch, instead, landed under the chin of the person who was right behind Seraphina, ready to attack. He was a big, burly, giant of a man with an ill proportioned head to body ratio.

Nysa’s eyes widened at the sudden enraged scream the man let out. She instinctively reached out for Seraphina’s hand and pulled her towards herself, away from the raging madman.

“Shut the hell up!” Irewin erupted like a volcano of his own, charging at the man with a whirlwind kick. But he was blocked with that man’s knife-hand-strike and sent flying back into the girls.

“You’re almost as annoying as he is,” Nysa spat at Irewin, eyeing the raging man.

“Oh please! That’s so you when things are not going your way!” Irewin retorted.

“Can we focus on the matter at hand? Please?!” Seraphina exhaled in exasperation as she somehow found herself standing in between the two.

“Of course,” the couple looked snapped in unison.

“I’ll go first,” Irewin announced and ran before confirmation. His long legs worked like swords, urging blow after blow on the big man’s hands. Bruised enough, the big man kneed him in the gut and shot Irewin high into the ceiling.

Unconcerned, Nysa instantly went for his gut with a flurry of her own punches. The big man doubled over, momentarily, and Seraphina saw it as an opportunity to lunge forward. She grabbed his arm and used Nysa’s back as a stepping stool to snake her way onto the big man’s shoulders. She wrapped her thighs around his thick neck and elbowed his nape with vigor.

The big man shook himself, violently, to dislodge Seraphina but Nysa’s punches kept him occupied momentarily. Though, he instantly figured to throw himself on his back in order to crush Seraphina instead.

As he toppled backwards, Nysa dashed as several jumps back, her jaw hung in awe with what she was about to witness – probably a skull being cracked open in front of her very own eyes.

Seraphina’s breath hitched, awaiting her demise. ‘A hard crash against this crystal floor and being buried under the size of this giant man’s sweaty back…what a lame way to die. Mother would be so asham—Oh heaven, I cannot die! I still need to put away that skeleton in my bathtub!’ she thought to herself.

Before Seraphina could attack or even break her skull, someone else had already taken action and lodged themselves in between the floor and that hulk of a man. Seraphina slipped onto the floor, on her own accord, chest heaving as she saw a girl grinning menacingly at her. Her ruby hair covered her face for she was leaning slightly forward, her elbow stuck right against the big man’s spine.

“How much do you consider your life’s worth?” the girl wheezed, raised her head and pushed the big man to fall face-first into the crystal floor, “Because I just saved yours.”

“Thank you,” is all Seraphina could say. Her savior was beautiful; her eyes, big and glimmering like the ocean under the summer sun and the soft curves of her nose, lips and cheeks made it impossible to believe that she could survive even the sight of blood. Over her arched brows were embedded two dark crystals, at the ends, making Seraphina gasp in shock.

That girl was a true Astherian. One who had mastered Two Ancient Runes which would fulfil her purpose. A true S-Class aetherfolk.

Seraphina was saved twice even before she could reach the weapon stand.

The weapon stand.

Ah.

Seraphina looked around as soon as she realised the silence around her, only to witness all the student body passed out on the crystal floor. The only ones standing were the redhead, Nysa, Irewin limping and lodged on Nysa’s shoulder and him.

The Lucielle Box - 3 : The Secret !

CHAPTER TWO

Outside the window, the world always seemed loud and pleasant. On a stony piece of land outside the walls of the Orphanage, street kids would holler around with a ball in hand, bickering over potential teams and points scored in the last match. Their basket was a worn-out plastic bowl balanced on the edge of the wall, always withering, when left empty, with the gusts of wind. Anyone standing on the inside could spot about five different bowls scattered on the ground, having succumbed to the fate of abandonment and the recipient of no human making retrieving attempts.

Isadora would stay at her seat’s edge as the match would grow more intense by the second, everyone’s homework on the line as loser’s weight to bear. The notes of Vivaldi’s winter warmed the tension in the air, involuntarily breathless, Isadora would just stare. The ball would dribble and be passed, sometimes a catch was missed, sometimes a basket was scored. She would exclaim and swear with great mirth and disappointment, mumbling to herself about all the ways she could have avoided the other team’s defeat. Though, her fate was one of a great observer but never an intervener, a helpless god overseeing the fate of people with great detail but possessing no ability to undo it.

The best Isadora could do was look away.

Her eyes fluttered open and the extravagant jewels etched in the dome shaped ceiling caught her attention. She swung up and the delicate engravings on the wall in front made her squirm back, into the cushiest pillows to have ever touched her undeserving back. “What in the…?” the words left her hoarse throat as her eyes scrutinized the lavishness around. Gold walls, shiny blackwood furniture engraved with precious stones, the mere spaciousness of a playground and overwhelming grandeur of paintings staring down on her.

“Was I kidnapped again…? Sold off to some rich sleazy bastard…? No, no, no, that would not be cannon appropriate,” she mumbled to herself; the words came out raspy, owing to her parched throat, yet skipping the covered glass of water placed on the bedside table, she got up and wobbled over to the desk and chair placed in front of an imperial window. The large table was littered with papers, documents and she shuffled around until she spotted a seal placed over a bunch of manila envelopes.

“Runa…me, I should have been dead…did the,” she picked up the seal and turned it over to reveal the golden crest of a sword with wings. “Fuck, did he really…” she grabbed the letters and all of them were addressed to, ‘Arizel Delmore, the thirteenth of Isdarien.’

“Of all people…why him?” she bit her lower lip as she pondered over the misfortune of the thirteenth prince, “He’s the first to die…tsk.”

She placed the letters and the seal back in the place and meandered around the room, only to stop in front of the full-length mirror encased in gold engravings. It was her appearance that caught her off guard and made her stand and stare. She used to be a simple girl with dark hair and dark eyes, no distinguishing features to set her apart from the common populace but here…here she was Runa Don Russet, petite and pale with curly ringlets of burgundy hair flowing to her waist and eyes as clear as morning dew. Though out of all miracles, the fact that she had hands was the most blessed one. She raised her hands in front of the mirror and gazed at them with much love. They were pale and slender attached to dainty wrists and long fingers, certainly made for a character who wasn’t a survivor. Nonetheless, her heart swelled with gratefulness.

“Woah…” she touched her small face and felt her dainty features, “It couldn’t get more fictional, could it?” she snorted as she tugged at her hair and genuinely felt the sensation in her scalp. Then, she realised that she was clad in a loose silk shirt and lacey shorts – did someone change her clothes? Of course, they would have gotten rid of her bloody dress but…her line of thought was interrupted by a sudden thud.

She flinched and instinctively turned to face the sound. On the window, perched like a wounded bird, was the thirteenth prince staring at her with an amused smile. His dark hair flowed with the wind, freely, a stark contrast to the bloodied white shirt stuck to his torso. Was it his blood or hers?

“Oh! You’re up, I could get used to this,” he smiled as he jumped inside the room and instantly started unbuttoning his shirt.

“Woah, woah woah, what do you think you’re doing?” she uttered, nostrils flared and brows scrunched with exasperation.

The man stopped mid-unbuttoning and looked up with a smirk, “Commonly, in a situation like this, someone would wail, ‘who are you?! Where am I?! what do you want with me?!’  but you said none of that!”

She frowned.

His dark eyes held her light ones, piercing with interest. All the while his nimble fingers worked their way through the buttons. He got rid of the sticky shirt and it was cue enough for her to yelp and turn on her heel.

“Have some shame, you pervert!” she gasped, only to realise that she was now facing a high-definition mirror with him being perfectly reflected in it.

“So, it looks like you can see far into the future but the immediate second, got it,” he chuckled as he caught her eye again, through the mirror.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she gasped and looked away, “What are you yapping about?!”

“Ya-yapping? What is that? Nonetheless, you do not have to be on guard with me, I know your secret and—”

“—Wait, what, how the heck?” she cut him, brows afrown, as she turned to face him and immediately regretted it. She placed her hand strategically ahead to over his muscular torso from her vision.

“You did not even ask, ‘what secret’ tsk…you’re suck a horrible liar.” As if to test her patience, he walked towards her and with every step he took, his torso would get clearer in her vision so she would bring her hand closer and closer to her eyes until the only thing in her vision was the back of her hand.

“Wh-what secret do you kno—” her words were cut off as she felt a hand gently caress her head. Her body stiffened upon his touch and chilly words escaped her lips, “What do you think you’re doing…?”

The man hesitated for a mere second upon receiving the chill question, looked at her narrowed clear eyes and immediately retreated his hand. “Why,” he scoffed awkwardly, “I was trying the little witch to like me so that she can heal me, ha ha…”

“Heal you…?” she frowned.

“Ah-ha! So you accept that you’re a witch!” the man exclaimed.

“What!? No! Oh holy—oh my, no, I am not a witch dude, what the heck?!”

“Do not dude me, Lady, and do not lie—” he stopped mid-sentence as he stared at the look of genuine confusion on her face. Her wide eyes stared into his with equal scandal. “Oh,” he uttered.

“Duh,” she replied, as if it was the most obvious thing on the planet.

“Lady, I LITERALLY,” he turned to expose his bruised and bloodied back in her face, “THREATENED MY LIFE AND STATUS TO SAVE YOU!”

He turned back to face her. She merely stared, stunned beyond speech.

“I am not trying to guilt-trip you, obviously,” he seethed, “But you insinuated that you were a witch!”

“Accusations! I did not!” she snapped.

“Holy Sael!” he exclaimed and shoved his head in his hands while pacing back and forth.

“Were you always this imaginative and gullible…?” she asked, partially amused, partially horrified and wholly exasperated.

“Oh, you don’t know what I have done,” he turned to face her, eyes blown wide and forehead bunched with frowny stress, “You don’t know!”

She hesitated to ask, jaw clenching, but the curious words escaped out of her mouth without permission from thought or consideration, “What did you do…?”

“So,” he licked his lips and pressed his hands over her small shoulders, as if to ground her in case she would recoil upon hearing the news and jump off the open windows. The pervious shyness of having his bare chest in such close proximity was veiled by the uncertainty their future held. “You see, lady, I thought you were a witch and you would get us out of the pinch, so, so I well, announced, claimed? No, no, announced, ah-declared! In front of the entire family, oh did I mention that we were royalty? Yes, I said that you will be my wife.”

There was a moment of silence that rained down upon them like piercing swords.

“Are you even allowed to do that?” she questioned, frowning.

“I got hit for it but they—well, I got it to work somehow…” he gulped and removed his hands from her shoulders to scratch his neck.

“There is no way you got the entire royal family involved, dude—”

“—your royal highness,” he corrected.

“—Does it really matter?! WHAT DID YOU EVEN THINK I COULD DO?!”

“WELL, I DO NOT KNOW HOW WITCHES WORK BUT A MEMORY ERASING SPELL WAS MY FIRST CONSIDERATION!”

“oh my,” whispered, holding her head in her hands, “DID YOU NOT, FOR A MOMENT, CONSDIER THE FACT THAT IF I WAS A NIFTY WITCH THEN WHY WAS I IN A PICKLE IN THE FIRST PLACE?! WOULDN’T I HAVE SAVED MYSELF.”

The shouting forced her into a violent coughing fit.

He paced across the room and fetched her a glass of water from the bedside table. While she sat and drank the water, crouched onto the floor, beside her feet and mumbled like a dejected child, “Wow, I really did not think this through.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” she snapped, voice hoarse again.

“It’s Arizel, that’s my name.”

“Mine’s Runa.”

“What now?” he looked up and asked.

She shrugged before saying, “Thank you though, you did save the world and your family by saving me. It was a good decision so I hope you don’t—”

“You’re doing it again,” he snapped, frowning.

“Doing what?!” she all but cried.

“This enigmatic old wise witch woman thing,” he snapped.

She rolled her eyes at that, realising that she was, indeed to be partially blamed for this blunder.

“What now?” he asked again, eyes narrowed at her.

From her height, she could see the bruises on his back. They seemed deep and letting them remain open and untreated for too long would encourage all sorts of infection. She shrugged again, “I don’t know…let’s get you fixed first,” she sighed.

“You cannot fix it,” he sighed.

“Why?”

“They’re poisoned blades. I already feel my head growing foggy.”

“WHAT THE FUCK?! WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU SITTING ON THE FLOOR, BEING SO CHILL ABOUT IT, YOU MADMAN?!”

He laughed at that.

“At first, I was hoping you would save me – you know? I sort of wagered my survival against these so that they would let you marry me. Dumb idea, is it not? It seemed brilliant then. Do not worry though, m’lady, I was being poisoned way before this, I am quite resilient…maybe I will make it. Don’t miss me too much though.”

Though, she knew, he wouldn’t make it.