Private Tales Be Here Now

[Empyrean]

Her mind was scattered.

It can't be helped, Raea thought. Cold winter air burned in her lungs. Her fingers were cold to the touch but Rysorian's blade stayed with her. It was as if it had become a vice, something to anchor her to reality. She had always been attacked by monsters in a way that if she had told anyone, they would have laughed at her--or reported her for lunacy. Never, ever could she recall being attacked in broad daylight in a public, enclosed setting.

It left her restless, wary, alert--and if she let go of that blade, her safety was forfeited. Of course, Raea knew that wasn't the reality of things, but in a world that was making less and less sense--it was the most sensible thing to her. Yet, it wasn't that Rysorian's blade saved her life--because in truth, Raea had very little skill in martial arts. She hit her marks, if she really tried. But she was sloppy and it nearly killed her. No, she had been pushed--pushed to a point that sloppy or not, she had to survive. Every morning she tried to learn something. Tried to handle it better. It was a man's blade, and she had her child-like hands, dainty and slender. She knew that if she held it a certain way, it felt just okay in her hands, but she lacked practice.

Every morning she woke, more restless, frustrated since that night--determined to try harder and do better. Stray memories came to her sometimes, when she was a little girl who spied on soldiers during their skirmishes and spars. Her father had caught her and allowed her to observe. She watched and she learned--she was quick like that, he realized of his daughter. But that was so long ago, and the echoes of that other life barely reached her as she tried--tried so hard to think back to her training and what she had learned, frustrated it had been forgotten. It was marred by living on an off the streets, of scrapping like a wild woman to get by.

Even morning her lungs burned with cold air, and her arms ached and her fingers were heavy and clumsy as she tried to find the balance--the rhythm of weapons. She missed her mark countless times, and her frustration grew--so much so that she sometimes doubled her efforts to train--if one could call it that. If she asked for help, payment was asked--or she was laughed at. Or criticized and told to go home and stop making trouble. In her mind, she knew she should stop--the wrong flourish of the wrist--too much or too little pressure, the wrong swing--she could seriously injure herself.

But she was a proud and stubborn runt.

After her thirteenth botched attempt to throw a knife at a tree, she let out a shrill grown of exasperation and dropped to sit on a fallen tree. No, no--that wasn't right either. She immediately stood and paced around, collecting the miscellaneous knives. All of them different, but it was all she could find--mostly them poorly made--brittled and chipped, too small, too big, too dull, too imperfect. Rysorian's blade she rarely parted from, but she needed more practice and he would kill her if she ruined his. Raea collected them into a small pile and groaned, regretting her decision to even want to learn to better defend herself.

"Again."

Ganzaya was perched on the log, observant--but even she could see there was a hint of amusement and--dare she think it--empathy there. For years his lack of answers to her questions drove a wedge between them, but he always came back to her and she gave up prying answers from him. There was always something there, but he never allowed her to near it--and she suspected it was the truth. Though no one saw him but herself, his words were for her and her alone. He had learned to be expressive with his eyes, and she had learned to read them, sometimes. There are secrets there, but she was--and is-- too stupid to run away from him.

There in the cold and darkness of the tavern, where true terror blossomed and exploded around them as the monster began to attack, she had cast a light--and from it, shadows were born. Savage and vicious, these dark machinations attacked and tore the creature asunder--and she had been there, clashingly wildly, unthinking. Stabbing and screaming. Afraid, always afraid. Feeling less and less human with every erroneous swing.

Every day she understood herself less and less. Questioned more and more. Wondered and pondered, and felt a deep emptiness widening to swallow her whole. A nagging feeling that it was all a lie, that her entire life was never what she thought it was.

Sometimes she hoped it was a terrible dream. There was no end to the lonesome feeling, a sensation of being misplaced. Raea was not good at one thing or another. She had no calling, no ambition. No sense to marry or engage in politics or fight in wars. She had no true skill, nothing to offer except maybes. Sure, she could talk to people--and people listened. They could never decide if they liked her or felt unsettled by her.

Raea kicked the pile of dagger and knives with an aggravated huff. The sense of uselessness was sometimes too much to bear. Garrod and Rysorian were accomplished swordsmen. Even Cassandra was a far superior and formidable woman. Feeling a spark of rage at her own shortcomings, she bent to snatch up a dagger and flung it at the nearest tree. It glanced off with a clumsy clang and for a moment, Raea truly thought she might set the whole forest on fire. She could feel Ganzaya on the verge of encouraging her to try again, but her patience was thin and she banished him, leaving her alone as the grey morning crept along and the early part of the day began.

"One of the damned knives is going to stick before the day is over with..." She muttered darkly under her breath.

Rysorian Kadje

 

[Rysorian Kadje]

Washing the blood from his hands in the bubbling stream, Rysorian considered, as he always did, his life choices. None of them were good, and a painful, slow death seemed a swell alternative. Yet here he was, and he had to deal with it. It and the runt he had taken under his maimed wing.

Everything should have been different. Rich with verdant greens and earthen browns, occasionally dotted with the bright colors of wildflowers, these scenic woods should have been perfectly peaceful. Birds trilled in their sweet voices, and game was rich too – deer and rabbits and other fauna were a common sight. As the sun rose, beams of light radiated a soothing warmth. But the feeling of tranquility was lost on him, as it would have been to many others, as he watched the blood flow away to dissolve downstream.

Not far away, he could hear Raea… practicing, loathe as he was to call it that. It had been days now since he had begun teaching her, and she showed little progress. The hopeless runt was despairingly inept to begin with, and many times he wondered if she would ever learn. But this was a responsibility he had committed to, and as much as he wanted to leave her to die, he stuck with it.

He stood up, wiped his hands dry on his tunic and turned to return to the small clearing she had claimed as her training grounds. He looked at the collection of knives and daggers heaped upon the forest floor, then at the dagger that smacked uselessly against a tree and feel forlorn to the earth. He rolled his eyes. Fucking amateur.

“A year will be over and you’re not going to stick anything if you keep throwing like that,” he sneered at the weakling. He walked to the fallen knife and lifted it, turning it over in his hands. The blade was still sharp – its former owner had taken good care of it – and the handle was well suited for a smaller hand. The only scar was the bruised pommel adorned with a blue glass jewel, now cracked from the clumsy attempt from Raea the Runt.

He turned, pointing the weapon at her. “A knife isn’t a ball, so quit it.” He stalked over to where she stood and made to face the abused tree. He spaced his feet apart to stand sideways. He sighted his intended mark and flipped the knife in his hand to hold it, almost delicately, by the blade. Then with a quick, smooth, fierce motion, threw the dagger. It cut through the air, spinning viciously, and slammed into the trunk, the blade sinking deep into the wood. Perfect.

“How many times did I tell you to throw by the blade, not the goddamn handle?” he snapped at Raea. “Stand sideways, lock your wrist, and throw. Simple, but you don’t seem to get it.” He stopped, considering. Was she stupid? Simple-minded, perhaps? Possibly.

He picked up another knife. Also sharp, well-kept, though its fundamental shape was different. It looked like a single-edged hunting knife, compared to the cross-shaped dagger from before. He looked at Raea, stood facing the tall oak and, holding the knife by the handle, tossed it with a flick of the wrist. It was clumsy, terribly done, and the knife smacked against the bark handle first and fell.

“That’s what you look like,” he said bitterly. “A fool. I’m starting to think I can’t teach you anything.” He spun to glare at her and stepped toward her. One, then two, now three steps, backing her up against another tree,

“Don’t worry,” he said, his voice quiet and dripping poison. “You’ll get better, because you’re going to start paying attention. Aren’t you?”

He smacked a hand against the tree behind her, his green eyes locking on hers. The hate, the scorn, flashed in them, bright and furious. “Right, girl?”

 

[Empyrean]

His disdain was a pressure against her temples and sinuses. Her hands itched uncomfortably, writhing with the ethereal power of her Empathy.

Every scornful remark, and she flinched. Every biting retort, she cringed. For every insult, she felt any semblance of a shield chipping away, leaving her exposed and vulnerable—but also angry. She was angry at the callousness. Resentful, perhaps of how Rysorian treated her like a child.

She wasn’t a child. She didn’t need to be scolded like one!

I’m not a child.
I’m not a child.

Her teeth clenched and Raea thought she might be on the verge of tears, the way her vision wavered. She recoiled, flinching violently as he loomed over her, hand to the tree—flinching as if he might hit her.

She was tired, sore and angry and—she was so many things, too much at once. And then she did cry. She felt them hot and seeping. Rysorian's blades had been armor for her, but he viscerally took that safety from her by highlighting every blasted flaw he could find—as if he enjoyed it, even!

She had screamed that night and many nights before.
Stabbing and screaming. Afraid, always afraid.
Always afraid.

Afraid to be less than nothing.
Afraid to lose her humanity.
Always afraid​

“My name!” She thrust the palms of her hands to Rysorian's chest—and probably uselessly so because they were shaking—from fear or exhaustion she couldn’t be certain anymore. “Is Raea!” Her voice rose several octaves, as if she were on the verge of hysteria—that she might scream it because the whole world forgot her and her family. As if whatever sought to wipe them all from existence had somehow succeeded. In that moment, she felt empty, alone and useless—always useless.

For the most unbearable fraction of a second, questioned why she let that damned creature die.

Raea stumbled away from him until her back was pressed to the tree again, quickly wiping the few tears that did escape, smearing her face with dirt and disappointment. Her breathing was hitched and shaky—her head swimming from the stifling feeling of his palpable emotions smothering her.

“My name is Raea.” She sneered defiantly, “And you will not treat me like the slave you used to be that can just be bullied any way you want me to be!” Now she was yelling at him, the full weight of his own negative feelings reflecting back at him. She instantly regretted the words that flew out of her mouth, yet she refused to back down.

She let the insult hang in the air as she regained her composure, which threatened to break again.

“I am doing,"
Breathe
"The best,"
Breathe, Rae
"That I can...”
Deep, deep breaths...

She had to remind herself to slow her breathing down. Her fingers couldn’t decide if they ached or tingled. Her whole upper body was overworked and underutilized. Raea knew she wanted to be stronger. She knew it wasn’t perfect! But she refused to be treated like some simple-minded fool.

“...I’m not like you and Garrod. I’m not! And I probably never will be! YOU THINK I DON'T KNOW THAT?! I know it better than anyone!” The more she wanted to convey her thoughts, the louder she screamed at him and the more passionate she felt. It felt good to have the visceral reaction. Raea felt as though, for a moment—for a split second—she was acknowledged—maybe even validated.

“But you will NOT BULLY ME!”

 

[Rysorian Kadje]

What did she expect?

Her wimpy shove against his chest did little. It caused him to take a small step back, but nothing else. When tears began to fall from her eyes, he merely watched with a flat stare, no emotion showing from his own icy green. For a moment, he wondered if she was garnering for sympathy. He’d seen that many times. Scornful, predictable manipulation of the useless heart.

Then she began to scream. Past her tears and hurt, she shouted at him, demanding respect and at least some ounce of understanding that she could never be what she thought he wanted her to be. When she was done, the silence that fell was suffocating and filled with malevolence. Rysorian’s eyes were trained on her, a frosty gaze that could have cowed anyone. These were the eyes of a killer.

Then he laughed.

He tossed his head back, laughing. A cruel sound. It lasted for only a few seconds before dying down to a soft chuckle.

“Good,” he said in a satisfied tone. “Finally, you’re learning.”

Spinning around, he walked to the tree with the two knives buried in its trunk. Puling them free took some work, but he managed. He leaned back against the abused tree, turning the weapons in his hands, watching the girl under hooded eyes. He waited until her tears were dried and gone, and then a bit longer. It was a while before he finally spoke.

“Contrary to what you’re obviously thinking, I don’t expect you to be like me. And as for Garrod, he’s a bloodthirsty brute. Wouldn’t it be shame if you turned out like that beast,” he commented flatly.

More silence. Then,

“It’s not so much trying,” he said, sounding thoughtful. “It’s the feeling.” He straightened , turned to her, and tossed one of the knives in the pile she had gathered. Then he stalked toward her with his unusual grace, drawing close to her.

His free hand shot out and seized her by the throat.

His grip was tight, just enough to make it a struggle to breathe as he pulled her to him. His words were a snarl, filled with hate, as vicious as a coliseum lion. “If you ever mention my past again, my next feast will be your stringy flesh.”

He let her go, but he wasn’t done. He gripped her hand, shoved the knife into it and tightened her fingers over the blade, the way it was supposed to be held before thrown.

“Try it again. Look at that tree.” His voice was soft, almost gentle. “Pretend it’s everything you hate. Pretend it’s everything that ever taunted you in your life.

“No more fear. No more running. Kill it, Raea.” He smiled. “Pretend it’s me. Kill me.”

 

[Empyrean]

Fear is a wondrous, terrible feeling.

An obstacle, a hurdle, a stone in the pit of the stomach. It was adrenaline and anxiety and instinct. When Rysorian grabbed her throat, Raea dragged in a ragged breath but she did not move. Couldn't move! Every instinct in her body said no--no. No matter what, don't move. If you struggle, his strength would snap her neck. It was the same helpless, terrible feeling she felt when the attacks began.

He threatened her and let her go in almost the same breathe and Raea collapsed against the tree. Her lips trembled and her hands shook--even as he grabbed it--and Raea recoiled when he did--but he snatched her dainty hand and forced the blade into it. He was all contempt and venom now. Was there really a point anymore? Even Rysorian was beginning to give up--but not yet. No. When he smiled and asked her to pretend it was him--she felt rage that was neatly hidden deep in her bones seep and boil, threatening to come to the surface.

Raea swallowed a sob that was sputtering in her throat and threatening to come out again.
Think it was him? Think it was him?!

She couldn't place the rage. It was not a rage that was bared towards Rysorian so much as triggered by him. No, she didn't want to kill him--she didn't want to kill anyone! But she had been forced to--and not even that night, but many nights before it. This time had been different, this time others were involved. She was killing monsters she had never seen before and not even Ganzaya could help her.

She wasn't like Ryosorian--she didn't hate humanity or life or whatever chip on his shoulder he had that made him so toxic and poisonous. No. She hated that her family and way of life was taken from her. Her sob morphed into an angry, shrill scream at Rysorian. Something--anything to let that anxiety and fear out! Anything at all! Surely, Raea thought, she looked half mad doing it.

But the sob never came--and perhaps not again for some time would it. She stepped to the towards the tree with purpose, quickly closing the span. She was sneering, not seeing him as he suggested she do--no. She saw--something else. Something dark and sinister. Something that plagued her since her childhood. Something terrible and awful that followed her, preying on her. It had no face, but she imagined a great evil.

Raea's body moved faster than her mind was willing to follow. There was something familiar in the way it happened, the way she slid into a squared stance--her shoulders aligned. She allowed no break in her stance or the momentum as she stepped. Gripping the blade much like one might a hammer, she let the heaviness of the it guide her as it came back by her ear and catapulted out of her grip at the zenith like he had taught her.

But Raea could already tell that she was a touch too far--still, it struck the tree--lower in the trunk than she wanted it to--it embedded itself, but with not as much momentum to lodge itself deeply, it stuck out awkwardly.

But it stuck.

If there were tears, Raea quickly wiped them away, feeling too much contempt to celebrate. Still, there was a jolt of excitement in her heart and she turned to look back at Rysorian expectantly.

 

[Rysorian Kadje]

God damn it, it looked like she was going to cry again. It sounded like it; Rysorian’s sharp sense of hearing caught the faint but audible tremor in her throat, the erratic breathing, and very nearly the uneven rhythm of her heart. All signs of a cracked composure – of weakness. This was no would-be warrior he was looking at, but a little girl unworthy of training, unworthy of teaching. Unwillingly, Ryusorian remembered that this was a sight and sound quite familiar. He’d seen this on the grounds of his homeland.

Pathetic.

Then the scream came.

It sounded like a maimed creature, filled with fear, shaded with something akin to furious rage. It was so foreign Rysorian couldn’t begin to name it, and unexpected as it was he blinked, his cold stare narrowing as his body tensed. For a moment he thought she had the gall to attack him, something he could understand. Instead, his eyes followed her as her body moved with sublime purpose and a strange form of grace, her hand sending the knife flying into the tree.

Smack

It wasn’t a perfect throw. The knife’s blade still glimmered, not nearly as deep as it should have been. It was crooked too, not so straight. He could do better. One eyebrow cocked as she turned toward him, her eyes glittering and just a little bit… hopeful, perhaps? Rysorian almost didn’t see it, still looking at the knife, that weird thoughtful look again in his eyes. Okay, it wasn’t perfect. But under the right circumstances, it was enough to kill someone.

If they weren’t wearing any armor and standing perfectly still. But fuck, you couldn’t ask for too much, right?

“Your aim needs work, and so does your force,” he said coldly. He walked over to the tree, pulling the knife free. He examined it closely. The blade had already begun to dull. He tossed it into the nearby pile of scavenged weaponry, where it landed with the sound of clattering glass and broken bones. He looked at Raea then, his eyes emotionless despite the words that followed.

“Good start though. We’ll work on moving targets soon.”

He paused.

That scream. So full of fear and fury. Aimed at him? No, those wild eyes weren’t looking at him. Why, it was like…

“That’s enough for today. But know this. You’re not going to get better if you don’t. Stop. Being. SCARED!” His voice rose into a scream.

“Got family? They’re dead. Forget them!

“Got friends? They’re dead. Forget them!

“Hopes? Dreams? Wishes? Stupid! Forget those too!

“You want to fight back? I’ll turn you into a soldier. But I don’t teach fear and trembling, Raea!”

 

[Empyrean]

His scream startled her. Every retort made her flinch, as if she were slapped in the face.

Forget them?

Her family? Her friends? Why? Why should she? Why should his life of pain keep her from feeling? The remorse, the agony? Why forget it?

No, she wanted to live off of it. She wanted it branded on her heart for the rest of her days. Her breathing hitched, as if she might hurl an insult at him, but Raea reigned in the fiery temper.

"Do not inflict your loss on me. I will learn, I will learn all that I can. But I will never stop feeling. I will never stop."

Storming past him, she busied herself with collecting the rest of the blades. Many of them she supposed could be reused. Just as well. Rysorian may be done for the day--but she was not. She would not stop.

"I'm going to keep practicing. Stay, or don't. I don't care." Raea began to work on piles, sorting blades by if they were bent, chipped, or were still straight enough to throw again. She rubbed and kneaded her tired hands with nervous fervor, easing cramps and feeling the onset of callouses.

"I survived a mass murder. Taken on monsters not from this world. Survived scorn and prejudice." She selected a knife, her once tremulous voice calmer now. "A lot for a young woman my age. I'm not here to compare your life to mine, so don't thrust your loss on me." Gritting her teeth, Raea checked her stance before throwing the first blade. It was not as good as her first, embedding into the tree, but falling out shortly after.

"You were a slave who was forced to give things up. Fine. That was the life you lived and now you're free of it. I'm not scared." And it was true--she wasn't scared. Not in the way she suspected he thought she might be.

"My fears comes from never learning the truth. Knowing something deep in your bones."
Another blade thrown. Better--this one didn't fall out.
"Knowing a truth and never receiving confirmation of answers. Of being brushed off, swept--"
A third blade launched, "--under the rug." It was flung too wide and missed the tree.

"I won't stop." Raea said again--as if it were a mantra to live by. Now that she was on a path, she couldn't stop. It felt like ice in her veins, as if some part of her were growing colder, more detached. Focused.

"You can stop. Stop feeling. Stop hoping. Stop dreaming--stop it all, if you must." Raea turned to glance at Rysorian, her face unreadable before turning to focusing on her training, "But I won't. Not now. Not ever." She flung the knife again, and it felt right in the way it left her hand.

It whistled through the air and embedded itself in the trunk.

 

[Rysorian Kadje]

For a split second, the unthinkable flashed through Rysorian’s mind. It touched on all his senses, bringing to life for just one instant the grisly death of this stupid girl. His claws digging into her slender shoulders, his teeth slicing into her neck as sweet, salty blood filled his mouth. The fear and pain all humans shared stark in her eyes. Her scream that all humans screamed. The smell of panic and terror he knew so well. For a moment, spanning less than a length of a hair, he experienced it all. Murder.

After all, hadn’t he promised it, if she ever mentioned that past again? His eyes followed her with cold hatred…

Then, it was gone, leaving in its place disgust. Disgust at himself, for losing so much control.

Rysorian watched Raea as the latter resumed her training, performing far better than she had just minutes – even seconds – before. Even the knife that flew wide past the tree held the vicious savagery he was looking for. But more than that, there was determination. In her stance, in her voice, in every word spoken and movement taken. All the fear was gone from her, and Rysorian finally caught a glimpse of a woman he could teach.

The last knife left her hand. It slammed into the trunk, true and straight and deadly. Rysorian didn’t need to check it for accuracy. It was perfect.

“Good,” he said, almost sounding like a nice instructor. He retrieved the knife from the tree, turning the battered weapon over in his hands as he moved close to Raea. When he spoke, his voice was nonchalant, almost kind as he spun the knife over his hand and knuckles.

“Sometimes you won’t have time to do a full overhand throw.” Sunlight flickered and danced over the blade as he talked. “So you need to master the underhand throw too. After that, we’ll work on the sidearm. But first, you need to stick every throw now.

“Your stance is off,” he continued, one hand rising to tilt one shoulder down. “Remember, use your fingers as guides.” He moved to stand behind her and placed the knife in her hand and moved her body with an astonishingly gentle touch. Although when the blade left their hands in the guided underhand toss, it was anything but gentle.

“Like that. Now try.”

He turned and walked a few paces away before sitting against another tree, lounging against the bark in the manner of a lazy cat. He watched her for a time before speaking again,

“A mass murder,” he repeated, his voice carefully indifferent. “Was your family slaughtered too?”

 

[Empyrean]

"Yes." Was all Raea said in reply at first. It didn't come immediately--because she was focused. It wasn't a firm Yes. It was a Yes that held a lot of questions. Who? When? Why? How? No matter where she turned, she felt there were forces in play that were determined to sweep it under the rug. It was as if she didn't matter, or that she didn't exist--and perhaps she didn't. Not in the traditional sense, anyway.

She was trying to think about how Rysorian had just demonstrated the underhanded toss. She felt the tension at the last moment of release as she replicated the move. It had heart, but not quite what was hoped for. Raea was displeased, even though her mark was struck.

"In the underbelly of the city they called it the Red Night. They weren't just killed...they were staged. Like..." Pursing her lips, Raea struggled to find the right way to explain such grotesqueries. Instead, she did something worse.

She reached over and touched his hand.

Rysorian's mind would tell him he could smell it first. The blood--it was cold now, but it had been warm and spilling. The bodies had been placed so that the blood would drain from them so that they might be preserved in a way. All of them stripped of their clothing and staged in what would otherwise be silly poses if not for the horror of it. They dangled in some places from the chandeliers. Straddled stair banners, on the chamber pots. All of them with pale, stricken looks of horror or morbid emptiness.

Some of them tried to fight.
None of them died peacefully.
He would feel her terror creeping along his hand like an icy chill.

Raea let him go, the memory fading with her. Her stomach was gurgling anxiously in distress.

"No one wants a strange child with strange eyes who survived a deadly incident." She commented with a façade of nonchalance--but there was bitterness there underneath it all. Her next two knife throws were better, her third lacked the power of the first two. The more she focused on Rysorian's demonstration, the more she could feel it coming into play. She even caught her stance slacking and recorrected herself.

"I'm a self taught healer but no one will formally teach me. That and...whatever I can do. I don't fully understand it. I couldn't find a proper job. I just want to be able to protect myself. I don't know why my family. I don't know what it is. Why it's..." Raea didn't want to say following her. It didn't feel that way. "...why me." She said instead.

"What happened the other night...I botched everything. I killed that man--got him killed, anyway." Raea handled the knife with a restless energy, and hissed when she accidentally cast the rising sun of the day in her eyes. "It's always random. Never at a certain time. A certain place, a certain anything. I would understand if none of you wanted to be subjected to that. I...would understand if you all went your merry way."

Garrod seemed to have no trouble with trouble and still happily availed himself to her company and it was a pleasant experience. He was far more extroverted and aware of his surroundings than Raea would ever be. Raea feared for the safety of others, and even though Cassandra had parted ways, she worried about the other two.

"Anyway. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for losing my temper. I'm sorry for being a mess. It's--I'm working on it." She admitted bitterly--reluctantly, even. Raea knew she was not an easy person to be around. Trust was difficult, reliability was another thing entirely. She was constantly trying to evolve and adapt. Sometimes her name was not her name, and her story was not her story. She had a way of a silver tongue when it mattered, at least. After upsetting him so badly, the very least she could do was apologize.

She flung another knife with the underhanded toss--and this time it felt right.

 

[Rysorian Kadje]

Their first meeting and Raea’s rare power of Empathy had not soon left Rysorian’s memory, nor did it then. He still resented her forced entry into his mind, into his guarded past. Having been careful before to not to let their flesh touch once more, the last thing Rysorian expected was Raea reaching out to slide her fingers over his hand. He yanked back, but not before the massacre shattered every other conceivable thought away.

The Red Night. He had heard the term, here and there when he walked among the humans. Never in detail, though. Only in murmured whispers and vague references. But he’d sensed the fear, the revulsion each time the words were spoken. He wondered then what could cause such terror to flitter among even hardened soldiers and seasoned warriors. Now, as stripped bodies and posed corpses flashed over his mind’s eye, he knew.

But even as the scent of blood washed over his senses, it was not her shared memory that caused his teeth to slide back in a silent snarl. It was not the sight of this sea of crimson or even the feeling of absolute horror. No, that came from another memory entirely. His own. Awakened by hers and frighteningly similar, his personal Red Night sent tension throughout every tendon and muscle in his body. The only real difference was, his people’s slaughter was not known among anyone. It never would be.

Except for him.

Slowly the snarl and the low growl that began to rumble deep in his throat faded. What use was it now?

Past hooded eyes, he watched as Raea practiced and talked, her movements and aim much better than they had been only minutes before. There was still something missing, something wrong, but he couldn’t tell what, so he assumed it wasn’t that important. She was doing almost everything else right, at least.

He didn’t understand too much of what she said. They were ambiguous statements – she spoke of an ability, some strange talent she didn’t elaborate on. Something that could kill, anywhere and anytime, without reason. He didn’t know of any such thing, and wondered what such a wonderful ability could be, and if he could obtain it himself. It might be something to look into.

Unlike Raea, he didn’t worry nor care about their two erstwhile partners. Garrod was useful, but brutish and detestable. Cassandra was just a freak. Neither possessed the perfect grace or deadly calm Rysorian respected. Raea didn’t either, but within her he saw improvement. Possibility. Potential the others had already overshot, never reached, and now completely lacked.

What he said next in an irritated sigh was odd, however.

“I’m done teaching for today, but I’ll give you one more lesson. Don’t apologize. You don’t owe anyone anything. And if you think of yourself as a mess now, you’ll always be a mess. So stop it.”

He stood up and stretched. “I heard your stomach. Are you hungry?”

 

[Empyrean]

Raea unceremoniously dropped the last blade she had in her hand.

She couldn't deny they ached--and perhaps they'd even callous in time. She flexed and curled her fingers, clenching and unclenching. She'd perhaps have to ice her wrists later if she couldn't find another healer. Skilled that she was, Raea had once found out the hard way that she couldn't heal herself. Her body thought it was an attack and made her terribly sick.

For three days she had a fever, dreaming terrible things from terrible memories. It felt as though she had poison in her veins and Raea swore after that she would never try to heal herself again.

"Always." She replied when Rysorian asked, still meticulously observing the hands. They were dainty and slender, but roughened from street living. Her father would be terribly disappointed that she wasn't pursing more lady-like things such as weaving or something else terribly boring she would have never been interested in. Raea liked books, knowledge and while it was proper and common for ladies to be educated to an extent, she was interested in histories, wars and the mistakes of mankind--not poetry and flowery songs of flowery princes.

"I need every spare coin I have...so I can make every move towards Roen count. Taking on odd jobs, I don't mind doing it. I just...hope I don't lose him. If I have to skip a meal, so be it." She was surprised by her own bitterness, but the underlying current of determination carried it with some measure of conviction.

"Oh don't give me that look." She sighed, waving Rysorian off, "I know. 'Take care of yourself!' I've been doing that my whole life so far. What about you? What are your plans?" Though they had made them, people change--circumstances change. She couldn't expect people to keep their word.
She couldn't put her faith in walls. Walls only crush a person when they fall.

 

[Rysorian Kadje]

Gods, but she was annoying. Unable to keep from rolling his icy green eyes, Rysorian’s disdain at her words, particularly those about caring for herself her entire life, was obvious. Even so, he made a valiant attempt to say nothing to the contrary. Arguments with the stubborn and ignorant were useless, and often led only to violence and pain of some kind or another. Simply put, he just wasn’t in the mood for that.

“What are your plans?”

“For dinner or my future?” he returned, lifting an eyebrow. He stretched again, standing as he flexed his arms and the muscles in his back. He unbuckled the bandolier holding his hunting knife to his lean body and laid it against the tree, patting it like a beloved pet before turning to back to Raea. He had to remind himself that she was only stupid as a result of her youth and therefore had to be excused.

“I said I would train you to be better than you are. Unlike most humans, I take a promise seriously. Also, this pursuit of Roen sounds profitable and therefore beneficial for me.” Rysorian considered for a moment. Anyone who could create something like the Red Night deserved to die anyway, but ethics, heroism, and morals meant little these days, and Raea didn’t need to know more than necessary.

“In any case, I don’t have much of a future anyway,” he said. He paused, then moved on. “You’re not skipping meals. What do you think happens to your body when you don’t eat properly? He scowled. “First your stomach shrinks, then the rest of your body shrivels. Do you think a hand weakened from hunger can throw a knife?” He scoffed. He flexed his hands, testing the fingers in their strength and dexterity. He had already eaten earlier, but the rabbit was lean, not too filling, and a small catch.

He inhaled slowly, tasting the air. The area was largely undisturbed by the touch of man, and rich with game. The sound of of birds echoed in the thicker forested land, a peaceful sign. A good sign for him and an omen for the prey he sought.

“We’re going hunting,” he said flatly. “I will flush a deer and you will kill it. If you fail, I will find another. And we’ll keep trying until you succeed.”

He strode of into the trees, quickly vanishing. Raea would not see him again until, deep in the forest, a deer dashed in front of her, eyes wild with fright.

 

[Empyrean]

“To be honest, I don’t know how helpful or beneficial any of this will be. Neither you nor Garrod are beholden to my struggles. I just…it’s nice to be around others again. To feel human again.” For a moment, Raea’s emotions betrayed her stalwart demeanor. The last words were weird to say, to hear fly out of her mouth, even as emotional as she was.

Though his stern notion of taking care of herself was heard, she chose to ignore it, “You say you have no future like you’re not in charge of the life ahead of you. We all have choices, roads–paths if not roads, direction requires choice. You have a choice to build the future you want?” Raea paused to pick up a blade. She followed Rysorian.

He was not unseemly. No, he was actually rather easy on the eye–if not ruggedly so. Garrod was a wolfish kind of handsome, the sort that melded intelligence, humor and experience that were far more attractive than his looks. She understood what Rysorian had been in a past life, that he was still not as he appeared. He was lean and muscled–power rippled through his movement–as though he himself were a predator. It was hard to believe such a man had ever been a slave at all. But then, Raea thought, perhaps that is how he came to be what he is now?

She opened her mouth to protest the idea of hunting–she had no bow and arrow. Raea glanced back at his bandolier that held his knife, perched against the tree they had left behind so far away and wondering why she hadn’t brought anything with it. Was he expecting her to kill it with her bare hands?! Why hadn’t she thought to bring one of his blades with her and even if she had–would it be enough?
And deer?! She’d never be able to catch one let alone kill it. They were too agile. Before she could say another word he had vanished in the trees and Raea and left feeling anxious and distressed. “C-couldn’t you at least show me first?!” She cried out after him.

She was answered with silence.

And then there came a crashing sound–and she felt her heart lurch in her throat. A deer came out, wild and terrified–Raea was stifled by the fear and desire to flee–so much so it dizzied and startled her and she gave an awkward shriek, recoiling and falling back on the ground.
The deer stumbled and rolled, but recovered much faster than Raea and lept–whether gracefully or ungracefully she couldn’t discern–away from her and Rysorian to some manner of safety.

Fists coiled she slammed them into the ground–regretting the cold earth despite the soft grass and sticks and underbrush, “I WASN’T READY! If this is your SPECIAL way of torturing me I am MOST DISPLEASED!” She screamed into the woods.

 

[Rysorian Kadje]

For a long moment, the only voice that answered Raea was her own. Hollow, furious echoes that resounded through the trees, gradually fading into silence that seemed at once as angry and judgmental as Rysorian himself. The silence stretched and grew oppressive until it seemed as if Raea’s grudging tutor had taken full leave, and a tentative chirping of wild birds broke the ominous stillness.

Somewhere far away, the crackling of wood and leaves paired with the cracking of sticks and rolling rocks interrupted the birds’ songs. A strange scream broke through the air, a shrill screech that came to an abrupt halt. The sound of thumping and crashing sounded before that too stopped. Again silence descended, and a few frightening minutes passed, with the fores still and quiet. Then, at last, to Raea’s left the trees parted, and great beast emerged.

It was massive, nearly the size of a young lion – and beautiful, in a wild, threatening way. Glistening white fur with a tint of silver shading covered its form, with black spots and rings scattered over the surface. Muscles, toned and healthy, rippled beneath the thick layer of fur as it moved with an unnerving silence, broken only by the carcass that dragged across the rugged forest floor. Between impressive jaws and ivory teeth it carried a small deer, a young stag that had not been careful enough.

The snow leopard dropped the corpse near Raea before stretching, haunches back and front legs extending outward. Its toes spread, showing off gleaming, pearl-white claws before they retracted. Familiar bright green eyes stared at Raea with an equally familiar disdain. With slow, unassuming steps it approached her. Its pink nose twitched as it sniffed her all over, beginning from head to toe. Whiskers brushed against her skin before it eventually stepped back.

It yawned. Then it turned, and, grasping the deer by one horn, began dragging it back to the camp.

The large cat dropped the deer by the dead fire pit. Raea might have blinked, or perhaps her eyes wavered a little. Either way, it was no longer the snow leopard standing close to her but Rysorian, fully clothed and looking very bored.

“What do you think will happen if you tell your next assailant that you weren’t ready?”

 

[Empyrean]

Stifling, cloistering--these were the sensations she often felt when she was truly, utterly alone.

It was not for lack of anything else; Raea had a family once--a whole House, and on the day they had all been summoned and gathered for an auspicious occasion--what had it been again? The memory was so far out of reach that only the trauma lingered--and so they were all slain.

For a time she hadn't returned to that place, but eventually she did. The land sold to another lord, but in the moments before, Raea had traipsed around, idly brushing the walls and feeling. Then, she could remember the sounds and smells. Boisterous, raucous, it was the day-to-day affairs. She had lingered in the underbelly of Alliria to keep those sounds, smells and sights close to heart--though it'd never be the same.

But she often found that in the fleeting moments she was--not lonely, but lonesome--it suffocated. It was a stark reminder there was no one in this world that could be trusted. The air was sharp and biting in her lungs, hitched in panic. There was nothing--absolutely nothing. Nothing at all but the woods that seemed alive--and though she knew the world was more than it appeared in many aspects, the idea of being swallowed whole in the living wilderness left her stricken.

Raea paced, walking some several lengths before again. Sometimes she paused, hands cupped to hear ears. She listened, and there was only the woods and the slow lazy sigh of the wind through the trees, shaking the boughs and spilling secrets. There was scarely a chattering of creatures. Raea thought she could feel the very earth churning beneath her light-footed steps, hear the trunks of the trees groaning and the rivulets of water coursing through its pulpy innards like veins in a body.

Then the terrible sound came, and Raea's viscerally jerked around, eyes wide and bewildered. She made a sound that surely betrayed her as a coward--though she wouldn't admit it outloud. It sounded like death, and though the shadows of the trees cast by the canopy of the woods seemed to quiver and come alive--she was admittedly too frightened to properly react.

She saw a creatures the likes of which she had never seen before. It was feline in nature, but certainly no feline she had ever seen in her home. Raea knew of great beasts but only in stories--never had she seen something. Muscles rippled with movement and intelligent eyes found her--and it moved with preternatural grace. Raea thought her legs had failed her in that moment--too engrossed, too stunned for words. Her hands trembled so badly that she was certain her whole body vibrated. She felt a sharp sting as her muscles were clenching too tightly to bear. It came, stag--dead and gone--and when it looked at her, she scrambled, stumbling backwards over underbrush and wood rot. Pain shot through her hand as it grazed over the pointed end of a stick.

Still, it came, closer--closer still. Nosing her over--whiskers tickling at her. Her skin rippled with goosebumps and the world spun dizzily as her panicked breathing made it difficult to focus. The stench of death was on its breath.

This is it, she decided.
This is how I die.

In the woods alone, mauled by a wild thing.

And then...it simply left her, stag in tow.

This time Raea did sink to sit, exhaling a ragged breath. She shuddered from the experience, feeling she surely had brushed against Hissut Himself.

And then it was gone, and for several moments, Raea thought she had exhausted herself so much that Rysorian had returned. "I'm delirious," She mumbled quietly, blinking rapidly, "I'm surely losing my edge." But no, she could hear the cool, deadly silkiness of his voice as he questioned her, and she couldn't help but ignore his question for her own, "You-you're a Shape Shifter?!" She cried out incredulously, a queasiness in her stomach as the adrenaline from the encounter finally settled in on her.

"You're a bloody Shape Shifter?!"

Suddenly so much made sense, things she couldn't readily understand before but shifted with a snap into crystal clear clarity. She sucked in air and gasped at the realization, trembling fingers over her lips as she stared at him.

 

[Rysorian Kadje]

For a long moment Rysorian only stared at Raea, his cool, green eyes filled with contempt and the carefully controlled anger that was ever present in his mind. What was she so shocked about? He glared down at where she sat, gasping a the patently obvious, acting like he had grown a second head. It irritated him to no end even as he slowly began to understand her reaction. She had seen a part of his past not too long ago, back at the tavern, her touch transmitting confused thoughts and muddled feelings that neither of them could fully translate. Now that she knew what he was, some of it was made clearer.

“I’m tired of this,” Rysorian suddenly said. He glowered at her, his lips drawing back over his teeth like he predator he called his second form. “Are you that surprised? Are you interested, Raea? Can I clear some things up for you, girl? Well? Fuck you!”

He grabbed her arm, heaving her up.

The memories came flooding back.

~

Rysorian watched in terror as the arrows, spears, and javelins came blasting out of the shadows. The streaks of silver and metallic grey plunged into fur and flesh, shattering bone and muscle, skewering tendons and splitting arteries. Blood scattered in the air, mingling with the screams and yowls of pain of dying creatures.

When all the snow leopards were dead, some still in human form, the hunters approached. They unsheathed their knives and began skinning them all, gloating and boasting about the size of the animals they had killed, the brilliant beautiful lushness of the shining fur, the courageousness of their kills.

“Ho! Look here! A cub!”

Bloodstained hands grabbed him. Fingers drew over his body, searching, touching in the most indecent places. He screamed.

“A boy!”

~

“Dance, fucker! Dance!”

Rysorian gasped, tears sliding from his eyes as he struggled to keep his steps in time with the music. The slavers laughed and jeered as he stumbled, their cups of strong spirits clattering together as they toasted each other, praising their good fortune.

Finally, Rysorian could entertain them no more, or so he thought, as he tripped and fell. A moment of silence descended, and he could feel the eyes staring at him. He had no clothing, not a single rag to cover him, as befitting a slave of his low stature.

They pounced on him, and he screamed.

~

“You’re a worthless piece of shit.”

Rysorian cowered at the feet of his master. He was still shaking, his hips bruised by cruel fingers, his back torn open by dirty nails, his ribs cracked and aching and his thighs streaked with blood.

A burly hand gripped him by the throat, lifting him up. He cried in panic. Not again! Not again.

“I hope you’re ready to please me, kitty.”

“Noooooo!”

~

Rysorian stumbled away from the slaughter, laughing hysterically. The slavers, some still alive, if torn in two, lay bleeding behind him. He changed into his powerful, if lean and starved, snow leopard body. He ran, and kept running, and had run ever since, far away.

He never saw another like him since that day when his entire family and clan had been slain by the hunters, their skinned bodies left to rot under the moon.

~

Rysorian dropped Raea, collapsing to his knees. A heavy snarl issued from his throat as black spots appeared and disappeared down his neck and back as he struggled to control the urge to morph and flee. His eyes found Raea and he hissed.

“You… fucking humans… disgust me. What are you gasping at, girl? What is such a fucking spectacle?! ARE YOU FUCKING LAUGHING AT ME?!”

 

[Empyrean]

Sometimes her Empathetic stasis slid over her skin like oil, slick and fluid—as if she slipped below the surface of water.
Other times it felt like the visceral eruption of ice, biting, painful and difficult to claw out of. Raea’s back arched so sharply that she almost heard it pop, but the dull roar of blood rushing to her head, the thunderous pounding of her heart in her ears, and more than likely a shriek of pain and protest when he suddenly grabbed and drew her to her feet.

There was no accurate way to describe the sensation. Nothing that could aptly put it into words. No songs from the elves nor tales from the dwarves. There was no language, nor any written word. There was only the raw, primal emotion and the vivid memories attached to them.

She had once seen children play with roughly hewn blocks of wood in different shapes, and sometimes children would—as children did—try to fit them in places they didn’t belong and they often went missing. Raea felt wrong and out of place, as if Rysorian was trying to squeeze her into a shape she didn't naturally fit.

Danger, danger​

Danger…

The air around them dropped substantially, and Rysorian could feel the foggy breath of cold as if the season changed to the early fall mornings and evenings. Raea could not discern if she was breathing. If she were dreaming, seeing, feeling—there was no up nor down—nausea threatening to overtake him as he violently thrust her into his memories.

There was horror. There was pain. There was fear. Raea clawed at her own arms, the searing pain of tearing into flesh a distant numbing sensation. She thrashed and screamed like vicious, wild thing—seeing beyond Rysorian—engulfed in all that he had to inundate her with. Her breathing hitched, she choked and sputtered like a hyperventilating animal.

Frost erupted across the ground, the tell-tale signs of ice accumulating in rapid succession threatening to burst up and impale them both.Leave him alone! She wanted to scream, and tears threatened to spill. It was always this way, to vainly try and fight phantom memories, trauma long past yet never truly gone. It was not that she was laughing—but sobbing. Even as he dropped her and Raea collapsed, her tears froze and broke off like delicate, glistening beads. The pain she felt earlier doubled, the realization of her own terrible scratches coming to the forefront of her mind.

Raea felt her hands shaking uncontrollably, from Rysorian’s temper, from his trauma, from her own inflicted wounds—the instinctual attempt to punch through the metaphorical surface of ice as he plunged her into his emotions—and the ice that crawling at the hems of her clothing, along her skin—like slithering vines of lattices that would overtake her if she lay still enough. It was a defense instinct, the be blanketed in ice and hide—hide away.

Danger

Danger…


…just the bliss…​