Open Chronicles Something To Prove

[Smiley of Ragash]

The room was dimly lit with only a few candles flickering low in the chandelier above, practically absorbed by the purples and browns of the room, the gold inlay of the roof weakly flickering back. This room was a parlour initially, distantly attached to Alabyad Palace’s main Ballroom, meant for nobles to gather for their own private chats and dances amidst a bigger party. There was an area cloaked in red meant for a small band to play, a brazier for the nobles to lounge nearby on pillows in case the night got too cold, and to cook meat the servants brought if they so wished.

But tonight, the brazier had not a lump of coal heated and the red area was occupied by someone infinitely grander than a mere musician. Someone who had a keen eye on the person in the middle of the empty parlour.

That person was Smiley. The boy was kneeling in the center of the room, eyes closed and smile calm. His trusty kitchen knife in one hand, the other flat on the ground in front of him. But surrounding the boy, all pointed at him were almost fifty thick, sharpened on both edges, blades of steel. They could have been called swords, if not for the fact they had no handles. Smiley had no clue the reason why they were originally made. Most would have difficulty picking them up. But not The Witch Boy.

The boy tensed as if reacting to an unknown signal and the air in the room shifted. Smiley looked up from his position, eye ruby red and bleeding upward with a magical aura, smile confident. The red magic appeared to streaked out from under him, hitting each blade like a downward flowing stream and the room glowed scarlet with his magic. There was stillness, then tension around Smiley’s eyes as the blades began to shake in unison, the clattering echoing around the room. Then all at the same time, the pointed ends of the blades rose up from the ground, engulfed in red energy. Then the full blades rose into the air in rows like the audiences in an arena. They all quavered in the air for a moment as sweat broke out on Smiley’s brow, grin growing sharper but not faltering. Then the blades moved, all of them twirling in motions around the room. The patterns were symmetrical to each other, blades often coming close but not touching. They danced for their singular audience beautifully, dim light reflecting in their blades.

Smiley was staring determinedly at the symbol above the red dome, sweat rolling down his race and struggling not to breathe with exertion. It was, he hoped, an impressive display meant to impress one not easily swayed. The one-person Smiley wanted the attention of. The only person whose opinion he cared about. The person who helped the boy fine-tune his kinesis. His saviour.

Soon his red eyes turn down to the person sitting below the banner of the God-Emperor, vison often obscured by a red-hued blade. “What do you think my Lady?” Smiley asks breathlessly, as Court Sorcerer Medja of Ragash looked on.

 

[Medja]

Medja watched in silent pride as the blades whirled gracefully about the room. It was not often that the courtier had free time to check in on her youngest protégé, but the shows the boy put on were always a treat to watch. The metal slivers weaved their way through the air like ballroom dancers, an enrapturing show performed only for her.

The Hands of the God-King lolled comfortably atop the lush cushions within the little lounge, observing the display with piercing green eyes. Her face betrayed naught but intense focus upon the movements of the boy as he conducted his recital. She watched the sweat bead upon him, yet he too maintained a level of concentration unbecoming of one his age.

At last, the child who called himself Smiley turned to Medja for her approval. A corner of her mouth upturned momentarily before she answered.
"You continue to improve with each passing day, dear child. I look forward to the day you fully realize your potential..."

Smiley's training was a slow, deliberate process. The sorceress had applied the fundamentals of her own brew of magic in teaching him, prioritizing precision and control first, then potency. Where once he could barely lift a single knife, now he could make an arsenal dance. His talent was undeniable, but there were two qualities Medja valued far more: the boy's singular focus and unyielding loyalty. He was prone to violent outbursts and manic moments, but Medja had given him purpose, directed his murderous tendencies. In time, he would surely be her single best assassin.

"Remember: center your mind. Tighten your focus. Feel the blades as if they are an extension of yourself...then strike." She directed him. Medja had taught him well: competence earned him praise, and Smiley responded exceptionally well to praise.

 

[Smiley of Ragash]

Smiley glowed at his Lady's words, the blades in the air shuddering as if in pleasure. His potential was it? Other's called Smiley's power 'abnormal' or 'aggressive' along with many other negative words. They were possibly also referring to the boy himself. Smiley didn't know, nor did he understand the intent behind their words. All he knew is that the first person who spoke positively about himself and his magic was Lady Medja. It was she who stepped in after The Incident, after Smiley was put in front of many adults and was asked to tell them why he did it and if he was sorry. When the boy answered that he did it because he was angry and that he was not sorry, most seem to react negatively to his understanding. Smiley also had barley understood why he had been set to be executed, just that he very much didn’t like the situation he had been in. But in that dank cell, Smiley wrapped in chains that blocked his precious magic and for once not smiling, came his lady. Like now she spoke of his potential and offered him his freedom. Gave him yummy food, a plush bed, education and fun things to do. Honed his magic. But it wasn’t because she treated him well that Smiley was devoted to his Lady. That was a bonus. No, the moment his Lady saw the boy and smiled and him, he knew she was different. She was powerful with her magic and could stop him in his tracks. People listened to her and respected her, with or without fear. And unlike Smiley, she understood how their heads worked. She helped him understand how people work just by being herself. Ever since they first met Smiley smiled back and hadn’t truly stopped. Lady Medja was irreplaceable in his life. And he was only here because of his ‘potential’.



Smiley refocused at his Lady’s words “Yes Lady Medja.” He chirped, raising his knife like a conductor’s baton. ‘Center myself… feel the blades… an extension of me…’ He thought. The blades stilled for a moment, then swerved faster. The movements were less symmetrical, thus more complicated and harder to control, Smiley’s eye flickered around, and the blades outside his line of vision grew sloppier until two finally hit each other with a clang. This caused the boy to flinch, making several more clang together. Taking a deep breath, Smiley calmed himself using methods his fellow underlings taught him. The blades slowed for a moment then sped up, once again dancing beautifully. Then Smiley extended his senses a bit more, the red of his magic pulling several objects out from behind purple pillars. They were straw dummies covered in black cloth. ‘Feel them... Extend myself… then strike!’ Once they were in place, the blades stilled, twirled as one, then flew toward the dummies. Tearing noises sounded out as Smiley struck. The blades were embedded in the dummies, some in the front some in the back. He attempted to only aim for the ‘kill’ areas he was taught, leaving a few dummies with the head rolling on the floor and another blade through them, but the Witch Boy wasn’t completely successful with the blades often messily stabbed in the torso area.



Smiley wavered in the middle of the room, only taken an extra step instead of a full stumble, his Smile tired. “Did you like my magic show my Lady? Did I do good? My kinesis is better but so has my mental magic! People take longer to blackout now! I could show you but I don’t have a subject…” He babbled a bit, then stopped.

 

[Medja]

As ever, Smiley listened intently and followed Medja's instruction, eager to please. It had been some time since she had found the boy in the slums of Ragash (if any part of Ragash could indeed be called such). He had been cast out and left to die in the dregs of society, deemed a "Witch Boy" by locals in their superstition. Where others saw a hateful, violent child, Medja saw something else. Medja saw a child prodigy. She saw raw power which needed only to be refined and given an outlet. But perhaps what had drawn her most to the boy when she had first found him was that she saw herself.

Medja had remembered her own time on the streets of Ragash so many years ago. It felt like another lifetime, and indeed, to most humans it would have been. She had clawed her way up through Ragashi society with nothing but her own wit and strength of will, with not a single soul to truly call an ally or a friend in her rise to power. She had formed a secret empire for herself through the sweat of her own brow. Yes, it truly felt like a different life...and then she met Smiley.

She gazed upon the boy, covered in filth and chained in a cell, awaiting his own death...and she remembered herself. The boy would never know that those who had imprisoned him ended up on the block themselves at Medja's will. She did for the boy what no one had ever done for her: she uplifted him and gave him the opportunity he deserved. The opportunity to succeed, to thrive. And thrive he did.

This was her only weakness. The only softness she allowed herself. Her true and genuine desire to uplift those who deserved nothing less. And she would never tell a soul.

Smiley was perhaps his own worst critic these days, but Medja did not spoil him. His drive was unparalleled, and comforting him in his minor mistakes would only serve to hinder the boy. Portions of his display she knew he would describe as clumsy, yet what other child could possibly perform such incredible feats of sorcery at only twelve? With his performance complete and the target dummies reduced to pin cushions, Smiley began seeking Medja's approval. She burned with pride.

"Approach me, dear child." She beckoned.

 

[Smiley of Ragash]

Smiley perked up at his Lady's words, feeling a little energy that wasn't magic for once enter his shoulders. He risked a look at her eyes, something he didn't often do at the beginning unless she wasn't looking at him, or to convey some silent message. Because unlike most adults or people in the world she intimidated him just as much as she left him in awe. Mostly when he despite all of his devotion, didn't exactly know what she wanted on how to handle this new person. This powerful adult could understand people more than Smiley ever could.

Now he didn't mind so much, looking his Lady in the eye, mostly when they were alone like this. While he never fully understood why, other than his 'potential', his lady saved him and keeps him around the boy learned to stop questioning it. After all, it's not like he questions his own devotion to her all that much. He just accepts it as part of his life that he dearly treasures. A constant that he didn't know he needed.

With those thoughts in mind, Smiley eagerly scuttled toward the red pavilion. "Yes my Lady." He says and stops just within arms reach of her, perched unsteadily on top of a scarlet cushion. Waiting to follow any order she wished.