Heren lay awake on her bed, staring up at the orange cast ceiling. A single Irestone spun in the lamp, only lighting up a portion of the room, the other half remaining dark. She could feel Tyko nearby, though she didn’t see it. It said that it’d be watching her, and she believed it. She could feel something gazing at her from the shadows. 

But that’s not what led her to ignore Mylzen’s pleas for her to wake up. That’s not what made her ignore the panicked footsteps running down the corridor. She stared up at the ceiling, blinking only when her eyes were on the verge of burning.  

She remembered the day her mother died. Remembered it fully, not just as a few specks of a nightmare that she feared. It was clear as the cloudless daytime sky.  

She remembered waking up in the middle of the night after hearing a commotion, someone scrambling toward her doorway. She remembered waking up as her bedroom door opened and in ran her mother, blood dripping from a cut on her head. She remembered asking what was wrong, only for mother to grab her by her hair and lift her up, pressing a knife against her throat. She remembered the door busting open, three guards running in with swords held high. She remembered “mother” walking in with a cold hard glare. 

The exact details from there were fuzzy, but she remembered the feelings she felt then. Her “mother” looked at her with disgust, seemingly not caring if Heren lived or died. Mother yelled something, something about visions coming to her. Visions that dictated her need to kill Heren. Something about Yenna leaving her no choice.  

Yenna goaded her into doing it, declaring how Heren’s death would only lift a burden from her shoulders. She remembered crying hearing “mother” say that. She never respected her, but hearing the person that birthed her declare her death would only be a positive stung like no other.  

For some reason, mother didn’t follow through. She dropped her knife and set Heren down. Tears fell from her face as the guards lopped her head off. Heren didn’t see it, but she felt blood splatter against her cheek and heard something thump on the ground. Heren could have sworn her mouth moved even when detached from the neck. 

They got rid of the body, Yenna spared her daughter no care and left, ordering the guards to clean the room. She didn’t sleep with Irestone lights on for the rest of the night. 

All those memories broke into her mind and all that was left were questions. Why did mother attack her like that? Why did she not follow through with her threats? Heren thought it might have been because she saw killing her to be of no use cause Yenna wouldn’t care either way, but that couldn’t be true. Could it? If “mother” didn’t care about her death, why did she just not swing for mother while Heren was captive? 

So many thoughts swirled around her head, and none of them made her feel any better. She just wanted to lie in bed and melt into her cushions. Become one with the slothfulness she inherited from her mother. Leave the world behind so she didn’t have to face the cruel world when she inevitably became head of the family. 

Such luxury wasn’t afforded to her. The sound of bodies getting torn apart echoed in the hallway, footsteps coming closer. Someone yelled an order only for the shout to become a scream of pain halfway through. Whatever was coming closer was dangerous. 

Is that why everyone’s in a hurry,” Heren thought.  

The footsteps came closer and closer to her room, then stopped in front of her bedroom door. Heren turned her head toward the entrance, resigning herself to her fate. There was no purpose to her being alive. If an assassin was sent to end her “mother’s” life, and she was killed as a result, then so be it. Death was far better than the alternative.  

Was this the decision Tyko referred to? The choice between choosing life over death? By choosing to live, she condemns herself to a life of brutality and tyranny? Such a choice would have been unfair given that she had a desire to live at all. That desire had long passed her by. She lay in bed, letting everything flow without a complaint. If she died at that moment, she’d accept it with a willing embrace. 

The door opened a crack; a single boot stepping into view. As the assassin walked in, Heren’s eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. The man walked in and stood in the doorway, hands behind his back. He wore a tacky outfit that made it hard to tell what he was feeling, but that wasn’t what stunned Heren to her core. 

“Grayhen?” Heren stood from her bed and reached a hand to him.  

All thoughts of death had temporarily vanished. Someone was here to save her. Her brother was here to save her. He came back to whisk her away from this cursed manor. Now that she was older, she could fend for herself and not risk getting them caught in “mother’s” iron grasp. She wouldn’t stay behind like that time ten years ago. She couldn’t.  

“Yes, Heren. I’m back.”  

Grayhen approached, arms wide. Was he going in for a hug? She wouldn’t refuse him, but it was so sudden she couldn’t prepare for it. Still, she stood and let him wrap an arm around her. 

The other arm plunged a knife into her heart. 

***

The battle outside the manor raged on. With Mylzen’s left arm dangling beside him, the dagger still penetrating his arm, he fended Reana off to the best of his abilities. It was a miracle that he was right-handed, something he would have just waved away as being sort of odd. If he was left-handed like the majority in Hendricks, he’d be fighting with an even more severe disadvantage than he already was. 

Cuts and slices ran down his arms and face. The fabric of his coat split open from wild swipes of Reana’s blades. He just barely fended her off with his good arm. The pattern of parry, dodge, and retreat opened way to another: get sliced.  

Dodge, parry, retreat, parry, get sliced, dodge, get sliced, retreat, dodge... 

This went on for some time. It wasn’t like Mylzen was entirely on the defensive. He would find mistakes in Reana’s attacks then strike. Sometimes he’d nick her. Others, she’d dodge or divert the blade using one of her daggers, then slice with the second. No strike of his would prove fatal, meanwhile Reana often sliced him deep and true. He’d just barely avoided getting cut across the neck, but with how the fight was playing out, he couldn’t count that it’d stay that way.  

Even worse, she quickened her pace as the fight gradually drew long. She would employ side steps, attack from wildly different angles, and striked in more risky situations. She was growing cocky, and Mylzen found it infuriating that he couldn’t put her in her place.  

She jabbed and placed a good cut deep into his side. By the time he swiped at her, she had already moved to a different angle and thrusted. He parried the blow and retreated backward. She jumped forward, absolutely relentless. What confused Mylzen was why she didn’t make a dash toward the manor? He was bruised and battered enough that at best he’d manage a painful jog while she could run at a full sprint.  

Reana swiped downward with a dagger. He parried it but had to back away before he got cut with the second.  

That was when Mylzen realized. He thought it best to keep her out of the manor so Heren could escape with help from the guards. However, if the man was even half as good as Reana, then he wouldn’t need to worry about the guards. All except for one. Mylzen himself. 

Mylzen wasn’t keeping her out. She was keeping him out. 

Gritting his teeth, he parried a dagger away. Just like every other time, the second dagger came at him, aiming for his neck. However, instead of dodging out of the way, Mylzen lifted his already crippled left arm and blocked the strike. The blade sunk deep into him. 

He refused to retreat, pushing forward with a mighty shout. Bringing his blade down, he sliced Reana’s chest and carried the strike all the way down to her hip. Reana screamed, and it was her turn to back away.  

Two daggers sticking out of his arm, Mylzen didn’t let up the offensive. He thrust his blade forward, not giving Reana any time to collect a second dagger. She deflected his strike, but he continued forward, bringing his blade down again and again.  

He noticed it while they were fighting. Reana was a master at keeping up an offense, but always buckled when she was put on the defensive. He saw it in the way she would slightly hesitate when he struck back at her. That hesitation was what kept him alive for so long. Now it would be used for his victory. 

Reana jumped back, grasping at the gashing wound along her chest. Blood soaked her hands and pained sweat fell from her brow. She blocked another strike and backed away. With every attempt she tried to grab another dagger, he’d strike down with accurate precision.  

Gritting her teeth, Reana finally spoke. 

“Why are you protecting the demon?” 

Mylzen kept up his assault, refusing to let her words alter his decision. The fact she was even speaking at all meant he was getting closer and closer to victory. The way out that she had was to use words to make him falter. 

“You’re around her, right? You had to have seen the visions too. Grayhen saw them. He said the head maid also saw them.” 

Mylzen sliced at Reana again. She raised her dagger to deflect the attack. Her grip had to have been weaker than before since the blow caused her final dagger to fly off into the distance. All she could do was dodge. 

“That girl is no mere girl. She’s a monster. Someone who’ll one day kill you and everyone you hold dear.” 

Reana dodged out of the way of Mylzen’s incoming strikes. They were both worn down; their attacks and movements becoming sluggish. Reana could step out of the way of his blade faster than he could lunge at her. As time passed on, however, her dodges became less and less swift.  

“Think about your family. Don’t you want them to survive. Your mother? Your fathe—” 

Before Reana could finish her speech, Mylzen thrust his blade forward. She tried to dodge out of the way but tripped over herself. Her injuries and failing body had finally caught up with her.  

Mylzen’s sword cut through Reana’s body, the tip appearing out on the other end. Blood snaked down his blade and fell to the ground, adding onto the pools of blood that marked their dance along the battlefield. He was so tired and fought against so much pain that he didn’t even bother pushing against Reana as she leaned against him in her last dying gasps. 

“There’s something I want to say before you go,” Mylzen said. He didn’t know if she was alive, but he wanted to make his piece known anyhow. “Yes, I’ve seen those visions. If what happens in them comes true, then I would probably come to regret not having the spine to do the deed in the end. 

“But, it’s because of those visions that I wanted to remain around Heren. She’s my family, more than my parents ever were. I’ll lead her down a path where those visions become nothing more than fictitious nightmares.” 

Reana chuckled on his shoulder. Apparently, she was still alive after all. 

“You’re just as dead as I am. How are you going to make your will overpower fate’s design?” 

“Simple. I’ll send her down the right path before my end comes. I promise you that.” 

Nothing from Reana. She wasn’t the most talkative of people, but the lack of response meant something beyond her being uncooperative. The cold gaze of death fell upon her. 

Mylzen yanked his sword out of her gut, and she fell back, limp. Her body fell against the cold earth, blood pooling around her.  

He couldn’t stay long. His body was already giving up on him. The pain had faded and was replaced with a cold numbness that he only knew once before during his time in the military. At that time, he managed to pull through and kept walking the next day. Something told him the results would be different this time.  

Before the inevitable came, he hobbled toward the manor. He had to protect Heren at any cost.