Heren coughed up blood as she raised her head to look at her brother. She felt the blade pierce her chest, but she didn’t care about that. What she cared about was what her brother looked like as he stabbed her.  

Grayhen looked down at his feet, so Heren couldn’t get a good look at his face. She wanted to at least see if he was crying, cursing his need to kill her. That would have at least given her the satisfaction that there was someone who cared about her enough that they’d regret killing her. 

But no. When Grayhen met her gaze, all she could see was coldness. There was no emotion burning behind his eyes. A desert of ice blew arctic winds in his soul. It was the same gaze her “mother” would give her.  

He laid her down on the bed. Blood tickled her stomach, but laughter wouldn’t come. She broke into a coughing fit, saliva and blood dribbling down her chin.  

“Why?” Heren looked at Grayhen, a single arm extending toward him. “Why do this?” 

Heren saw the chilling winds in Grayhen’s eyes falter for a brief moment. It was not but a moment, however, as the winds strengthened once more.  

“I had a vision long ago of the person you would become,” Grayhen said. He sat next to the bed, legs crossed, waiting for her to die. “You wouldn’t understand but take this as a mercy for the world and yourself. The acts you’ll one day commit would make the atrocities of Cavel the Eighth look like a child’s tantrum. I wouldn’t want to see you that way. 

“At first, I ran. I wanted to run far away so that your hand could never reach around my neck. The visions never stopped, however. I kept running, but your future actions always followed.  

“It was only recently when I came to the correct conclusion. To save the world, and you from yourself, I needed to kill you.” 

“But,” Heren said through layers of blood pooling in her throat and mouth. “I didn’t do anything wrong. Why should I die for something I might do?” 

Grayhen shook his head. “Even if there is a chance for you to not turn out the way fate says you will, I’m not going to risk it. I’m sorry, but this must be done. I’ll leave a note behind for mother to read. She’ll come to understand.” 

Heren didn’t understand the logic behind his reasonings. How could a vision be so cruel that the profit would kill an innocent for the potential of them committing heinous acts? Unfortunately, she had a bit of insight as to what fate had in store for her. Tyko had said that she would become the very reason that Grayhen murdered her right now. If it weren’t for Tyko, then she’d probably fight harder to extend her life.  

Heren was just too tired to care about living. Everyone who she once trusted had all either tried to kill her or didn’t blink at the thought of her death. The only exception to that rule was Mylzen, but there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t at some point kill her. If she somehow managed to live, she’d always keep one eye open around him.  

Blood spilled from her mouth, overflowing from the burning red. Her limbs felt like they were floating, drifting away from her body. It was almost peaceful for a second. Truly a moment where wearing light blue would signify much more than confusion. It would be truly how she felt. Weightless and free. 

Heren blinked, and within that instance of total nothingness, everything changed. When her eyes reopened, Mylzen was in the room, piercing his sword through Grayhen’s neck. Before Grayhen went down, he thrusted his sword into Mylzen’s chest exactly where he stabbed her; right through the heart.  

Mylzen let go of his sword, and Grayhen fell limply to the ground, eyes void of light. Blood seeped through Mylzen’s uniform, staining it deep red, the color of death. It was ironic how just by brightening the red by a little bit, it would change meanings from death to passion and lust. Almost like the two concepts were made to share the same color. 

Mylzen walked over to Heren’s bedside and sat on his knees. Blood spilled from his mouth just like Heren’s. She wanted to say something to him, but there was so much blood in her throat and lungs that she couldn’t possibly form a sentence without sounding mangled. So instead of words, she wiped away the blood from his lips, only for more blood to take its place.  

“Heren, I’m sorry.” Mylzen bowed his head, hiding his tears. He didn’t hide them well, however. Heren could see the pain in his eyes clearly. “If only I got here sooner, none of this would have happened.” 

Heren wanted to shake her head, but she couldn’t move it much anymore. Her neck felt cold, and a damp chill spread throughout her body. She heard from some of the guards that losing a lot of blood would make them feel colder, but she didn’t believe that. She’d have apologized to them if she weren’t dying.  

“Your mother is alright, at least. My men said she was in the Dragon’s Den as I passed by.” Mylzen looked at her and smiled, eyes red from excessive crying. “I didn’t wish to see you join the world of us adults, you know. When I first saw you, I wanted you to remain the young, innocent, though slightly sad child forever. You wouldn’t have to deal with the issues of the world at large, only needing to worry about why your mother might hate you. 

“And though she does hate you, she thought the same as I. She didn’t want you to grow up and deal with the world. Better to marry you off to someone who could do that job for you while also getting you out of her hair. A win-win for both of you as she saw it.  

“We were wrong. Imagine what would have happened if you even had an inkling of an idea on how to behave during an assassination attempt. The moment you heard me scurrying away, you’d be on alert and already running toward the nearest exit, buying me time to come and save you. Wanting you to stay that young girl caused this in the end.” 

Mylzen continued to speak, but Heren could barely hear him after a while. All she could hear was a weird ringing in her ears, driving her mad. From what she did hear, she couldn’t help but disagree. It wasn’t her lack of experience with the world that caused this. She experienced it firsthand when mother died. It wasn’t everyone keeping her from growing up that led to this outcome. It was her own denial to the cruelness of the world around her.  

She wanted things to be simple. Her mother, her real mother, needed to be the villain for Heren to hate to drive herself forward. Not only did she need to be the villain, but she also needed to be someone that did so for no discernable reason besides petty feelings. However, Grayhen’s actions broke that barrier of understanding. Grayhen did what he thought was right because of visions he saw of her tyrannical future. Visions that had backing to them thanks to Tyko’s input in her dream. But she did nothing wrong in the slightest. She never hurt a soul in all seventeen rotations of her life. Does her potentially being a future genocidal maniac justify killing her while she was still innocent? 

She didn’t know anymore. Her mother was no saint, but neither was the person she once called her mother. They probably had complex lives and reasons for doing what they did, but Heren, in her childish world view, placed them into simple defined spaces so she didn’t have to think further.  

Mylzen’s face paled, and he could hardly keep his posture. Before passing out, he said one last thing. Heren heard it all. 

“Heren, live, please. Make a better world. A world where no one will have to die like this.” 

With that, Mylzen collapsed. Blood spilled onto the floor. Strange. He fainted first before she did. His body was riddled with deep cuts and holes, and a dagger was sticking out of his arm. All of that probably sped up the process that was already underway.  

When Heren heard him say those words, her mind drifted back to the day her “mother” died. When she placed Heren down, before her head was lopped off, she said something to her. What she said were those same exact words. No alterations. No change of meaning. They were the same exact words said in the same exact way. It was as if fate itself wanted her to hear them. 

Heren couldn’t follow through with those words, however. She was tired. Just so tired. If she closed her eyes, she’d enter a sleep so peaceful that she’d never wake up. Everyone was her enemy, so why should she try to live long enough to make it a better place to live for everyone else. She was sad to let Mylzen down like that, but he’d probably forgive her. She just wanted a good night's rest. 

Heren took a deep breath, the last breath that she’d ever take, and closed her eyes.  

… 

… 

… 

Heren opened her eyes. She was still in her bedroom, the darkness looming over her. Heren could see. The smell of blood assaulted her nose. Heren could smell. Warmth spread through her hands. Heren could feel. There was a slight iron flavor in her mouth. Heren could taste. Blood plopped on the wood floor of her bedroom. Heren could hear. 

She sat up, moving her hand over her chest where the stab wound should be. There was no wound. Heren tore open her dress right above her chest. All she saw was a small red mark above where her heart should be. 

Something moved in the darkness. Heren looked at the corner of the room where she saw the movement. There was no one there. Tyko wasn’t present. In fact, she couldn’t sense it in her room any longer.  

Heren looked beside her bed. Both the bodies of her brothers, both blood related and not, rested there. Scarlet red stained their clothes, the color of death. Scarlet red cloth was used to cover a deceased when presented to the family members to remind them all that they shed the same color when injured.  

No one should have to die like this. 

It looked like fate wouldn’t allow her to die. That meddlesome universal concept was what was keeping her alive. She had no idea how or why her chest wound had all but disappeared, but she knew what to do. 

No one should have to die like this. 

Acting without thought, Heren stood from her bed and stepped toward her closet. She undressed and donned a fully black gown. No accessories were needed. All she wanted to wear was the black dress.  

She removed two red dresses from the closet next. Neither were scarlet, but they’d have to do.  

Heren moved toward her brothers and laid them straight along the bedroom floor. They lay shoulder to shoulder, arms and legs parallel to their bodies. She draped the clothing over their bodies, but it wasn’t enough to cover them completely. Their legs poked out drastically from the cloth, and their arms stuck out awkwardly. The faces were covered, however, and that’s all that was needed.  

No one should have to die like this. 

Heren sighed. She was alive. That hurt more than being stabbed ever could. If she were alive, however, that meant she was alive for something.  

No one should have to die like this. 

Was this the decision Tyko warned her about? That didn’t matter any longer. There was no true decision since Heren was wholly focused on doing one thing in particular, and no matter what other infinite possible decisions there were, she’d always choose this one. There wasn’t a world where she’d choose otherwise. 

No one should have to die like this. 

Heren left the room, but not before grabbing something on her way out.  

She stalked the halls, stepping over bisected corpses and scattered limbs and organs. The once clean but bland walls finally had some color painting them for once. It was a color that Heren wouldn’t have chosen herself, but it was better than what they once were.  

Heren stepped up to the Dragon’s Den doors. Normally, she wouldn’t have the strength to open them. Mylzen was always the one to force them to give way before her. He was dead, so it was her turn to open the doors for herself. And even if he were alive, she wouldn’t need his help. Power flowed through Heren’s limbs. A mysterious, though helpful, power that seemingly came from nothing. A forboding signal indeed. 

Placing her hands on the door, Heren pushed. She didn’t put much strength behind her arms, but the doors flung open as if they were shot by a cannon.  

Inside the Den, Yenna sat cross legged on the throne, a cheek resting on an open palm. She glared at Heren as she stepped into the Den, metal scratching the floor as she walked closer to the throne. For some reason, Yenna looked bored more than anything. Almost like she expected this to happen. 

“That floor is worth more than your life, you know,” Yenna said, leaning forward.  

Heren said nothing. She continued to walk forward, head bowed, Mylzen’s sword dragging limply next to her.  

Yenna didn’t let her scowl fade, but there was a new emotion in her mother’s eyes. Fear. Such emotion was unfit for the purple garb she wore.  

“So, you take the chance among the chaos to kill me, your mother? Who was the one to teach you respect, child.” 

… 

“Speak up for yourself, will you. It gets tiresome having to watch you pitifully come closer with nothing to say.” 

… 

Yenna waited longer for anything to come from Heren’s mouth. She sighed, stood, and began approaching her daughter.  

“If you wish to kill me, child...” Yenna snatched a knife from a sheath hidden beneath her clothing, “you’ll have to take it by force.” 

They walked toward one another, knife and sword primed to swing. Heren was the first to stop on their path, causing Yenna to lock her legs in place, stunned.  

Suddenly, Heren disappeared from Yenna’s view. Heren stood behind Yenna’s now headless body. The corpse fell to its knees, twitched, then dropped the rest of the way, slamming against the floor with a thud.  

Footsteps could be heard rapidly approaching the Dragon’s Den. As Heren sat on the throne her mother stood from, two guards ran into the room. When they saw Yenna’s body strewn on the floor, they gasped and drew their swords only to find Heren sitting on the throne, bloody sword resting beside her.  

“Miss, Heren,” one brave guard spoke up, “can you tell us what transpired here.” 

“I killed my mother.” 

She wasn’t intent on hiding it. The nonchalant manner at how she spoke combined with her black dress only made the guards shake even fiercer. They didn’t know what to make of her, but she’d soon disregard any confusion in them. 

“If anyone comes and asks, I am eighteen as of today. Burn any documentations that may exist and make new ones with the new date.” Heren leaned forward, sword in hand. “I will answer fate’s call. As of today, I am the new head of the Jeseria house.” 

Something laughed in the darkness, but Heren knew Tyko wasn’t present. It was probably watching on in glee at the events that transpired. If she were to adorn her heart in an evil cloak, she’d gladly take on the burden. For a future where no one needs to die like Mylzen, she’d do anything to make that future a reality.  

Heren crossed her legs, rested her cheek on her palm, and waited for the soldiers to return with the news. She waited, slothful, but sure of her pride. Nothing but one phrase was playing in her mind. 

No one else will need to die like this.