KIERAN

He towers over you, cutting a stark shadow in the boiling summer sun, a tank of a man. The heavy plating that has overtaken him scatters the sunlight like the surface of a calm sea, bouncing sunlight caught in the geometric sprawl of fool’s gold. His fangs, long and worn and yellowed, split his face in a wretched grin as the slightest bead of golden blood drools out of the corner of his lips. The result of all your work.

You, though, are doubled over before him, crumpled in his shadow as you have always been and shall always be. Blood spills from you in such quantity that you can hardly nail down where all it’s coming from; a gash across your skull, splitting your black locks and staining them with your curse. A bruise that broke skin and which leaves your ribs feeling as though they’ve split by his fist.

And, finally, occupying this dilating moment of horror, is the audience. The small crowd of bandits gathered to oversee your ‘training’, your father’s most trusted men. Where they started eager to watch this troublesome brat get sorted out, their uproar has subsided into wide-eyed stares and hushed murmurs. One of them makes eye contact with you, meeting the wild-eyed gaze of an eye wreathed in blood and absolutely burning with addled rage.

Finally, after a moment of simply revelling in his handiwork, Kieran bellows to you: “Come on, kid! You’re supposed to be a Goldblight, right? Get up and fight!” Fulfilled amusement soaks his taunting, as he slams his foot down by your head, the thud shaking the ground enough that his lackeys clearly feel it.

Your left hand, shaking, draws back towards your belt. Your other hand begins to push you up, not daring to look at your father as you start to drag yourself to your feet.

Until you are ready to strike.

You look up at him, finally, teeth clenched and gaze furious. You throw yourself into him, hooking your claws into his pyrite armor and begin to climb him! Putting your lithe body to good work, you scale him like a mountain, pulling a hidden shiv from the waistband of your pants. He staggers back, surprised by your sudden show of force, one hand shooting up to try and grab you and pry you free—just one thin second too late.

Your shiv finds his throat, forced with all of the strength you can muster up through his jaw and into his skull. It crashes through bone and shears through muscle, and you hear him make a sharp gurgling sound as he starts to stumble, eyes wide and, for the first time, showing fear.

…

If only.

He shakes his head, as your shivering hand drops in place by your limp body, close to your waistband. He turns around, sparing a glance to his clearly uncomfortable audience. “Get him cleaned up.”

By the time you look up again, his gilded form is all but gone into the treeline, leaving you alone and simmering with a bunch of very, very hesitant bandits.

Next time, you mutter to yourself. Next time.

—————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

AURELIA

The two of you share your tent, spared the scrutiny of your father for the night and the pain of your mother’s non-presence. But tonight’s… different.

You’ve never seen a human like this. Not ever. You knew she went through something with Kieran, but… what could have happened between them? What humiliation did he subject her to that she looks like this?

The moment you started climbing into your tent, you saw it. She was practically vibrating under her blankets, entangled with them and staring at the wall of the tent across from her; the same spot you’re supposed to be getting into. You hesitate, but even now, you know you’d rather be around her than him.

You awkwardly slide into your spot around a foot from her, and into her gaze. She gnaws at her lip with enough force that her blighted teeth are loosing gold from it, and she doesn’t even notice. Her white-knuckle grip shears the fabric of her blankets, and she doesn’t even notice. Her pupils are wide open, as if to catch every detail of the predator that’s sure to spring through the tent wall she was staring at any moment now.

“Aurelia…?” you carefully ask, waving a hand a very comfortable distance from her face.

“What,” she says, more of a statement than a question. Her voice is strained, as if the mere act of talking must be reduced to the absolute barest minimum of effort so as to conserve energy for… whatever drives the gears that are clearly grinding in her head. She has practically torn her bedding to ribbons, raking her claws through it.

She’s like a wild animal… a scared, cornered animal.

You glance anywhere in the tent but her, but there’s very little for your gaze to settle on BUT her. You can’t turn around, because taking your eyes that far off of her is a non-starter—not because you fear her, but because you have to be afraid of her on behalf of someone else.

And… you can’t just let her stew like this, more or less alone.

Carefully, you reach out. You don’t say anything, you just set your hand, palm up, between the two of you. You watch her pupils dart down to stare at it for a few long moments.

Haltingly, she reaches out, and presses her palm against yours. You gently wind your fingers into hers, and she suddenly squeezes your hand hard. The same white-knuckle grip on reality itself that she’d subjected her blankets to, but you’re strong, you swear.

You stay there with her, in silence. Her gaze stays fixed on your entwined hands, until eventually the fire that’s burning inside her skull is doused by the gentle rhythm of rain pattering on the roof of the tent and she begins to drift to sleep.

You’re glad to be able to calm her, if even for a moment. You’re glad to have this moment with her, to show her that you’re with her.

Someday, you’ll be glad that, if nothing else, this was your last moment with her. She will be a shade, tomorrow.