FRITILLARY ━ tam song

𝐢 - prologue

No mercy, no empathy, no heeds to the cries.

Nobody had at all tried to help you back then, and you knew they weren't about to help you now. Those blind idiots that didn't at all deserve your attention or empathy.

They didn't deserve you at all.

Those were the thoughts running through your head as you hung upside down with a rough rope tightened around your left ankle, suspending you in midair under the Arch of Division while the more seasoned (or so they thought) Waywards chittered and giggled on the ground.

You just hung there calmly, no hint of surprise or any emotion at all on your face as the rope swayed a bit toward the back.

One of the masked coaches clicked their tongue, obviously trying to hurry you up because you weren't moving a muscle.

Tsk. They should know they can't hurry quality.

And they should know that by the end of the day, you would always be the one victorious. They should know it would never be so easy to hold someone like you down.

Even if you weren't you, it would still be far too easy to get out of your bindings, but with your ability, those midgets would only be able to watch while you power through every single obstacle they could try to place in front of you.

You. Would. Always. Win.

Y/N Fathdon, that's who you were. Y/N Fathdon, the orphan, the cursed, the apathetic, the Mimic.

And they had already fed you everything you needed on a golden spoon.

Waywards and their stupid, stupid ways. You could see at least ten of them using their abilities in the crowd. And once you had seen it, detected it, memorized it...

The so called "authorities" at Exillium would never, ever dare to mess with you again.

Though you already knew about the division, it was still very ignorant of them to try it on you, though they no doubt had no knowledge about your abilities — just another mistake on their part.

You were going to show them who was boss.

Who was the reigning monarch.

Who was going to tear this place apart, stitch by stitch.

And if they still don't acknowledge you as the rightful leader, then, and only then, would you release the whole of your power over them.

But who cares? Exillium would be just another little conquered land in your collection.

You kept your perfect emotionless manner from behind the thick material of your mask, making sure that your calculations were all correct. The coaches were whispering to each other, no doubt shooting you judging looks about how you hadn't moved for a couple of minutes, while the Waywards were having their own little party while laughing at you.

So that was all it took to make them think you weren't a threat?

Ha.

You had caught sight of three perfect abilities for what you had to do. There was a psionipath, a guster, and a charger in the crowd, and that was really all you needed to make things bend in your favor.

And it was best to act as fast as you could.

After a shallow intake of breath and undetectable flexing of your fingers, you suddenly did a flip up to the top of the arch, triggering screams when you unnoticeably absorbed the three abilities you had chosen earlier and sent a huge bolt of lightning zapping up to the sky.

Your silhouette was dark against the now brightened night sky, and it must have looked terrifying, with your mask and cape flying as you sent a huge wind blasting toward yourself and lifting you up in the air.