Daughter of the Devoted

1

"A false kingdom is one that will not last."

The instructors voice echoed against the dry walls, each word a stone dropping into the deep silence of the chamber. Grains of sand pressed against rows of knees with an icy burn, accompanied by the echos of lessons familiar to every ear within the room. The air remained still, undisturbed by the bodies that moved from task to task quietly in practiced ease.

Small children dusted the altars, unmasked to tend to their chores. They were duties assigned by the elders, leaving missions and labor intensive jobs to the adults, who wore false faces--sleek masks of polished wood, painted white to hide any signs of the identity below. An item worn with the utmost pride. Only those who had made proper sacrifices however, were given the honor of the red eye.

A young woman sat near the back, her posture in perfect alignment with the rest as she listened intently, one hand folded over the other as they always were. Her (h/c) hair was pinned back neatly, and not a single strand was found out of place. To paint the face was to invite impurity, to stain oneself with the poisons of the outside world. Her face, like many of the others', was bare. 

She was one of the few in her group to remain with her face unveiled, patiently waiting the day she would get a call for her first mission to the outside world, earning her place with the rest. It was something every member strove to achieve. The instructor's gaze swept the room, a predator surveying its flock, and it landed on her.

"You. An outside approaches. What is your first move?"

"I am a blade of the Yiga," She answered calmly. "I will protect the clan by any means."

The instructor paused for a heartbeat, scanning her face before nodding. "You honor the clan."

The lesson moved on, as it always did, focusing on the blight upon their world. With the recent creation of Hyrule, the clan had been thrown into near chaos as they crowned their first king and queen.

"They call it a kingdom," the instructor sneered, gesturing to a crude map on the wall. "A goat-man and his witch-queen. They build their false peace on the bones of our ancestors, a disease. We are the cure."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the room. She had never seen this "kingdom", but she could feel its malice, a creeping sickness in the world beyond their fortress walls. The scrolls said the air there was toxic, the water poison, and the ground itself a trap designed to ensnare the unwary.

"Unlike them, we use the shadows to strike. It is the path of the serpent. Can someone recite the litany for the class today?"

Someone raised their hand before the question was finished, answering almost immediately. "From stone, we are born. In shadow, we thrive. Through spirit, we serve. By steel, we prevail." 

"You honor the clan. You there," the instructor called once more, this time to a young boy sitting in the front. "What do you see depicted here?" They asked, pointing with a wooden rod to a banner strung against the wall. It showed a small painted figure, leaving the fortress the clan called their home. The figure didn't make it far before he was then killed in the next image, the canvas painted with a deep red. A simple story of what awaits anyone who leaves.

His voice was small, faltering from the surprise of being called on. "It--it's about..." his voice faded, given no time to recuperate before he cried out in pain. The instructor had raised the rod in their hands, striking his leg without a moment of hesitation.

"That hesitation a cancer. It will be cut from you." They snapped, striking him a second time with a sickening crack.

The lesson ended, the signal for dismissal a sharp clap from the instructor. The silence was suddenly broken by the shuffling of feet and low murmur of voices. The girl rose from her knees, the pins and needles a familiar ache in her legs, but her eyes, however, remained fixed on the front of the room.