"Life doesn't get easier or more forgiving, we get stronger and more resilient." - Steve Maraboli
•
A blade slashes past a cheek, barely splitting the skin's surface.
Blood beads from the wound as Liam slides down onto his knees, whirling around Valen's unrelenting advances. With each inhale, the burn in his lungs grows stronger. His training, however, is the only thing preventing his breaths from quickening, and it kicked in the moment Valen lunged for him.
When he's back on his feet, Liam suspects to be facing Valen's back, but the General is already on him. The blade slices his upper arm, the cut deeper than the others scattered across his body.
The scent of his blood is strong. Droplets are scattered across the vicinity, marking the uneven path of Liam's defence.
The hiss from his mouth makes Valen's armed hand come down again, but this time the dagger's tip is angled down to dig into his flesh rather than cut skin. Fear grips his senses and memories of the library crash into his mind.
Igor's face hovers over him. Black, gaping holes are where his eyes would be, and his mouth is upturned into a sadistic, doll-like grin. Blood streams out of the shadow-like sockets, flowing down Igor's face and down onto Liam's clothed stomach. Each drop burns holes into his shirt, eventually burning the skin underneath. The droplets merge into three straight lines, resembling the width of a dagger's blade.
Liam doesn't register the grass flattened underneath him, or the knee digging into his healed abdomen. The only thing on his mind is the fact that the tip of Valen's dagger hovers barely a millimetre away from his right eye.
"You mustn't fear the blade," Valen tells him.
Liam doesn't move, speak or even breathe.
"You must fear the one wielding it."
A long moment passes before the weapon is retracted. Now on his feet, Valen flips the dagger in his hand whilst contemplating something unbeknownst to the male on the floor.
Liam releases the breath he's been holding and his trembling hands move to cover his face. Never before has he been in such a position: having the strongest man in Rosìa kneel on him with a dagger decorated in his blood.
All of his wounds sting with a fiery purpose, and Liam is sure that there are at least a hundred of them. The pair sparred a few times over the past ten minutes but it feels like they've been fighting for hours. Is this what it's like to spar with a General? With Valen?
Valen throws the dagger to the ground. The blade gets buried in the dirt and the hilt points towards the sky. He looks at Liam. "Take it," he says. "Use it against me and see just how powerless a blade can be."
The thumping of Liam's heart falters as he sits up. A slither of fear wraps around the beating organ, tightening and tightening until it can't seem to beat any longer. It's fine, he tells himself, but doubt creeps into his mind. Wolves who used blades against the General in the past haven't particularly experienced the best of outcomes. Some lost their hands, limbs, or even their life. And now he's asking me to use one against him.
"Do not mistake my words for a request," Valen admonishes. Pick up the blade."
Liam can't stop himself from getting to his feet. Bowing his head, he says, "As you wish, General Valen." And then he reaches down for the blade.
Valen raises an eyebrow.
Instead of wrapping his fingers around the hilt, Liam hesitates, and then he finds that his hand has begun to shake. Why can't I touch it? He asks himself, humiliation creating a lump in his throat. Why can't I grab the dagger?
Turning his head, he looks towards the back of his house where his brother stands, but there's nobody there. Why... why isn't he...
Sucking in a breath, Liam snaps his head back towards the dagger. Enough of this, he scolds, eyes stinging. Just do it already.
Crouching down, Valen quietly observes Liam's tense expression. Fear lingers behind the male's gaze, which is to be expected, but the frustration and anger make Valen frown. His eyes flicker between the dagger hilt and the male's face. And then his chest tightens.
Now, instead of seeing Liam's face, Valen sees himself eight years into the past. He remembers a moment when his Gamma was doing the very same thing he's trying to do with Liam: desensitisation.
He remembers the rage, the frustration and the overwhelming despair that had him on his knees for months on end. He remembers the painful sting behind his eyes and the constriction of his throat whenever his body failed him. He remembers the angry tears that would fall every night when he would retire for slumber. He remembers the feeling of failure, of hopelessness, and that's exactly why he accepted Gamma's request to assist in Liam's recovery.
Valen grabs the dagger and pulls it out of the ground. When he looks at the boy after standing, he finds that the whites of his eyes are red and they're brimming with tears. Part of him wishes to tell Liam that his progress will only come with time. But he decides against it. Instead, he says: "We'll continue this tomorrow."
When he moves towards the front of Liam's house, a familiar scent makes his eyes narrow.
Alia looks down at her shoes, fidgeting whilst she stands in front of Liam's door. Yesterday, when she spoke with Christian, she asked him when it would be possible to visit Liam.
"Tomorrow at noon", he answers. "He should be awake by then".
And now she's here feeling strangely nervous at the thought of seeing him again. If she could apologise for the rest of her days, she would. But she must remember her Gamma's words at the infirmary.
"Alia, it's not your fault."
But why does she still feel so guilty?
Sound to her right causes Alia to furrow her brows. She stares at the edge of the stone building, finally realising that footsteps approach. When Christian turns the corner, Alia's eyes widen and she bows her head. "Gamma," she acknowledges, deciding to clasp her hands together. "My apologies. I wasn't expecting to see you today."
"That's quite alright."
Alia lifts her head and finds that he bears a polite smile. She smiles back.
"I presume you're here for Liam."
Alia nods, but then her smile falters. "Is that okay? Have I come at a bad time?"
Christian moves to the door. "He's sparring out back, but he should be finished shortly." After the door is pushed open, he stands in the doorway to hold it in place with his body.
Alia raises her head and mouths an 'ah', but then confusion hits her. "He's sparring?" Does that mean his wounds have healed?
Christian nods. "Yes." Then he motions to the inside of Liam's house. "You're welcome to wait inside in the meantime."
Alia hesitates. "Oh, uh. I wouldn't want to intrude on your visit." She points a thumb over her shoulder and offers a smile. "I can just wait at home."
Christian doesn't budge. "Nonsense," he persists. "Come on in."
Bowing her head, Alia finds that she's unable to protest her Gamma's words. So she enters Liam's home, wringing her hands together the entire walk to the living room.
Posters of fantasy characters and intricate symbols line the corridor walls. Some have torn edges, resembling the pages of a textbook, and others have pale wrinkles across the surface. It resembles a collection, but Alia doesn't recognise any of it.
After turning into the living room, Alia steps in front of the couch, awkwardly glancing around the space that is almost identical to her own. Christian enters after her and moves towards the kitchen at the other side of the room.
"How have you been?" He asks, taking a cup out of one of the cupboards. "Settling in okay?"
"I think so?" She offers, watching as Christian pours a sachet of green powder into the cup. "I haven't died so far, so I think I've been managing well?"
Christian stops and faces Alia. "What happened at the training centre shouldn't have happened."
Alia flushes, suddenly feeling embarrassed. "I'm just glad you were there. I probably— no, I definitely wouldn't be standing here if you weren't."
Christian turns back around. "You can thank Valen for that. He was the one who heard all of the commotion in the first place."
Alia hasn't thanked him. Why hasn't she thanked him? "I'll be sure to extend my gratitude the next time I see him." Fuck, now she feels even more guilty.
Moving away from the kitchen, Christian looks out of one of the nearby windows. "It seems he's finished. Feel free to head out back and speak to him without me. I'll be out in a few minutes."
Alia bows her head and exits the living room. When she steps outside, she asks herself whether she should be bowing her head every time she enters and leaves her Gamma's presence. When no answer comes to mind, she concludes that she needs to read up on the etiquette of submission.
Turning the corner of the house where Christian first appeared, Alia looks up from the grass when a pair of black combat boots stop in front of her. Snapping her head up, Alia's mouth instantly dries when she finds Valen's white eyes narrowed in disapproval.
Before a breath can escape her, he speaks. "You should be resting."
Her voice is a whisper, still in shock at seeing the General appear out of thin air. "Why should I be?" How did she not sense him? Why can't she feel his presence?
"Must I remind you of the cliff?." He steps closer. "Has your memory truly become unsound?"
Alia swallows and it causes Valen to briefly glance down at her throat. "My memory is fine. I'm fine."
When Valen doesn't say anything, Alia finds that her eyes have strayed to admire the features of his face. His long black eyelashes, the pale scar on his right temple, his nose, his sharp jaw and then finally his lips.
She just wants to reach up and...
"I wanted to thank you," she mumbles, eyes not leaving his lips. "For yesterday. For saving my life."
When he frowns, Alia clenches her teeth so hard it feels like they'll shatter.
"That's quite alright. You mustn't thank me for doing my job."
"Still." She looks into his eyes. "Thank you."
A muscle in Valen's jaw ticks and it manages to snap Alia out of her daze.
She clears her throat and takes a step back. "I appreciate your concern, but please know that I tend to get over things quite quickly. Whether it be jumping off a cliff or a threat on my life —whatever it is, I'll get over it by sunrise."
Valen doesn't seem convinced. "You are in no position of power. You are not a Warrior nor are you one of the Titled. Your mental resilience is not required." He crosses his arms. "If you need a day of rest, take it."
A sting blooms behind her eyes. Her voice wavers. "I... I'd rather not."
Valen silently stares down at her for a few seconds. Then he sighs. "Very well."
Manoeuvring past Valen, Alia speed walks to the back of Liam's house. What is wrong with me? She blinks repeatedly to clear her vision, hating that a few words have gotten her so emotional. I'm fine, she tells herself. I'm fine.
But when Alia spots Liam sitting on the grass with his arms around his knees and his back to her, remorse shakes her and the tears begin to fall.