That evening, a servant knocked on the door offering Zoya her evening meal.
"Come in."
"Evenin', Miss Zoya. Here t's your dinner. Yor father wistches to speak with you after you have done, Miss."
Zoya never could conceal her admiration for how far Mira, the servant, has gone a long way in enhancing her English. All thanks to Zoya, of course, who gave her the lessons every evening.
"You may leave, Mira. Don't forget our lesson at our usual time."
Mira bowed and left silently in the gray room. If Zoya's room had a voice that could speak for itself, it would have told a very perplexing story of its own. One that is not yet to be revealed by Zoya, nor the adventures this room experiences with her. The room wouldn't admit her sorrow about her father's treatment, nor that he redeems her as a disappointment. Nor will the room admit that Zoya weeps at night as she misses her deceased mother. Not even Zoya would admit to feeling such weakling emotions herself. Why would she? When she has been trained most of her life by her grandfather to be strong, never fear her enemies, and to never show emotion as it can be used against her. She was taught well, by the legendary hunter of all times.
Zoya devoured her hot meal, which gave her warmth and comfort on such a chilling evening. She brushed her teeth until they shone as white beads, and scrubbed her hands roughly. Once done, she tidied herself to look pleasant and left the room without any expectations of what her father has summoned her upon.
She knocked at that black door, which woven itself perfectly with the night's night. There were a few illusive lamps at each side of the door, but they only helped in giving a dramatic chill to Zoya's spine. She never could stop hating this place, her home. It could be very unpleasant in the evening when all colors fade from the sky, and not even the stars could give her the comfort of the sun.
"Come in, Zoya," her father called upon her.
She did as told for once and opened the door quietly to let herself in.
"Sit down. We have a few things to discuss."
She sat on the couch furthest from her father's desk, not because of its comfort but because of the undeniable distance it offered her.
"Yes, Papa. You called me?" She pretended to sound polite.
He opened a drawer and took out his pipe, and walked towards the window. Soft light shimmered through the window as he looked outside of it thoughtfully at the garden plot in front of him. If something that made Zoya relax, was knowing her father isn't cold as he enjoys smoking his pipe. Piper is what she calls it, though her father disapproves. Quickly, the closed room was filled with smoke. It was a mixture of mint, cinnamon and an unidentifiable smell that somehow reminded her of her mother. Those few moments of peace reminded Zoya of a time where this family was complete, and this office room was lively. The smell of her mother's perfume, a Lancôme La Vie est Belle, was sweet and it filled the room as she entered.
Her father wasn't this distant, Zoya still can see the wrinkles around his eyes. Each small wrinkle showed how much he smiled, and it was plenty. Rather than silence in this unpleasant room, there was always jazz music emitting from it. It used to disturb the birds' music outside, but even the birds never minded the songs. The house was loved and its reflection was clear as day. Not a single soul could deny that stillness of the once warm family, not even Mr Fernando himself.
"It is done," he began slowly, "You are off the hook and not a single soul besides us would know about the incident you've done."
"Thank you, Papa," Zoya replied coolly, and aimed at getting up.
"Not so easy, Zoya."
He shifted himself and looked at her. Mr Fernando had a funny look when he was too focused on something before he spoke. He looked like a helpless puppy wondering what to say, and yet determined to figure out whatever speech he may convey.
"What is it, Papa?" she wondered curiously as she admired his stare. It was almost as if an emotion was trying to resurface from his cold, grim expression.
"I thought deeply about it, and I decided since I'm still your legal guardian, you have no right to acquire Grandpa's journal yet. Which also means, that I can deny you the privilege of continuing this nonsense and become the 'Leader of the Hunters' Organization'."
It took time to decode the complex wordings, but once Zoya caught the words "Grandpa's journal", "deny", and "Leader of Hunters' Organization" something clicked.
"That's not fair! You can't take my dream away from me!" she stood up hurriedly and marched towards her father.
"I can, and I will," he smirked.
"It doesn't mean you never got your hunter's mark, then you should deny me the opportunity of being one!" she yelled so loud, the floor shook beneath them.
"Well, there is a proposal. You know I'm a good businessman, and it's just business. I will give you this nonsensical opportunity you wish for, on one condition, should you accept of course," Mr Fernando took another puff, knowingly full-well he won his battle.
Zoya hated him, she hated the man he has become. She no longer wished him to be her parent, and anger fueled her body. He wasn't going to take away the one thing she has been trained for all her life. She worked hard, and broke world-records of capturing werewolves in the past year alone! This conversation has become too nonsensical to Zoya. She refused to have her ticket of freedom taken away from her, so she didn't need to think twice.
"What is your condition?"
He smiled, and pushed a closed folder towards her. Zoya must've been to angry to have noticed the odd-looking folder that was neatly placed on the desk. However she recognized the symbol above, which led her to quickly locate the name on the folder to ensure her speculations.
"You are to exceed in this boarding school. You are to be one of the top three students. Give me that, this year alone, and I will let you become the Huntress you wish to be. No scolding, no limitations, and you will have access to all the resources needed from me."
He looked at his daughter and embracing the success of his strategy.
"Think it over. But not too much, I will need an answer by tomorrow evening as the Headmistress awaits an answer to the proposition," Mr Fernando concluded.
If Mr Fernando couldn't break his highly tempered daughter's terrible habits, then this boarding-school would surely teach Zoya some manners. He left the room, without a kiss goodnight, leaving Zoya speechless to be consumed by the darkness of the night. She wandered back to her room, unable to think thoroughly what to do, or how her failure to capture werewolves in that village led her to this cruel proposition. Something she surely would have refused by now, knowing it was impossible to survive, yet she knew what's at stake and that's what left her distracted.
Zoya's eyes didn't remove themselves from the book at hand. Little did she realize it was time for Mira's lesson, who's been waiting eagerly in front of her door.
"Ow," Zoya bumped into her.
"Oh, I'm sorry Miss. I don't realize you haven't c'om back since dinner," Mira bowed her head apologetically.
"Ah yes," was all Zoya could master as an answer.
"I'm sorry, Mira," she continued, "I don't believe I can give you lessons anymore."
"Oh, is it something I do, Miss?" disappointment filled her cheerful face, and the excitement faded away.
Zoya couldn't take another disappointed expression. Her father's was already too much to bear. So she yelled at Mira to leave and shut the door behind her tightly. No one was to come in or out of it the next day, for Zoya needed to think of the offer, an offer she knew she cannot refuse. But she gave herself the time to think anyway.
And so the night fell silent, all the birds were deep asleep, everyone in the household still working effortlessly on preparing her Grandfather's funeral and reception. Zoya couldn't get rest that night, so she went for a walk in the dark forest to gather her thoughts. Before she went, she pulled on her jacket and hid one item, an item she holds dearly. She sneaked quietly without a breath, and ran swiftly into the night.
Speed helped her calm her mind, as her mother used to tell her, "catch the moon and never cease to believe that you can." So Zoya ran until her legs ached, her heart throbbed under her chest which led her to a headache, but she didn't stop. She ran faster, further, closer to the moon itself. She ran even when the vest that was to keep her warm was drenched in sweat. Zoya ran until the lake's reflection, which was allocated deep in the forest of course, greeted her. Siren's lake, as her grandpa would call it, was one of the few lakes left that was of pure water. To hunters, it was the sacred Lake of Truth, where they can ask for advice and the ripples of the water gives them the answer they seek.
Zoya stood in front of the darkness and stepped into the mystical lake. She slowly walked deeper, until she was nowhere to be seen. Only the creatures below the water, Sirens if you may, were there to listen to Zoya's whimpers as she prayed to them her questions. For Sirens never needed words to know a man's intention, they needed honesty - a link between one's consciousness and their truth. Zoya accepted to show her true colors underwater, and Siren swirled around the Huntress eagerly waiting for their offer. Zoya took out her sacred possession out of her pocket, a family photo that portrayed her family at their happiest. The picture emitted so much love and emotion that the Sirens refused to accept it. It was one of true love, something too great even for magical creatures.
The gift of Hunters' and their mark is that it allows them to see creatures of darkness, where not all are dark or scary. For some, prefer the harmonious moonlight to the unpredictability of the scorching sun. That is what Zoya's ancestors gifted her with. The power to see the truth and request guidance when needed, as she does now. It wasn't Zoya's first visit to the lake, but it was the first interaction with the Siren's themselves. She watched her grandpa seek the help of Sirens when they planned to burn the village down a few days ago.
"Sirens are never wrong, Zoya. Never question them, and they will be bonded to you for life," he'd say.
Short of air, Zoya swam to the surface and back ashore, the Sirens followed. Their dark-skinned bodies shone under the moonlight as it kissed their bare-skinned figures. Their goddess-like curly hair was the only clothing their bare chest wore, and they wore it proudly. It is said that when a man looked into a Siren's eyes; he was to be enchanted by their beauty and become a puppet for their bidding. Her grandpa never looked directly at them, so Zoya did the same. Though a myth foretold that women aren't affected in the same way, Zoya wasn't about to risk her chances.
Dripping in water, the magical particles of the lake began to consume Zoya's muscular physique in search of the Truth. Pain spread throughout her body, as she felt her skin burn under its effect. She didn't recall her grandpa feeling any discomfort, maybe because he frequently visited the lake. Or maybe because the truth she seeks is greater than what she admits.
"Zoya Fernando, to what do we owe this honor, Huntress?" one sang blissfully.
"Is it true that your grandfather is dead?" laughed another.
"Do you want money, power, or lover, perhaps?" offered a third voice.
The Sirens may be loyal to the Fernando family, but kind they shall never be.
Though similar in accent, Zoya could distinguish they were three Sirens that accepted to answer her questions.
"I have come to seek your guidance," shouted Zoya with determination not to look at them.
The one the right, Zoya glimpsed under her lashes was first to speak.
"And what is it that you seek?" her voice lured Zoya to come closer.
Zoya quickly snapped out of her effect, and mumbled an inaudible request.
"Louder, Huntress! Have your grandfather taught you no respect!" shrieked the one standing at the middle.
"I've come to ask you to acquire my grandpa's journal," she finally said.
"Oh? Is that so?" the one at the left said.
"No. I've come to request not to go to the boarding school my Papa has unfairly proposed to me."
"Unfairly you say?" the middle one asked.
"It is uncommon for a Fernando to be unfair," the left one stated.
"Yes, it is. But he offered to take away my dreams and my earned position as the Leader of the Hunters' Organization."
"What do you wish us to do, then?" teased the middle one.
Zoya hesitated for a few moments and thought of all the possibilities, then she replied confidently, "Convince him not to send me away."
"Silly huntress, we don't intervene in such trivial matters. We know that that's now what you want," sang the right Siren
So she thought again, finally revealing her true intentions: "Destroy him and his business."
"Consider it done," the three replied in unison.
That evening, Zoya left with purpose. She will accept the offer her father proposed, and in return, his business will be destroyed. There was no going back, it was time to pursue her dream. She was determined to do whatever it takes, no matter the cost. She will be the next Legendary Leader of the Hunters' Organization, that was surely a promise to herself worth fulfilling.
She went back home, running. She showered, flushed her toilet, cleaned up all good, and slept soundly that night. The next morning, after devouring her cold breakfast, she went to her father's office.
"Come in," her father replied.
"Good morning, Papa."
Confused, he looked at his daughter and didn't know why she was smiling so brightly.
"Morning, Zoya. I presume you thought of last night's offer?"
"Yes, Papa," she paused. "I accept your offer. I will go to St. Laurel's Boarding School, in Switzerland."
"Excellent! Have your luggage ready by the end of the week!" Her father stood up and an unusual smile broke into his usual poker face.
"School starts next Monday, so you will need to have everything packed and leave by Friday morning to catch up with the Orientation. The Headmistress will be so excited to have you onboard. I will visit throughout the semester to ensure your progress. Best choice you've taken in a while, Zoya! Now go change to prepare for your grandfather's ceremony," he ordered.
Her father was so excited that he was all over the place, pulling out his three telephones to make calls, and to make sure all Zoya's papers were done. What he didn't realize is that Zoya's chest clenched, knowing she was no longer wanted in the house. It didn't hurt her father's treatment, what hurt most was how he began to treat her differently after her mother's death.
It's the memories of his love, kind laughter and warmth, which lingered in her head, that hurt the most.
Zoya left without being excused and went to her room to do as told. So she, Mira and the servants packed her room, until there was nothing left to remind this house that someone occupied that very room. Once full of mood boards, paintings and motivational quotes pasted on walls, the room was white and erased of any memory that existed.
In the evening, Zoya was called upon through one of the servants to meet her father in the grand hallway. There she was met with widely decorated walls, and a large suspended chandelier that gave the illusion it might fall. She was well-dressed and properly trained in dealing with such an event. After all, she lived through two funerals before. Her father was already waiting, and she walked behind him to their family basement. It was tradition for the Fernando family to see their dead in their caskets before the living did. Someone beautifully carved the Casket with Hunters' markings, one's that matched her grandfather's, much to Zoya's admiration and her father's disapproval. The female standing opened the casket, and Zoya almost choked her spit. The once handsome man, now lays still as a block of ice, with scratch marks covering his every feature.
"Werewolves," Zoya whispered as she recognized those markings.
It is then when she realized what had happened and put two and two together. The werewolf clan that survived the burning of their village must have caught the scent of Zoya's grandpa and attacked him in the early morning.
"Be respectful, Zoya. And for once I don't want to hear any of this loco this evening, am I understood?" her father gritted his teeth to prove his point.
"Of course, Papa," she replied thoughtfully.
A pit in Zoya's stomach formed, the more she analyzed the marks spread across her grandfather's body. Anger fueled her soul, and her markings appeared before her. They emitted light, and heat radiated from her arm. Zoya was itching to summon Amir, her sword, but she couldn't in front of The Non-Gifted, a term the Hunters call humans. Only those of such gifts can see the light emitted from her arm, but The Non-Gifted can also recognize the discomfort in her facial expressions. Rule number twenty-seven, never reveal one's magic in front of the Non-Gifted as the power emitted could lead them to sudden blindness and possibly madness.
So she forcefully controlled her temper and hoped the Sirens would do their bidding. It would magically record whatever happened that morning in her grandpa's diary. Zoya knew her grandpa recorded all the creative ways to capture werewolves, which only urged her prayers for the Sirens to acquire that diary.
The faster they had it, the quicker her grandpa's attackers would suffer their defeat.