Pandora
♡
Thump. Thump. Thump.
I jump my way through the vast forest drawing the line between the Dynastra Capital and the Land of Desertus. Territory left unsupervised for those who've been evicted by their Clans to live in isolation. The closer I get to the source, the tenser my body becomes, as if transparent waves of eeriness travel through the bushes. It's seems that the name 'Devil's Den' isn't just a mere exaggeration from maids who nourish from the rumours about this place. Yet, unbeknownst to me, I don't feel any fear taking over my senses and pushing me to turn back obediently. Rather than that, the quietness makes me antsy to explore its origin. Call it foolish curiosity, but I want to experience it. The thrill of pure fear circling her boney fingers around my heart, squeezing it to its limits as my chest rises up and down rapidly to catch a breath.
People crave for what they cannot obtain.
House Eos craved for the strength us, shifters, were born with. So they created Silver Root weapons to fight against our species. House of Asra was envious of humans for being able to stand in the light of our God Sol instead of being confined to eternal dankness, so they feed off of them for the sole fun of feeling empowered. Like a 'Screw You' to the Gods who made them this way. The Masters of Flesh and Shadows from House Aeldfene felt envious for the long lifespan of Night Children, so they developed the Grimoire of the Dead, in which dark magic tells you how to suck the life out of somebody - literally. And shifters...our sin came with wanting even more.
We were created to be superior to humans, yet with their same sense of humanity. We bathe in the same sunlight night creatures avoid like the pest, yet cannot live half as long as them. We have the ability to out our mana during our shifts, yet we still were unable to control and manipulate it like mages do when practicing magic. The hole in the web of potential our species created wasn't a liability on its own. The massive sense of inferiority that awoke towards other mortals was. My ancestors were even willing to breed with sorcerers belonging to the bloodline of the mythical Bone Witches - members of the Masters of Flesh and Shadows - would it able them to assert dominance within the boundaries of the Mortal Realm. Cretins, they were, for letting their inferiority complex plant the seed of what would grow into our karma centuries later. Dare I say, they deserved exactly what future bit them in the arse.
The sound of a breaking twig makes me halt, and I press myself against the trunk to avoid being seen, the shadows my camouflage. The brightness of amber stares at the ground beneath when I let my shifter senses take over. I wait for a couple of minutes, barely breathing.
Nothing.
I linger for a bit longer, apprehensively waiting for another indication of someone's presence.
No one.
I'm about to give up, and continue my promenade through the most uncanny woods I've ever step foot on, when I hear it.
An inhale.
As if the one I was pursuing sensed me, and tries to find my location using his sense of smell. A smell I forgot to conceal because I'm an air head. I try to depict any sounds of breathing that would indicate where the being stands, but all I get in return is the howling of owls, who also seem conscious about the one emitting a spine-chilling presence. I give up after another five minutes of expectantly waiting. The full moon is high in the sky and I probably missed dinner already. I should be hurrying to the kitchen, not waiting aimlessly in a spooky forest for whatever it is I'm waiting for. My mind made up, I stand up from my crouching position, and prepare to jump when my cape, once again, falls and takes down with it my veil. Don't curse, I sing breathing in deeply before looking up at the sky, don't curse.
Fluently, I weigh my stomach on the sturdy branch I was previously standing on, and balance myself to slowly ache forward, so that only my face sticks of out the dark cloud of leafs. If only I could...
Holy. Hell.
I reach for the veil, that by now fell on the ground, when I come face-to-face, or rather eye-to-eye, with a pair of viper eyes. Pupils slightly dilating at the sight of me. The being is standing so close to my branch that I recognise the specks of dandelion standing out in midst of endless silver. But, as redoubtable their ardor might seem, that's not the part that got me gaping. He has no sclera. Shifters, even from different Clans, have common human traits that helps us identify each other. His pupils tell that he comes from the Cold Blood Clan, but, he doesn't have eye-white. Instead, the rest of his eye balls contouring the cornea are of a gracious jade black.
He's terrifying.
Almost conspicuous.
Yet, so bewitching.
Unlike anything I've ever had the fortuity to encounter before. Harsh coal veins run under his sickly pale skin. Hair, who's darkness is one with the aura surrounding him, covers his ears in gentle curls. Silver tattoos coat the drape of his neck, under his jawline, only adding to his allure. His plumb lips align with my forehead, our proximity allowing me to feel the warmth of his heavy breathing fan against my skin. Through the small opening of his parting lips, I recognise the fangs of a predator.
So beautiful, yet petrifying. As if the Gods have given the devil a mortal body. As if all the good, the evil, the pretty, and the ugly of this world have blend into this magnificent creature.
As if my raging heartbeat heard my thoughts, my heart warms up at the itchy feeling of wanting to pierce his broad chest. The urge to kill this man comes with my second nature to eliminate all possible threats.
And he most definitely is one.
His giganticness, not only in height, but muscles - one hand of his could crush my neck effortlessly. The dangerous lack of mana radiating from him would imply that he's as strong as a newborn. Which points to two things. He's either human, or powerful enough to hide his presence. No need to think twice about which option makes more sense.
But more importantly, his eyes. They're the same as mine, if not worse. Dead and unfeeling, the eyes of a warrior who has the blood of thousands on his hands. The gaze of someone who has seen too much, been through too much. Someone like him is the worst to come across, whereas he wouldn't as much as flinch if needed to kill.
A short breath escapes my lips, before I push myself back up and jump away. From branch to branch, one tree after the other, I hurry back to the Palace. Behind me, the leaves ruffle under the birds who're alarmed by the predators roaming on their territory. Soon enough, the violet aroma of the Hyacinthus Gardens comes into view.
"Who goes there?!"
Guards. Three of them, are standing there on the terrace, weapons out and looking at me as I'm a criminal on the loose. I am, to some extend. It's only when they recognise my face that their expressions change, their thoughts loud in my mind wondering why a dainty Princess like myself would roam around the East Wing when my living quarters are in West.
"Your Grace? What are you doing here at this hour?" One of them asks, his cropped hair adding to his crude gesture. The only one is decent enough to hide his distain for my kin. His posture indifferent.
"I just went for a stroll, the castle is wide enough for any guest to get lost." I chuckle in feigned nervousness.
The other two are too busy going over my clothes, messy hair and flushed cheeks to bother acknowledging me. I probably look like I just came back from an escapade with non-existent secret lover.
"A stroll, yeah right."
The guard next to the serious guy continues to mutter insults under his breath, seeming to completely disregard my presence. Tonight, the moon shines too brightly, and the wind blows too calmly for blood to be shed. Let their spared lives be my sign of gratitude to the Goddess for standing by me when I needed her the most. I shamelessly ignore them, focusing my preying smile on the one who approached me first, and the only one not participating in these childish gossips.
I'm the outsider here, I remind myself. This isn't home where I can get survive punishing a couple of fools for disrespecting me, and elude being sentenced to the guillotine.
"Aren't you supposed to be at dinner." The shortest one asks in distain.
I can't contain myself to sadistically enjoy the fear in his eyes when I let my claws elongate just a bit. The hideous smell of cold sweat dripping down his temples penetrates my nostrils as I inhale the helpless franticness coming from him and the other two dorks mocking me. Disgusting. All of them; the fools who can't get their brains to evolve from the old times when the Cat-Eye Clan was abandoned by the King himself.
"I already ate. But, Thank you for looking after me." The smoothness of my white little lie sinned by my tongue sweeping over my elongated canines.
"U-Understood." He stammers, stance petrified. I've had my fun with showing him just how easy he is to terrorise, so I simply turn around. As though my body couldn't chose a better timing to manifest its exhaustion, my shoulders slouch under the rigour of gravity.
Urgh. Men.
"Goodnight, then."
I don't look back when they wish me a good night, nor do I pretend to care when the hushed insults reach my ears. Whatever they say, whatever they do, it's not like I haven't heard it before. Some more often than others. It's no use to react, their minds wouldn't change with any amount of punishment, if anything it would confirm what they take me for. And I guess that letting them get away with this is my way of trying to prove them wrong. Whomever them may be.
"We can't just send an entire division to Hilas, when we have no idea where they have set up their camps!" General Fabian of the 3rd division protests within the walls of the Council Room. His prosthetic hand pointing at the small city at the northern border between the Silver Scale territory and Feather. I knew beforehand that the rebels had taken over a couple of abandoned cities near the Coast of Silver Scale and Feather, but I they never told us how bad it actually is.
The entire Western region of Silver Scale has become rebellion territory, their inhabitants either locked up, converted, or in worse cases, killed. The Clan Lord and his family have moved to their underwater Castle for safety measures. Starting from the month of this year, the attacks slowly but steadily spread over Cold Blood, and Feather Territory and have now neared home.
"Why not?"General Riz, counters. "As long as one of them returns with information, it's worth it."
"It's a death trap!"
"Sacrifices are needed in times of need."
"They are our sol-"
"Enough!"
The Council Room falls quiet at the King's order. His dark skin glowing with the power he emits.
"We won't send the division. No innocent lives will be endangered recklessly."
As if, I scoff. As if he really cares about the lives of innocents, he only cares about his own people. I'm not naïve enough to hope that he has the same sense of responsibility when it comes to the lives of those who don't belong to his 'people'. Sensing my stare, he turns his head in my direction, at the other end of the round table. His eyes silently pleading. For what, I have no idea, but the deep breath he takes in before speaking tells me that I won't fancy it one bit.
"We'll send someone, a spy to infiltrate their camps and communicate back to us the information we need to prepare for further attacks."
There's no way he isn't...