"Oh crap." As soon as I realized I was awake, I knew I actually wasn't. I was dreaming again. As relieved as I was to get some sleep, I dreaded what was to follow. I could feel the tension and danger like an unwelcome weight on my chest. It hurt, almost physically.
I think I'm standing in my backyard. My first backyard. There's a tree that scratches at the back of my mind. It's just familiar enough to allow me to vaguely remember climbing it. Of course, I recall it ending in a broken arm. It had frightened my father so much I never so much as thought about climbing it again.
I stood near the back door of the building. It was large and home to many others than just me. Mostly people that my father insisted weren't servants despite them catering to my every need. I hated it and they never accepted the fact that I didn't want to be treated like that until... Until after this memory. I think.
I held my sword in hand and pointed it at my sparring partner. He was my friend. I know that. He insisted I shouldn't consider us friends because when the time came, we'd have to abandon each other. I refused. I loved him.
He held a sword out too, a cocky grin smeared across his face. "Getting tired there, princess?"
"Am not!" Suddenly, as if the memory was catching up to me, I did feel tired. I felt too tired. Much more than I remember when this was happening. Why does my arm hurt? It's not even the one holding my sword. "And don't call me that!"
He tilted his sword up and shifted his stance lower. His expression changed, challenging me. "Make me... princess."
"Hmph. Taunting won't work on me anymore. I've grown immune to your foolish attempts by now!" I stuck my tongue at him and gave my sword a wiggle.
"Oh, it won't, will it?"
"Yep! It looks like you'll have to come at me this time, pretty boy." His already practically black eyes darkened and his grin turned mischievous. Oh no.
"Whatever you say... Sacred and honorable messenger."
I gasped. "You... You jerk face!" Being the idiot I was, I ran at him and swung. He easily blocked my shot, his grin gone.
"If I didn't know better, princess, I'd say you just seriously went to chop my head off."
"Maybe I was!" I recoiled my blade, attempting again and again. Until my arms and legs grew sore and I found it hard to breath. As I caught my breath he took that moment to knock my weapon away. It didn't have time to hit the floor before his swords tip was an inch from my nose.
He spoke after I heard the clang of my blade hitting the ground and the smack of his lips. "Disappointing. There was a moment there I thought you might have actually improved."
"Shut up." I moved his sword away from my face with a finger, giving him the stink eye. "You can seriously be really mean sometimes, you know."
"It's my job to make sure you can survive out there. If it means pulling on strings a friend shouldn't, than I will."
"But you don't mean the things you say. I can tell."
"Oh can you now?"
The dream stuttered and fizzled away. It looked sort of like sand if it were any different colors and then thrown directly into my eyes. It felt like it too.
Images faded back in. At first I thought it was just darkness but I could make out the lines of furniture in my bedroom. My door was cracked open to let a sliver of warm light in. I did that sometimes to remind myself I wasn't alone. Not yet.
I heard the tapping of familiar feet down the hall and then saw I figure pass the door. It was late, why would anyone be up now? To find out I crawled out of bed and slipped through the crack. It's him?
What's my best friend doing walking about now? Curious, I followed him. I was always pretty good at walking silently. Even seemed to be weightless against floors that would usually creak. So he couldn't have heard me as I snooped.
He turned into a bedroom, not bothering to knock on it or anything. It was left open just enough for me to poke my head through enough to see him. He wasn't alone now. There was a man with him. His father, if I remember correctly.
"How is the training going?" The man asked.
"Slow. Lukaal is... Playful. Seems like the messenger thinks it's all a game."
"Maybe Lukaal need a wake up call. To know it's not a game." Wait. This isn't what they said. This is a different conversation? A different day? "Maybe if they thought the person they were fighting was an enemy they would fight seriously."
"But father, that would put the other in danger? What if Lukaal struck to kill?" No no no. This isn't right. I never heard this. "Are you suggesting we have the messenger kill someone?" Please stop. This never happened.
"If it teaches them to take their role more seriously, then yes."
"Who would you have risk their life?"
"Only someone who can always beat them. It would be your choice, son."
"That's kind of a big burden to bare."
"I trust you can make a good choice."
"How do you suggest I convince them I'm their enemy?"
"You chose yourself pretty fast." The man sighed. "Lead them here at night, at this time. We'll discuss our plans to kill their father and then them."
"It'll break their heart, you know."
"Only because it's you. But I believe you'll survive the encounter, so you can explain yourself after."
"And if I don't?"
"I will."
The memory that wasn't really a memory turned to sand again.
It took longer for the next memory to become visible. In that time, standing in darkness, I felt... Better? Not emotionally. I was wrecked in that way, but physically I was no longer as tired. My arm felt warm like all the feelings of someone holding me close to them were gently concentrated there. Soon after I felt it spread all over, like swimming in sunlight.
It was nice.
But then I heard myself scream.
"I can't believe you!" I was in my old backyard again. Across from me was my friend. My enemy. The man I hated with every fiber of my being.
"You led me out here just to talk? And here I was thinking you could actually do something for a change." That's right. Right after listening to their conversation about their plans to murder me and my father I had dragged him and his father out here in a fit of rage.
"Shut up!" I was crying, wasn't I? The tears stung. Everything stung. "Just tell me why! Why would you? How could you!?"
"Do we need a reason? You're a spoiled brat, I would enjoy murdering you and the man who raised you into that. You don't deserve to be the messenger."
"Stop." My swords in my hands. I don't remember when it got there but it felt heavy in my ever tightening grip.
"You're weak and careless. Killing you would be a service to the world."
"Stop!"
"You don't have any skills other than your special power you happened to be born with. Even now you barely know how to use it anyway. You're a waste of space."
"Please stop!" The anger and sorrow was boiling over and the overwhelming feeling of betrayal look over any sense I had left.
"You're completely useless."
"I said stop!" I didn't run at him like I think he expected because his weapon went up and his stance changed to defensive. But I just held my blade higher, it shaking along with me. Like the sword itself could feel my anger. "You might as well try to kill me now. Because I won't give you another chance. I'll lock up your entire family if it means mine is safe."
I looked over at his father who I saw shift out the corner of my eye. "That means you too. Don't get comfortable, buttface." I heard laughter then. My friend. My enemy was laughing.
"Even when your life is threatened you can't come up with good insults." He sighed. "Alright, princess. I'll humor you." He ran toward me and that signaled the start of our battle.
It wasn't anything special at first. He would swing and I would dodge, I would swing and he would block. But I was determined and full of pure hatred for him that I didn't notice the silver of my blade shift colors. It shined with new light, like it absorbed the moons light and reflected it back at me from its entire surface.
I ignored it but it distracted my friend. It seemed to slow him down and my sword slid across his chest. It didn't cut deep enough to kill him but it sent him to the ground. He sat there with wide eyes and in awe.
"How did-" He started but I came charging, still enraged and hurt as my sword cut the air and then meant flesh. But it wasn't his. His father, at the very last moment, stopped my weapon with his own body.
I snapped out of it, staring at the man as all the light faded from his eyes and he died without last words. I pulled the sword from his chest, dropped it to the ground, backed up several feet, and tripped over myself. I fell on my bottom, still trying to crawl backwards. To get away from the corpse I created.
"I... i... I can't... why did I? I killed someone! Oh nononono!" I curled into myself and hugged my knees. I hoped it was all a dream. A nightmare made of my worst fears. But even if it were a nightmare, it wasn't over.
After laying on the ground for too long I realized my friend didn't get up. He didn't speak or move. I stood on trembling legs and made my way over to his father's corpse. When it fell it landed on him, so I shoved it away.
I gagged at what was under the corpse. My friend had a hole in his chest as well. It was surrounded by scorch marks and I could now smell the burnt flesh. Somehow my sword word cut past his father and into his and burned him to death too?
I couldn't think straight. Or at all. All I could do was sob, gag, and eventually vomit away from the bodies.
I stayed there all night. I remember passing out. I don't know if it was from all the emotional pain manifesting into physical, exhaustion, or dehydration. But I think it was a combination of them all.