The Lost Heir's

Chapter Two

She cautiously picked up a match and lit it, walking around the sanded arena, lighting the candles at the entrance. The soft amber glow filled the room.

Shadows were cast across the sandpit that Aria had trained countless hours in. Its stone stairs leading up to where the equipment racks sat. Staring at the mess on the floor, Aria sighed. She needed to clean up, before she could do anything. Not only was it a tripping hazard, but it didn’t feel right to leave the weapons and armour strewn across the floor.. Aria glanced and groaned. They were supposed to be all nicely lined up in the wooden racks and armour stands, but now they laid strewn across the cobblestone floor in a heap.

She was going to clean it up before she could do anything. Not only was it a tripping hazard, but it felt proper. These weapons once belonged to warriors, those who fought and died in battle. To leave these weapons in the dirt to rust further felt so wrong to her. Aria made her way to the corner where a wooden table sat. She pulled out a book she kept hidden within her blouse and turned around. She groaned at the mess; she hated cleaning. However, the urge to train drove her to clean. She felt she was about to break through with her skills, and she wanted everything to be perfect.

She muttered under her breath as she heaved the racks back up and dragged them to their rightful places. She couldn’t stop herself from cringing at the sounds, listening, only to hear her own heartbeat and breathing. Placing the last sword and helmet in their spots, she stepped back to look at her handiwork. Feeling proud of herself, she smiled. She may hate cleaning, but at least she was damn good at it. Placing the last sword and helmet in their spots, she stepped back to look at her handiwork.

She pulled a sabre from the rack. Its curved blade cracked from the rust and knicks, but still gleamed in the candlelight. She walked to the book and opened it up to the bookmarker she placed yesterday.

When they came to this realm seventy-five years ago, Gael, her mentor, had immediately started training her and Rhosyn. He told her she needed to learn her way around every weapon, gain control of her magic, and know the world’s history. She could even recall the snarky tone he used during his lessons. However, after a few failed attempts with her magic that had gone terribly wrong, Gael named her a Voit. The worst title one could carry among the Elderblood.

She stared longingly at the saber in her hand, carefully stroking the blade. She had done everything she could, even beg on her knees for Gael to not give up on her. He scoffed, forbidding her from training, even refusing to teach her how to wield a weapon. The sight of his back as he walked away still burned her every dream.

Aria closed the book, sighing. Because of Gael’s order, Graver and Telsa stopped teaching her, leaving her with no choice. She grabbed her saber and quickly walked around, lighting the candles. The soft glow of the burning amber gave off just enough to light the sandpit. She walked down the stone steps and moved to the right of the pit, and grabbed a piece of rope that hung from the ceiling. A rattling sound rumbled across the ceiling before a loud clunk echoed. Stick figures wrapped in straw and woven sacks plummeted to the ground, the knotted rope jerking violently. Aria covered her mouth, coughing, a plum of dust bellowing up. Aria stepped forward, steadying them.

When she first found this place, it had been a sand arena with nothing but ruined weapons and armour. But with some work, it became the perfect training ground. Aria stepped back and closed her eyes. Slowly her chest rose as she took a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds before her chest lowered with her exhale, focusing on her mind.

Her and her sister’s hundredth birthday was just a few seasons away, and she was nowhere near where she needed to be. She sighed, opening her eyes. Her history lessons as a child she was told her kind aged differently and known to be one of the few that could live for many seasons. The hundredth season for everyone was a critical point in their lives.

Aria growled and lunged at the dummies, swinging her sabre.

For everyone except her. Rage built up within her chest. The decision Gael had made left her belittled. Her a princess, known as a wildwand or a slag. She scoffed. It was the worst insult of her kind. Especially for her. She shook her head, trying to shake the negativity. Knowing what embarrassment and humility awaited her at the trials on her hundredth season stifled fear within her.

She exhaled, turning a hundred seasons old. She would fully come into her magic and physical abilities, ascending into adulthood and ranking. However, her magic became non-existent, barely a wild, uncontrolled, burst of energy. With Gael not teaching her, her abilities dwindled, making her lack. She clenched her fist. She hated that she had to rely on everyone to protect her and Rhosyn. She felt useless.

Aria opened her eyes. Shifting her feet slightly, she raised the sabre above her head and swung down, hitting the training dummy in the head, slicing it in half. She knew she had magic, because, as a child, she was top of her class. Her parents were very proud of what she could accomplish as a babe, but since their death and the lack of training and mentoring, her magic dwindled and perished. What it left was a voice and a beast lurking deep within her. A constantly demanding presence.

One by one, the dummies fell, straw flying as her blade gracefully cut through them, leaving them in piles all around her. With a shake of the hilt, she rested the sabre on her shoulder, admiring her work. It was then that she felt the sensation of being watched. Her head spun around, looking deep into the shadows, but saw nothing. But the feeling persisted. No, it grew.

Aria shuddered. The crypt suddenly seemed colder, even as her breath became mist as it left her lips. Then, one after another, the surrounding candles snuffed out, the unnatural cold suffocating their light. Aria held her blade in front of her, circling around the arena and turning at every noise.

“The little beast girl returns.” A chilling, mirthless smile appeared deep within the shadows.