Episode 11 + 1 - Threats Arising: Part One
1000 Words
The word was a slap.
The Elemento she knew would laugh mockingly at such attempt. Unleashing fire in an instant.
Fire from nothing. Flame from breath. That was me. That was Aiden.
Lightning in my veins. Storm at my fingertips. That’s what she remembered.
The man before her wasn’t him.
Rather was completely different.
Weaker than she had ever imagined.
Her mouth opened. Closed. Her perfect face went pale. Not with fear. With calculation.
I watched it happen. Watched her run through every possibility in her head and come up with nothing that fit.
She couldn’t make head or tail of the situation.
She said, "I don’t understand. But your sigil is…"
Her eyes went to my chest. To the place where it should have been glowing. Where it should have been burning gold.
I cut in since she’d seen and discovered my secret already, my hand still iced up.
Cold air came up from the ice. It fogged between us. My breath, too. Every exhale was white.
I said, "It’s gone."
The words felt foreign in my mouth. Like I was saying someone else’s name.
She asked, "But how?"
There was no mockery in it. Only confusion. Like she’d found a c***k in a statue she thought was solid.
I snapped, "I don’t know how."
The truth. I didn’t know. One night I had the storm in my blood. The next I had nothing. No warning. Just empty. Like someone had reached in and scooped it all out while I slept.
I woke up and the world was quiet.
The ice on my hand crept further. Up my wrist. It hurt, but not the way fire would. It was a dull, spreading cold.
I finally punched the stone wall and freed myself.
The impact jarred up my arm. Pain, sharp and real.
Skin tore. Blood welled. Red and immediate. The ice shattered. Shards hit the floor and melted fast, hissing against the stone. My hand was yet chill but better. Numb. Bleeding. Human.
Just human.
I looked at the blood on my knuckles. It was the first time in years I’d bled and it wasn’t cauterized by heat.
I glared more at her. "Happy now?"
The anger was easier than the shame.
I made to pass her.
My boots were loud in the hallway. Too loud.
Her question stopped me.
"It’s that girl, isn’t it?" She said. Her voice was low now. Not loud. Not cruel. Just certain. "She did this to you."
I turned.
Ayla’s face flashed in my head. Dirt on her dress. Laughing in the garden. Telling me I smelled like rain.
I attempted to defend and clear the air although I didn’t really understand my situation myself.
"No," I said. Slow. "She didn’t.."
I didn’t even know what I was denying. Didn’t know if it was true.
But I was slow and she finalized, "Don’t. She dare hurt my love. Taking away your powers, your birthright? That’s torture. I’ll say nothing but I’ll avenge you, Aiden. I promise."
My love.
The word landed wrong. Heavy.
I’d never called her that. She’d never called me that. But she said it like it was already written down somewhere.
She then walked away dramatically leaving me dumbstruck in a spot.
Her back was straight. Her head was high.
Her steps were quick now. Not slow. Not deliberate.
Like she had a plan and she was already ten steps into it.
I only stood there. Hand bleeding. Chest hollow.
The ice was gone but the cold stayed. In my bones.
She thought Ayla stole my sigil. She thought Ayla made me human. She thought vengeance was love.
And the worst part was, I couldn’t even explain it to her because I didn’t understand it myself.
What if she was right? What if it was Ayla?
No. Ayla didn’t even know what a sigil was a day ago. Ayla didn’t have that kind of power.
Then what?
I didn’t have the words to stop her.
---
Meanwhile, on Ralph’s part, as soon as he reached his territory, his room, his mask of humility vanished.
The door shut. The latch fell. The sound was final.
Furious, he shifted some things on his desk, his table, down.
A book. Ink. A silver cup. All of it crashed. The cup dented. Ink bled across the wood like a wound.
Groaning in anger. A sound torn from his throat. Not princely. Not humble. Animal.
Raw.
He’d smiled all day. Bowed. Said the right things. Stood in shadow while the king looked at a forest girl like she was the sun.
Someone appeared behind him.
No footsteps. No door. Just there. Like smoke. Like he’d been in the room the whole time and Ralph just hadn’t noticed.
"You summoned me, Prince Ralph."
Ralph could tell whose voice was that so he didn’t bother looking back and rasped, "Who was that?"
His voice was hoarse. From shouting. From pretending.
He meant Ayla. The forest girl. The miracle. The girl who’d made the king stand while Ralph stood in shadow.
"I know her not," the voice said. Smooth. Old. Like paper. "Seems to me like some forest girl with no background."
Spy. Keeper of secrets. His voice was always soft. Always careful. Like he was afraid of breaking the air.
The voice told him not to worry about a nobody like her.
"Outlanders rise and fall," the voice said. Certain than ever. "She’ll be forgotten by the next moon. The court chews up girls like that."
It said it like fact. Like it had watched it happen a hundred times.
And that there was update.
Ralph’s jaw worked. Just for a moment.
His hands were flat on the desk. White-knuckled. The wood creaked under them. The humble son was gone. What was left was something sharper. Hungrier.
The boy who practiced smiles in the mirror was gone. This was the boy who practiced knives.
Ralph said, "go on."
His voice was quiet.
But the room listened anyway.
- Writer
