Parallel Crossroads

Chapter One

(Eden's POV)

    Pitiful I thought to myself as my opponents weakly sobbed from their curled forms on the ground, "If that's the best you can do, expect harsher training starting tomorrow." 

    "I-I'm sorry," stammered the Trainer, Mr. Fredricks, as he watched his elite team struggle to breathe, "I'll do better I swear it!" 

    "Don't give me promises, give me results," I replied as calmly as I could before walking away from his petrified form. I hated him, how quickly he turned into a pile of mush when afraid. 

    I cracked my knuckles, embracing the sound of bones clacking before heading to the center of the Cortes Clan. My Father, Manuel Cortes, established the Cortes Clan almost 20 years before, then had me 2 years after. 

    "Pure fighting power, one of the strongest clans known in the States," I chuckled to myself as I jogged past the hedges in the clan garden and shuffled up the stone stairway into the house, "Not with that kind of fighting." 

    The servants waved at me as I passed by. Their expressions always hid the underlying pity they felt for me, their fear was so obvious that it wasn't uncommon to find a self-hung corpse drying out in the courtyard in the early morning. They were obligated to show me small smidges of kindness, but they could never really hide their fear.

    Then, of course, was my father. 

    "You better have a worthy excuse for interrupting my work," he growled when I opened the door to his study, "I thought I warned you what would happen if you interrupted me again." 

    "Sorry, Sir," I responded immediately, "I've tested the higher-ranked fighters to see their skill level in comparison to mine, just like you asked." 

    "And..." 

    "I've rearranged their training schedules, they've done well but I believe-" 

    Before the words could come out, my father was in front of my and a harsh sting spread across my face. Biting back a gasp, I held myself as still as possible while he took out all his anger on my already bruised body. 

    "w***e, the only reason you want to change their schedule is so you have time to be with all of them" he growled once he was done. His seat let out a puff as he plopped back down, seizing a cigar in his right hand while cleaning my blood off his left, "Go out and train the newer recruits, perhaps I'll find one of them worthy of inheriting my clan. And don't even think about trying anything with them." 

    "Yes, Sir," getting back up was something I had gotten used to. The stabbing pain in my lower ribs, the strange swellings I'd feel all over for the next few days. Even the blurry vision if he ever dared attack my face. 

    To him, I was a disgrace since I wasn't the son he wanted. My eyes, the brightest blue you can imagine, reminded him too much of my mother, according to the staff. Yet another reason for him to hate me. He had her banned from the clan and hunted down in the woods when I was a baby because she stood up to him, threatened to leave him for me. Another thing that he blamed me for. 

    "Ms. Cortes!" wincing at both the surname and the pain at turning my head, I turned to see Mr. Fredrick holding out a clipboard and pen, "Your father ordered me to give this to you, you're leading border patrols on the Whitewater River until he finds someone to replace you." 

    "...It won't take him long," I murmured. The clipboard weighed heavy in my hands, like the bag of bricks, "He's been looking for someone to replace me since the day I was born." 

    "Don't say that," the Trainer tried to reassure me, "I bet he's just mourning, he'll get over all of this soon!" 

    "I'm almost 19," letting my natural coldness flood my tone, I watched the man stiffen and lower his head in complete submission, "I don't need your pep talks to lectures, don't try to comfort me." 

    "Yes, my apologies Ms. Cortes," he said, stepping back to let me through. My team was full of new recruits and newly-ranked officials who had probably never seen real combat before. Shaking my head,I gently pulled my sleeve a bit further up my wrist to hide the effects of my short moments of weakness before gearing up. 

    "Today's gonna be different," I remember saying as I reached my private barracks, "Today, I'm gonna be the one standing tall...and the ones I hate crying at my feet." 

    "Today is going to be different."