As the crowds continue singing, someone's hand wanders to my pocket. I grab and twist the arm until a harsh cry sounds from behind me. A boy, not much older than me, writhes under my grip. He meets my stare with equal ferocity burning in the gray depths of his eyes.
"Scythe, care to spare me some gold? I'll give ya' a sweet deal in exchange." He nods towards the gleaming knife peeking through my cloak.
My breath catches in my throat, and I tighten my grip on the weapon. Still holding his gaze, the familiar aura swells in my veins, forming a wispy plume in my hand. It's a silent warning. Still, the boy shows no reaction. Then, his eyes take on the color of honey, and a smirk finds its way across his lips. His other features change in the blink of an eye, making it impossible for anyone to see the morphing.
"Kyro, what are you doing?" I whisper.
"Still want the deal?" he says with a wry grin.
I turn to elbow him, and he dodges out of the way, chuckling over his near-victory. He grabs my hand and weaves us through the crowd. Everything whirls by in a blur until we reach the city. Our five suns blaze a scorching trail over the raised platform ahead, their scorching heat earning them the name, 'Firestorm.' People grasp at the golden rays igniting the raised platform. Their eyes lift to the sky in awe.
The chatter dies down. I take my time to examine the markings on the ground. Every day, the Patriarch carves them in, the lines joining together to form the insignia of a dove. As the Patriarch takes the platform, crystal water fills the markings. He towers over the people by a few heads. Except for his eyes, the rest of his body is shrouded in shadow.
"Today, the Scythes will be assigned their specialties. No longer will they belong to their families. Now, they'll dedicate their lives to the defense of the great Orion planet." His booming voice carries through the restless crowd.
Swirling clouds gather above the birthing platform, and it casts a glowing beam on the water. Droplets rise to the sky. I hold my breath, watching as they spread out and land on my skin.
Dark energy consumes me, biting at my skin and impaling my body. A blue wisp materializes within the storm. Once it strikes my face, it melds with my skin and stabs my bones. I don't know what it is yet. Shaking my head, I focus on the growing light at the end of the vortex. Pain slices through me, ripping and gnawing at my skin. Heaviness creeps up my legs and saps the last ounce of strength from my body. It coils around my neck until my nerves catch fire.
I bite my lip hard enough to draw blood, the copper taste making my pulse race. Heat spreads across my face. Soreness grips my muscles, but that quickly dissolves away under a newfound strength. Three glowing lines fill the birth scar on my wrist. All Scythe children are marked by a short line between two longer ones that circle around our wrists.
With tears still stinging my eyes, the darkness lifts from my body. People stare down at us curiously. The Patriarch straightens and spreads out his hands. "Citizens of Orion, these are your Scythes. They were born out of dust on this very platform, and we gave them to loving families for 17 years. Now, they are of age to join our defense force." He turns to those gathered on either side of him and smiles. "To the foster households, we extend our great thanks for your service."
Four groups of Scythes take the stand behind her. Unsheathing their knives, they thrust their blades into the dirt. It's a sign that they're out to fight today. Ash pins me in place with his stare while he stands among the Sentinel warriors, with hope shining in his hazel eyes.
I turn to Kyro. "Where do you want to go?"
"Ametrine. I'll blast some Empyrean heads and pick them off like dirt."
Ametrines the sniper Scythes, and they've killed countless Empyrean generals. Secretly, I'd hoped to become a Sentinel at the battle frontlines. I'm tired of those who think I can't do it just because I'm a girl. Father taught me well, and for a time, Mother did too. They should know that. "Why can't they let us choose what we want?" I murmur.
Kyro shrugs, but his eyes are distant. The platform begins to glow, a sign for the fights to start before the births. Keepers wait for us on the other side, with their Scythes in tow. They throw the hoods off their cloaks and draw their swords. We have our own I swallow the growing lump in my throat. This evaluation fight, along with my training scores, decides what kind of Scythe I'll be for the rest of my life.
A Keeper motions for me to come closer. Half of her face is still raw with pinkish grafting tissue, and her neck bears a nasty scar. It's Regan, the miracle Scythe who barely made it out from the recent Empyrean attack.
Daggers fly from her palm and pierce my armor. I slide across the soil. Flaming arrows rain down on us until a ring of fire forms around the platform. My lungs scream from the thick smoke. Somehow, I can sense her movements. Left, backward, and right. I mirror her movements and shoot her knives back into the darkness.
I slide through the smoke, and my boots find soft flesh. She hisses and kicks. My ribs are throbbing, and there's a sickening crack as her leg finds home. Each breath stings like I'm cut open again and again. Her silhouette appears from the smoke. Black spots dim my vision, but I force myself up.
Crouching, I move around the arena and stick close to the flames at the edge. All I need is a few seconds. Heat licks my skin until it goes red. Then, she stalks towards me, eyes glowing and claws scratching against the soil. She's in her half-Chimera form. Biting my lip, I collapse into the ground with a sickening thud. I go still and part my lips for effect. She pauses over me, the barest flicker of disappointment in her eyes.
"You're dead," I rasp. Reaching for her throat, I slam her to the ground. A sharp rock impales her armor. Her fangs drip venom, the whitish tips nearly breaking my skin. I press a knife against the vulnerable flesh of her throat. Metal meets skin until a stream of crimson trickles into the soil. She kicks my injured side, but I pin her down. Wincing, she goes limp, but her eyes remain alert.
"When I'm better, we'll have a rematch," she muses. Slowly, her body shifts back, and the scaly skin fades away.
"I'll hold you to that."
I think I see the hint of a smile while she gets up and dusts herself off. As the choking smoke lifts from the area, I spot some Scythes lying motionless. Blood pools beneath their bodies. I watch as their breaths grow shallow, and I pry my eyes from their still faces. The Healers will save them, but they'll probably need a rematch tournament later.
I end up leaning against a nearby tree for support. For a while, the world sways, and I grip the ropes so tightly that it scratches my skin.
Ash saunters over to me. "There's my Lycan."
"Don't call me that."
My brother flinches like I just burned him. Maybe my words stung a little, but so did Mother's rejection. He takes a step closer and frowns. "What happened?"
I roll up my sleeve to reveal the raw bite mark. When Mother sunk her teeth into me, she marked me as a stranger. She disowned me. Ash and I no longer share the same bloodline. His face hardens, and there's a slight tic to his jaw. "Giselle, I never thought she'd become like this. I mean, I saw the signs, but she always controlled herself."
"Try telling that to everyone who gives up their kids year after year. They probably accepted that the children can never be their own."
"We don't exactly belong to the Patriarch either," he murmurs and slinks away.
Since the Patriarch harvested our spirits from other planets before birthing us here, we're technically not his. Yet, we're pledging allegiance to his cause now.
Slowly, I push myself off the tree and hobble away. Kyro waits for me where the other Scythes are gathered. He stumbles a little, smiling sheepishly when I steady him. I bite my lip hard enough to draw blood. Holding him up renews the hammering sensation in my ribs. When I start swaying, he latches onto my arm and steadies me. "Sorry," he breathes.
The unconscious ones lie on a mat next to us, and Healers stop by to close our wounds. Trying to ignore the stinging sensation throughout my body, my eyes start to wander over the crowd. Everyone's faces are deathly pale as they stare at the bloodied arena.
What was I thinking?
Even if Mother pushes me away, I'll give anything to see my foster parents again. I never belonged to the Patriarch. He only formed me to start another war against the Empyreans, not out of love. We're the Crimson Army, born and revived as new Scythes for the sake of revenge against the Empyreans. As a weight settles in my heart, a soft voice carries to my ears. "Stay safe."
It sounded like Mother's voice for a moment, but I knew that it couldn't be true.
The Patriarch takes his place on the platform. At his signal, the Keepers take their positions at his side. Ametrine starts first. Xav, the Ametrine Keeper, narrows his eyes at the crowd until some of them cry out. Burn marks start from their temples, tracing the length of their cheeks and stopping at their jaws. This is the Ametrine mark.
Everyone drops to their knees as Xav steps forward. His face is drawn into a scowl, the mark on his forehead dipping beneath his furrowed brows. Though his skin is slightly ashen with age, no one would dare test the strength in his body.
Kyro stiffens next to me. He didn't get chosen. I squeeze his hand reassuringly, and he offers me a tight smile.
The Chimera and Sentinel groups are next. Both Keepers are twin sisters, and they're identical right down to the scratches they bear on their faces. They stretch out their glowing hands towards us. One by one, those chosen to be Chimeras transform into their animal form. A vision of fur, scales, and feathers grow over their bodies.
For the Sentinels, a dark scar wraps around their necks. Kyro's grip on my hand tightens, and he starts trembling. I look up to see the mark carving itself into his skin. It's not what he wanted, especially not after his father died in the Great War as a Sentinel. It'll be like reliving an endless nightmare. I try searching for the right words to say, but there's nothing. Words always fail me when I need them most.
Just then, Regan stops in front of us and snaps her fingers. Lightning splits the sky, the neon streaks trailing across the clouds and vanishing into the ground. Firestorm turns blood red. The howling wind kicks up the dirt.
Standing in a straight line, the Keepers raise their hands high. Radiant energy bursts across their skin, but their expressions remain stoic. It's different from what I saw in my last training session. Back then, I could read Mother's pain like an open book, every wince and grimace etched in my mind as a bitter memory. This amount of power is almost impossible to control for a Chimera.
"Kneel and accept the oath of the Noires." The Keepers call out in unison. I unsheath my knife and slit my hand. Strangled cries erupt around us, but I bite my tongue and hold my breath. Glowing tendrils burn my skin, latching on to my body wherever it finds purchase. I don't fight against its hold as I hit the ground. Power surges through my chest, wrapping around my neck before stopping at my temples. A scarlet stream oozes from my head and trickles down my cheek.
Then, the agony slowly retreats. Regan's eyes are a brilliant shade of ivory, her energy spreading across her skin like glowing veins and cracking the earth at her feet. That's the wonder of Noires. Our collective strength is enough to command lightning. On our own, we're also the silent assassins of the Crimson Army. As I get up and dust myself off, I glimpse Xav's curious gaze. The Ametrine Keeper sneers like he knows something I don't.