"Let's split," Borracho's voice resonated with gravitas as we approached the first pax tower along the Senta lane.
"Bonbon, top lane. Appu lane. Appu lane!"
"Outstanding, Bonbon. Kenru holds the top lane. I shall descend to the bottom lane, Shita."
Memories of just a day prior surged, reminding me of my presence in that very spot. A sudden image of the masked fire wielder flickered across my mind. Even now, I wrestled with the question: Was Kenru referring to the enigmatic fire user, the royal warrior from House Felun? The Fives' reputation for dread was legendary. Long before my possession of the gauntlet, stories of the ferocious might emanating from the fifth region echoed in my ears.
"Idrish, you'll hold Senta. You might cross paths with someone akin to Rouma, a dark mage. Our objective: shield the tower, shatter theirs, eradicate the foe. If you find yourself overwhelmed, flee to the pax tower for sanctuary."
My nod was a silent pact. Borracho, weathered and stalwart, exuded gravity. He entrusted me with this duty, his knowledge of combat tactics encyclopedic. A seasoned veteran of the arena, he'd danced with danger myriad times, familiar with every twist of fate. Perhaps that's why he designated me to safeguard Senta.
The warrior pivoted to face me, his gaze intense—an unexpected departure from his usual demeanor. Beside him, Bonbon, the one-eyed healer, cast a fleeting glance in my direction before its solitary eye closed.
"Idrish. Unyielding. Potent. Queen," Bonbon's eye glinted with elation, radiating an aura of joy. Despite its singular eye's immensity, a connection formed—an inkling of the delight it felt. Its diminutive hand clasped mine, kindling a surge of optimism, a solar plexus of energy enveloping me.
"Take heed, Bonbon." I affectionately tapped its colossal head, conveying reassurance.
Borracho's hand alighted on my shoulder. His scent hinted at alcohol, a trivial detail brushed aside. His gesture felt paternal, a guardian imparting final counsel. "Idrish, your kind—I've witnessed it. Rare and distinct. Safeguard yourself, at any expense. Engage your wrist's energy for healing if need be. Fight for survival—our sole recourse. Ahead lies arduous hours. Cling to your emblem."
"Hold your emblem." The phrase resonated—bravery intertwined with honorable combat—a refrain familiar among the seventh region's warriors. My father, too, had been a warrior, these words echoing throughout my childhood. Now, Borracho's reminder elevated my resolve, a clarion call to battle gallantly, to triumph in the arena.
Victory held significance beyond mere triumph; it paved the way to reunion with my siblings, a bartered boon for my freedom. "Again. Hold your emblem."
"Thank you, sir Borracho."
A wistful smile graced his lips. His hand lingered momentarily, bestowing a parting touch on my shoulder and Bonbon's head. He turned toward the Shita lane, while Bonbon embarked on its journey into the left woods, destined for the Appu lane.
In moments, the duo dissolved into the undergrowth, leaving behind a vacuum of silence. The zephyr whispered, orchestral insects resumed their symphony. The tranquility remained undisturbed by any interlopers, its serenity an armor of protection.
A lifetime of hunting cultivated my intimacy with silence—its nuances, its cadence—the howls, the hoots, the croaks. These echoes were tools vital for any proficient hunter. Perturbations within the tranquil forest weren't concealed from me.
Still, I waited, a sentinel by the tower. From this vantage, the opposing camp's main tower loomed meters away, its crystal pinnacle ablaze in crimson. Camp Septen's claim was marked—a signal in red. The tower's guardians intrigued me.
Yet, sudden hush cascaded over both flanks of the forest, a magnetic force tugging my attention leftward. Flocks of birds erupted into the sky.
Someone approached—an electric surge of panic coursed through my veins. My heartbeat galloped, a herd of stallions within my chest. Fear—an avalanche, an unbridled torrent—crashed upon me. I was the pursuer, the hunter—yet the paradigm shifted, the hunted seeking refuge within my fear-shrouded heart.
Swallowing my dread, the rustle from either side stirred me. Concealed amid the undergrowth, one adversary lay in wait. The other skulked behind a tree to my left. The clearing revealed the tower—ten meters wide, a tableau for both foes to witness. Ambush was imminent—dual foes, twinned ambushers—like twin serpents, ready to strike.
A trap—engulfed, ensnared, ensnagged. My options dwindled—erroneous move equating doom. Vigilance was my armor, but I yearned for a positive denouement. Perhaps, by miracle, one adversary may be friend, not foe. Alas, reality often defied wishes.
Gripping my weapons, their cool metal matched my determination. Gauntlet bare, shield and sword poised, I prayed for dexterity, for their symbiotic fusion to manifest—guard and blade to become one.
Inhaled breaths anchored my focus, ears attuned to impending danger. Fear surged, unexpected yet welcomed. Its presence validated my readiness.
Behind the veil of trees, a stone crackled, its electric dance unbound. The tower's blue crystal, target of their wrath, beckoned the projectile. Cursing beneath my breath, I bore witness as the stone struck, igniting an inferno that shook the earth.
The tower's debris cascaded in a disordered ballet. Responding with urgency, the pax projected a defensive shield, demarcating the tower's sanctum. In my grasp, a metallic shield and gleaming silver claymore sword materialized. Their swift arrival took me aback, a testament to my growing familiarity with the extraordinary.
The second assailant replicated the strategy, hurling electric-charged stones at the pax's crystal structure. Their aim: to shatter the Senta tower's safeguard.
My hold on the sword and shield intensified. Evidently, they weren't yet required. I stilled the tremors in my hands, and the weapons vanished, replaced by those I deemed more fitting for the task.
A bow and arrow manifested—my weapon of choice.
As I summoned the bow, its ethereal form melded into existence. I stood, surveying the environment for the mark. However, my ears remained attuned to the symphony of stone against shield. Focusing, I strained to sharpen my vision. Before the tower's defenses crumbled, I had to locate my prey.
There she was—camouflaged amid the verdant curtain of foliage. Striking her would prove challenging, obscured as she was behind the concealing tree. A decision had to be made, and my stance shifted to center my attention on the chosen adversary. My grip relaxed marginally, my fingers caressing the bowstring in preparation. The illusion was vital: I pretended to aim at the adversary concealed behind the grass, my true target hidden beneath the facade.
Meanwhile, the stones continued to rain from the adversary hiding in the underbrush. Their assault was relentless, and my focus never wavered. My gaze locked onto the chosen mark. Returning her challenge, my eyes met hers, an unspoken vow exchanged within the tension.
With fire in her eyes, she braced herself for the impending strike. "I'll slay you, archer. My pursuit will endure until your breath falters."
Silence was my reply, and another arrow found its place in my grip, drawn from the quiver affixed to my hip. Weakening their resolve by severing one of the pair was my objective. Contemplating the second foe pelting me with electrified stones was a puzzle for later.
Once more, I appraised my adversary's location, my attention now laser-focused. Returning her gaze, I studied her stance, estimating my approach. Raising the bow, my muscles tensed as I calculated how to strike the hidden foe behind the tall grass. The adversary's stillness hinted at their patience—biding time until the shield faltered before launching their assault.
Inhaling deeply, I stilled the galloping rhythm of my heart. In a heartbeat, the bow was at my shoulder, and the arrow was launched. I heard the projectile slice through the air before it found its mark.
As the arrow's path intersected with its target, a piercing scream shattered the air. Success—I had hit her. A woman.
"Charge!" She bellowed, clutching the arrow-wounded shoulder. Dark liquid oozed, staining her skin. She stood, a commanding presence, battle-scarred and muscular. A crown of white feathers adorned her form, and her eyes shone a fierce alabaster. A creature in human guise, ready to spring within the safety of the territorial shield.
She advanced, halting just before the boundary, her predatory eyes locked onto mine. The pause was fleeting—a mere breath—before she prepared to strike. Her gaze bore into me, a challenge of life and death. "I'll end you, archer. Your final breath will be my triumph."
Mute, I retrieved another arrow from the quiver, fortifying it with energy from my unseen gauntlet.
She laughed, a cynical glint in her eye. "An arrow can't snuff out my life. I've braved spears aplenty, and I still stand, little archer." Her voice crackled with wrath and menace.
"Very well," I responded, the arrow poised, the shield's brilliance undimmed. With a smirk, I baited, "Prepare yourself!"
With unswerving force, I released the arrow. The whisper of its trajectory reached my ears even before it met its destination. Yet, the woman's hair extended, twisting and turning to redirect the arrow's flight. Her lips twisted into a taunting smile. "An arrow can't extinguish me. I've borne countless spears and remain unscathed, little archer." Her voice resonated with a frayed edge, a cocktail of fury and trepidation.
"Brogour!" She directed her cry toward her concealed ally. "How much longer? Shatter the shield—then I'll throttle this archer to her end!"
In response, Brogour's roar thundered, its bulk hurling against the tower's shield. The creature was a tempest unchained—a force of nature. A beast, indeed. The image of Brogour loomed, terrifying in its own right.
"Brogour! Raze the tower! The Miss won't be pleased if we fail to eliminate this woman!" Tigrani, introduced as the woman, cried out once more.
"The Miss?" A question lingered—a leader in their midst. Yet, Tigrani's tone hinted at something different—an assertion that I was their singular target.
"So, you've come to kill me?"
Her laughter reverberated before her reply. "Yes! The Miss hungers for your demise."
"Who is this Miss?"
"Someone who knows your secret. Someone who yearns for the gauntlet of House Calore."
And with that revelation, my world shattered—the knowledge of my secret in their hands. The secret I had fiercely guarded, concealed even from the king.
Now, the gauntlet was their covetous pursuit.
And they hunted me.