In the deep, suffocating darkness of her sleep, Akita found herself standing in a sunlit valley, the scent of wildflowers in the air and the distant sound of a bubbling brook. She recognized this place instantly: it was the valley where she had grown up, far from the oppressive valley that now held her captive.
The warmth of the sun on her skin felt almost real, and for a moment, she allowed herself to forget the collar around her neck, the chains that bound her. The air was fresh and the scars that were once on her body were gone. She walked forward, her steps light and free, until she saw them—her parents, standing side by side, their faces lit with pride and love.
Her mother, a fierce warrior with eyes as sharp as an eagle's, was teaching her to hold a spear properly. "Balance is key, Akita," she said, her voice strong and reassuring. "A warrior must be one with their weapon."
Her father, tall and imposing with a gentle smile, was beside her, showing her the intricacies of setting traps. "Every detail matters," he explained, his hands guiding hers. "In battle and in life, it's the small things that make the difference."
Their lessons had been the foundation of her strength, the core of her identity. Akita could feel the warmth of their love, the safety of their presence. She watched as they trained her, their movements fluid and powerful. They had been more than just parents; they were her mentors, her heroes.
The dream shifted, and suddenly the sky darkened. She saw her parents standing in front of her, their faces etched with worry. "You must be strong, Akita," her mother said, her voice trembling. "No matter what happens, remember who you are."
Her father placed a hand on her shoulder, his grip firm. "We love you, Akita. Never forget that."
Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the vision faded, replaced by the harsh reality of her captivity. Akita woke with a start, drenched in sweat, her heart pounding in her chest. She was back in the small, dimly lit chamber, the collar around her neck a cold reminder of her situation.
As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she noticed something strange—a blanket draped over her body. Confused, she wondered when it had been placed there. Had someone shown her a rare moment of kindness, or was it another cruel trick?
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of Virgil standing near the door, his reflection visible in a nearby mirror. He was looking at himself, a sly smile playing on his lips. When he turned to face her, his expression was one of smug satisfaction.
"Good morning, Akita," he said, his voice dripping with false warmth. "Did you sleep well?"
Akita didn't respond, her mind still lingering on the dream. The memory of her parents, their love and their strength, gave her a renewed sense of determination. She would endure whatever Virgil threw at her, just as her parents had taught her.
Virgil's smile widened as he approached her. "I have a task for you this morning," he said, his tone casual but commanding. "The garden needs to be straightened up. It's a mess, and I want it looking perfect.And remember, any sign of defiance or failure will be met with severe punishment."
Akita nodded, her mind already shifting to the task ahead. It wasn't just about tending to a garden; it was about survival, about biding her time and finding a way to escape. "Yes, Master Virgil," she replied, keeping her voice steady.
Virgil seemed pleased with her compliance, and he handed her a set of gardening tools. "I expect nothing less than perfection," he said, his eyes locking onto hers with a cold intensity. "Do not disappoint me."
As she made her way to the garden, Akita allowed herself a moment to breathe deeply, to take in the fresh air. The garden was indeed in disarray, but she saw it as more than just a task; it was a temporary reprieve from the oppressive atmosphere of the manor.
Virgil stood at the window of his study, gazing out at the garden below. It was in a state of disarray, overgrown with weeds and tangled vines choking the once-beautiful flowers. He smiled to himself, knowing exactly who would be tasked with restoring it.
As she began pulling weeds and trimming back the overgrowth, trimmed hedges, and tended to the flowers. Each movement was precise, a reflection of the lessons her parents had taught her. As she worked, she could almost hear their voices, their guidance giving her strength. Akita's task when she was in the slave estae was to take care of the garden as she often had to plant flowers and hoe the dirt to her masters liking.
Virgil settled into his study chair and picked up the stack of paperwork that had arrived that morning. The documents were a detailed account of Akita's history, tracing her path through various slave estates across the Mainlands. Each record told a similar story: she was deemed untamable, her spirit too strong to be broken by conventional means.
Virgil's eyes scanned the pages with growing interest. Each failure of her previous owners to subdue her only fueled his curiosity and desire. He reveled in the challenge she presented, the fiery resistance that set her apart from the others.
He smirked as he read the final report. It was clear that her previous masters had lacked the patience and creativity to truly test her limits. But Virgil was different. He thrived on breaking the unbreakable, and Akita would be no exception.
Outside, Akita worked tirelessly, her hands dirty and her back aching from the effort. She refused to let the garden defeat her, attacking the task with a determination that matched the fire in her eyes. Hours passed, and slowly but surely, the garden began to take shape.
By midday, she had made significant progress. The weeds were mostly gone, and the flowers she had managed to salvage were now standing tall, their vibrant colors beginning to reemerge.She stood back, wiping the sweat from her brow, and allowed herself a moment of satisfaction. She wiped the sweat from her brow and allowed herself a moment of satisfaction. She had proven, if only to herself, that she could handle anything he threw at her.
Virgil appeared at the edge of the garden, watching her with a mixture of amusement and admiration. He approached silently, his presence unnoticed until he was standing directly behind her.
"You've done well," he said, his voice startling her. She turned to face him, her expression guarded.
"I did what you asked," she replied, trying to keep her tone neutral.
Virgil nodded, his eyes glinting with a sadistic pleasure. "Indeed, you have. It seems you have more spirit than I initially thought."
He reached out and took a strand of her hair between his fingers, twirling it idly. Akita fought the urge to pull away, standing her ground instead. Virgil's smile widened, and he let go of her hair, stepping back.
"You have a history, Akita," he said, his tone turning serious. "Many have tried to tame you and failed. But I am not like the others. I will not fail."
Akita met his gaze, her defiance burning bright. "I am not a beast to be tamed," she said firmly.
Virgil chuckled, a cold, mirthless sound. "No, you are not. But you will learn your place. One way or another."
He turned and walked back towards the mansion, leaving her standing in the garden, her fists clenched at her sides. As much as she hated to admit it, his words had struck a nerve. She had been through so much, endured so many attempts to break her spirit. But something about Virgil terrified her in a way the others had not. He was patient, calculating, and utterly relentless.
She took a deep breath and forced herself to focus on the task at hand. She would not let him see her fear. She would continue to fight, to resist. She would not be broken.
But as she watched him disappear into the mansion, she couldn't shake the feeling that her greatest challenge had only just begun.
Inside his study, Virgil returned to his desk, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. He had seen the spark of fear in her eyes, the realization that he was different from those who had come before. He relished the challenge she presented and was more determined than ever to break her.
He glanced out the window at the garden, now partially restored to its former glory. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. And it was only the beginning.
He picked up the last piece of paperwork, a final report on her history. As he read it, his smile grew wider. She was indeed deemed untamable, a label that had sealed her fate in his eyes. He relished the thought of proving everyone wrong.
"Yes," he murmured to himself, "let the games begin."