typing from somewhere in swordhaven's dungeons

Feel your heart pounding in your ears. Keep moving even as your ankle feels fit to crumble. Behind you the door to the old man’s room hangs ajar, you left it open because there was no point to subtlety when the whole mansion was going to be upon you soon.

Sneaking into the nobles house was easy. Climbing the walls was just will, the skin on your hands a simple sacrifice to get to his window. It had been left slightly open, the old man likes the smell of pine after a rainfall. It was well oiled and made no noise when pushed open, eerily silent as you widened the gap enough so that you can slip your slight body through, knife held in your mouth.

The guards on the grounds never looked up, you don’t know why currently but you’ll learn that its because a killer doesn’t sit on the throne anymore. You’ll think to yourself that they should probably get a new one to keep the fear in place. No fear means no motivation, which means no alarm called out as your padded shoes hit the well polished floor.

The room had been well furnished, plush rugs covering the floor. A massive dresser that reminded you of Suel’s stood in front of you next to the door leading out to the hallway. Various beast heads were hanging on the walls salon styled, it made for a grotesque sight. You wondered how anyone could sleep with all their eyes watching them.

Poorly, was your answer as the old man crashed into you. The old warmaster grasping your throat tightly and lifting you off the floor. He liked the smell of wet pine, he had stayed up to enjoy it. You’d have felt annoyed at your mistake if you weren’t more concerned with the darkening corners of your vision. He had demanded you to tell him who sent you, a cruel joke meant to push more of your limited air out of your lungs when you garbled out an unintelligible response, hopefully he had understood that you meant it as an insult. The knife in your mouth fell out as you snarled and spit in his grip, it’s a lucky break that it landed on his foot and pierced him.

Regaining control of yourself you had managed to grab your stiletto blade from your belt and put it through his wrist. He dropped you and you land poorly in your panic, the side of your ankle crunching into the floor before you got your footing back. The old man attempted to lunge at you again, growling about snuffing you out like in the good days, and you stumbled to the side in time to slip out the wrist blade and plunge it into his hip as he falls past you. Small and lean was an undeniable fact about you, but Meridian had told you that that could be an advantage against ‘old gramps’. When the grizzled face out of time howled and turned to slam his fist into you you were just quick enough to put the blade into his throat before the impact sent you flying across the room into the bed.

You were lost for a few seconds amidst the soft blankets and furs, fighting to detangle yourself from the creature comforts. You could hear the gargling of the man approaching and you push yourself up and out, the weight of the blankets heavy and trapping.

You looked behind you and saw him stumbling onto the floor, blood spilling out of his throat and splattering against his chest. His face was twisted in ghoulish wrath as he pointed at you. Then you were out the door. There was no time to confirm that he was dead, it was sloppy work and you were going to have to tell a good story about finishing him off if you got home.

Your left ankle aches every time your foot pounds into the floor of the hallway. You can still see the nobleman’s face when you blink. A maid comes rushing around the corner and you twist around her, shoving her as hard as you can while you pass. This section of the house has narrow walls and labyrinthian turns, you can smell oils and grease and you hope that you’re in the servants passage. The exit will be quicker and more discrete this way then the front door. You hope you pass by a window, that would be even quicker.

When you turn another corner you’re confronted with a sudden staircase that veers down. No time to carefully make your way down the uneven steps, so you leap and pray you don’t break your neck. From behind you comes shouting and clanging, the guards catching up to you. But they are stalled by the stairs while you tumble down, slamming against the walls and stone, your arms bruising when you hit the bottom.

Tearing through the room at the bottom of the stairs, a kitchen with a wall covered in bells and a table set out covered in rotten food, you zero in on the door with wet stains on the floor before it. Slamming into it with full force it stands tall and you have to fumble with the door, wasting precious seconds as clamorous curses echo in the stairway facing your back. Finally the thing swings open and you dart out into open air, dashing for the tree line and thanking Celeritas that the old man never built walls around his home.

A twang sounds out behind you as you cross into the woods. A bolt strikes you in the back soon after and you’re taken off your feet, falling forward into the underbrush from the force of it.

You attempt to crawl for a moment before giving up, the pain settling in quickly.

“We should confirm its dead.” You can hear someone shout. You don’t sob into the moss, which you’re proud of, but you can’t stop your body from shaking. It doesn’t take long to reload a crossbow, and you’re a still target on the ground.

“You got the thing in the back.” Came the reply, “they weren’t that big. They’re dead or dying.”

“Procedure is that we check.” His voice doesn’t sound very firm compared to his comrade.

“You want to go out there in the mud? In this weather? The bastard’s not gonna pay you extra for avenging 'em.”

You don’t get to hear the end of the argument. Fading out now that the adrenaline is failing. You wonder if Suel is right about the afterlife, the Light Plane wouldn’t be so bad.

...

Your eyes snap open and you cough, unable to breathe. Celica is hovering over you, holding a potion bottle, smiling. Its the same expression as usual, tinged with anxiety and hope. Sitting up you swallow the concoction that remains in your mouth and look around at your surroundings. You’re sitting on a cot in a room painted white, its contents spartan, the only other furnishing is the chair Celica is sitting in.

“Did we die?”

Celica’s sigh is exasperated.

“Why would I be dead? You went alone silly.” She pushes you in the shoulder playfully but its hard enough to send you back, hitting the wall of the room. You hiss as your wound in your back ignites with fresh pain. “You are so lucky I found you, you know? The others didn’t want to get that close to the mansion with the guards on such high alert.” She takes your hands, rubbing your knuckles with her thumbs as she stares into your eyes with steel seriousness. “We thought you were dead.”

You lick your lips and wonder what kind of discussion you were going to have about your performance. Celica was speaking so softly, but you knew what she meant when she told you that you almost weren’t found. Getting hit like that was a failure, Suel and Meridian were disappointed. “It would take more than that to kill me- and I almost got out clean too! The guards just got a lucky shot in. Next time I’ll be faster to duck and they won’t have a chance to try.” You say, wishing you could make it sound more true.

“Well, I’m glad to hear that you’re already working on your shortcomings.” The new voice is sharp, the familiar mature tone sending a shiver down your spine as you turn to Suel. She was ducking down as she entered the doorway. Her face is stoic and firm, it always reminds you of the porcelain plates she displayed in her room, pristine and unreadable.

“Master!” Celica practically falls out of her seat to kneel, a near perfect replica of the chivalric novels she read. You sit up straight and smile, as disappointed in you she may be, you were excited to tell her about your success in the request.

Suel’s pure white dress swishes pleasantly as she lowers down to grab Celica by the chin and force her to stand back up. Turning to you she smiles, it was all teeth, you had gotten better at predicting her responses. Her voice showed no sign of her strain, smooth and melodious. “Celica, I would like to speak with Snake Eyes alone to review their slip up.”

She doesn’t argue against the implied order, slipping out of the room while shooting you a sympathetic glance. When Celica is gone the room feels heavier, like her presence was a shield against Suel’s crushing disappointment. It doesn’t feel fair that you could get the job done and still feel like a failure.

“Snake Eyes,” Suel starts, looking down at you with the same interest she had in stains on the floor. “When I took you in I told you there were standards we had to uphold.”

You nodded in silence.

“And Meridian and I worked hard to give you all the tools and support necessary for you to meet those standards. Did we fail?”

Now you shook your head, your heart sinking deep into your stomach.

“So why,” She took her time to examine her gold prosthetic hand that she used, the clockwork art piece flicking away a piece of dust with all the grace of flesh. She lets you sit in the silence of the pause before continuing, “did you have to be dragged back home soaked in blood and mud?”

You struggle to find something to say, caught between honestly assessing your shortcomings and wanting to get out of this conversation as fast as possible. “My mistake was in my timing,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady to match her’s, “he was still awake when I made my approach and I had to fight him, I was sure everyone was alerted so I ran out after I got him. Maybe I could have snuck out instead of breaking immediately.”

Suel blinked “Hold the self assessment for a moment. You fought him directly?”

“Yes.”

Something changes in the air of the room, the interest in Suel’s eyes shifting to an energy you have never seen from her before. “And you won?” She asks, remaining measured in tone even as her eyes practically begin to glow.

You think for a second about victory and the definition Meridian gave you. “I killed him.” It was not exactly your greater skill that put him down, more just luck and trading a blow he couldn’t afford to take.

Suel doesn’t seem to care that you hadn’t answered directly, or even hear what you had said, taking your head in her hands and making you look up to meet her gaze. You don’t know why she had flipped so suddenly in her opinion, it wasn’t as if the circumstances of their failure had changed. Still, the fear from her changing demeanour was fading as her fingers carded through your hair. “How vicious of you, to be so capable at your size.” You lean your head into her hands, her praise sinking into your bones. “So good at battle at such a young age, it is like you were made for this.”

Your heart stutters, so far everyone had seemed content to tell you that something was wrong with you. You were a bad omen, a flawed being, you were never going to be anymore then serviceable. But if Suel was right, as she was always, then maybe you had found something to be proud of. She moves to cradle your head in her hands and a proud smile breaks through her porcelain stoicism.

“Remember this mistake and never let it happen again. If you promise me, swear to me, that you will hone this skill until it shines, then you could be the greatest weapon I ever make.”

Something about this feels important, like taking steps down stairs worn by someone whose shoes are exactly like yours.

“And I’ll be beside you forever?”

Suel’s smile widens, brilliant like the glare of dawn rising, washing all colour away.