At the Altar of Dragons

Session 28 | Chapter 9

The next day passes in a fog. Void of most emotions and numb to every sensation, I pass the time training, honing my skills to be more alert, more aware of my surroundings. After the last few days, I refuse to allow myself to be blindsided. Time and training is punctuated by the Priest slipping in and out of my mind, reminding me of my failures, where I held my bow slightly crooked and that’s why I missed my shot.

Lendys hovers around the periphery of the courtyard, staying out of my direct line of sight, but there nevertheless. Occasionally, he will disappear, where I don’t know. But each time he slips into the shadows or out of the room, my sword falters, my bow twitches, and my attack falls short. His presence is something I can’t escape. But his absence…is crushing.

“None of it was a lie.”

Those were his words that morning following our conversation with the gods. How none of it was a lie plagues my every thought. My eyes drift to the corners of my vision, curious if a small platinum dragon will be there. When I catch glimpses of him, I find myself wanting to go talk to him. To ask him to explain everything. To tell him he hurt me and that I hate myself for that.

During our fourth day of traveling, following training, I slipped into one of the colonnades alone. At the end of the tunnel-like structure was the edge of the floating castle we’ve called home for the last few days. I tucked myself into the shadowed corner and slumped to the ground. My shoulders are sore from the dozens of shots I took to hone my archery training today. Why I haven’t used my bow more lately is lost on me.

Apparently stealing one sword turns my focus from one of my greatest skills. Between sparring sessions at the conclave, I would slip away, into a cluster of trees, and nock arrow after arrow. My bow became an extension of my body, breathing through the pull of the string, exhaling as the arrow soared to its target.

You have become distracted, Huntress. You’ve lost yourself.

I close my eyes and lean my head against the stone. The Priest is right. As much as I hate admitting it. As much as I fight against agreeing with him, I’ve lost myself somewhere along the way. When it happened exactly, I’m not sure. Goose–Lendys–disappearing in front of me and exposing his lies was my wake up call. This isn’t just an adventure for me like it is the others. This is my purpose. My sworn mission from Bahamut.

Even if Lendys lied as he brought me this creed, he is Justice. Justice for all of dragonkind was my mission. My mind battles against my gut–challenging that since Lendys was the source of this message how can it be right? How can it be my purpose if it was established on a foundation of lies?

“None of it was a lie.”

I clutch my arms around me tightly, holding myself in place and keeping me from going to him. He’s the only one that would have answers for me. Memories filter through my mind of him, in the form of Goose, and I sharing quiet moments, creating plans, tracking the cult, following leads until we joined the rest of the party. After that, escaping into the woods to sit by a tree and exist in each other’s silent company.

Those moments can’t be a lie. Could they?

My eyes drift to the bandage peeking out from under my shirt sleeve. He comforted me after the last time I performed the blood ritual. He reassured me that Bahamut hadn’t forsaken me. That I had to be strong and bite back despite the silence.

That couldn’t have been a lie…

And if it was, Huntress? If that moment was a lie?

I grit my teeth, pulling back my sleeve and ripping the bandage away from my skin. The runes are still red from the last time my knife pierced my skin. The lines are raised, but the swelling has started to subside over the last day.

The Priest tuts, the sound bouncing around my thoughts, Weakness.

I stare at the runes, hatred building in me and causing my vision to bleed. Crimson pools around the edges of my sight, splashing against every surface until all I can see are the scars on my forearm. My stomach roils, physically convulsing in disgust at the runes.

They will be there for the rest of my life. A reminder of my weakness. A beacon for my failures. I clench my fist, fighting my hand as it threatens to drift to the knife at my belt.

I see it clearly, exactly what my own hand would do if it reached the blade. Cuts in every direction, every angle across my skin. Erasing the meaning of the lines, slashing them and hacking away at the ignorance I had in thinking they made me more worthy of Bahamut’s blessings. My arm would be left coated in red, flayed apart and the symbols could no longer mock me.

Honor. Poor warrior.

Wisdom. Weak minded.

Devotion. Manipulatable.

Justice. A target.

Voices make their way into the alcove I’m hidden in, pulling me from the vision. Silvyr and Zeref are coming back from working to free the giant’s wife’s spirit, or whatever deal they made to secure us passage to the Feywild.

Magic.

That would be permanent… erase any trace they were ever there. Instead of scarring my arm more and creating an even bigger symbol, I could truly erase them. I nod, resolved to find a moment with Silvyr at some point over the next couple days. He’s done so many things along our journey–surely this would be no challenge for him.

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Tomorrow we will reach the willow tree and subsequently the Feywild. I’m not ready to enter this other dimension–Perona’s home. Anxious energy hums along my edges, causing my movements and actions to be jittery. With each passing mile, the urge to unleash this energy builds. The wooden practice swords Perona has been insisting we use for ‘training’ are pale imitations of real weapons and do nothing to expel this excess energy.

It doesn't help my focus that over the last twenty-four hours, my mind has drifted too often to the idea of joining Lendys at the edge of the courtyard. The idea of sitting with him once again seems so natural, it makes me want to scream. Maybe I can yell at him again, tell him all the ways he was wrong. At least release a little of the pressure that’s been building the longer I hold everything inside.

I have some suggestions, Huntress, if you’re interested in criticizing the dragon… It’s unnerving the way I didn’t notice the Priest slide into the forefront of my mind. The last couple days it seems that he’s just there, ever present, ever interjecting his commentary.

At the Priest’s words, I shake my head, clearing it of the temptation. However, the urge to slash something, to feel the adrenaline of a real fight can’t be shaken so easily. Once every couple of months at the conclave, all of the acolytes would start to feel a similar energy. It was only satiated by either driving a sword into your opponent or a blade piercing your own flesh.

That is not the adrenaline inducing activity I’m presented with currently. My numb mental state is only reinforced by the fact that each swing of the wooden sword lacks urgency. This ‘training’ is missing the key component for me to truly learn and grow–a little fear that my opponent might kill me.

Without this fear, my mind wanders, my gaze drifting to the periphery of the courtyard. Lendys has been sitting in a small alcove, hunkered against the stone wall and slightly in shadow from the sun.

How can he claim the conclave was bad? He’s seen me fight…he’s fought alongside me and seen the fury in me as I defend those in need and execute those who have done wrong. The conclave and their training methods have made me the warrior I am today.

I lazily bat Perona’s sword to the side as she makes an attack against me, then pivoting my stance around her so I’m now facing the opposite end of the courtyard. Movement catches my eye to the left – Alba has been running laps in full plate armor for the last two days, building her momentum and strength under so much weight.

That can’t be easy running like that–that’s how my training was. Hard. Not easy. My mind replays our battles, thinking of all the times instinct has kicked in and allowed me to be more cunning and resourceful than I would’ve been without my training. I close my eyes and the slight movement of air through the courtyard is almost enough to trick my mind into thinking I’m back in the ring. Standing on the edge of a cliff, weapons in hand, heart pounding, sweat dripping, wind tearing against my body.

The elf doesn’t understand you, Huntress. She doesn’t see that you were honed not by a blunted sword but carved by the edge of the world itself.

“One wrong step…” I whisper to myself, memories flashing behind my eyes of dodging a blow that was just on the edge of the cliff. One wrong step and acolytes went tumbling off the mountainside. My gaze drifts towards the tower where Bahamut, Lendys, and Selune appeared to us a few days ago. My focus must have lingered for a breath too long, because suddenly, Perona’s sword connects with my own, knocking it clean from my grip.

My attention slides to my empty hand, staring at it, as Perona’s wooden blade presses against my chest. “And that is why you never lose focus,” she recites the words like she’d been told this dozens of times as a child.

Usually if I was disarmed, my opponent would be tackled to the ground and I’d resort to throwing fists. It didn’t happen often as my training progressed and so when it did, it was humiliating. As I stare at the sword lying on the ground, my hand limply hanging, I oddly feel nothing. My body bends down and picks up the wooden sword once again, holding it lazily at my side. My gaze holds Perona’s, staring at her, waiting for whatever she has planned next for me.

“Hey,” Layna’s voice calls from behind me. She’s swaggering over from talking with Crim, two short swords in hand. “You’re not used to practicing with those are you?” She points one of the metal blades at the blunted sword in my hand.

A sarcastic grin lifts the corners of my mouth as I reply with a simple shake of my head. I wait, studying her expression for any hint of ulterior motive or judgement in her question.

Layna nods her head and continues, “I’m not either. How about you and I spar?” Her eyes gleam with excitement as she punctuates the suggestion with, “Our way.” She spins the blades in her hand, testing their balance and getting a feel for their form.

Now this could be fun, Huntress. You know how unpredictable she can be in battle. It could be nice to play with someone like this again…

Before I have a chance to answer, Layna turns to Perona to say, “We’ll set ground rules, of course. The Syndicate always taught me to go until someone is down, and a healer was always nearby.”

Before I can think better of it, I scoff, “That’s more than the conclave ever did for me. Can’t tell you how many times one of us had to be carried off to a healer in the temple after a killing blow.” I take a couple steps away from Perona and toss the wooden weapons aside like the toys they are. Before I can see the worried look on Perona’s face, I grab my two shortswords from beside my bow. They’ve been resting on my bag against one of the stone walls unused for days now. A shiver shoots up my arms as I hold their hilts in each hand.

I turn back to Layna, seeing the astral elf picking apart my words and grinning at my honesty. Her eyes sparkle as she confesses, “I may have lied. Didn’t know we were that similar.”

Pain to counter pain. Huntress, are you feeling again? The Priest’s words mock me, sidling up beside my consciousness and trailing an inky finger against the inside of my mind. I look down at the weapon, grinning at how natural it feels in my hand. Perhaps the most authentic feeling I’ve had since Goose–

My eyes slide to the alcove where he’s been all afternoon. A battle of emotions wages in my chest–relief that he’s still here and anger that he took Goose from me. Spinning one of the swords, adjusting my grip to the weight of a real weapon again, I ask Layna, “What sort of rules?”

“Melee only, dual wielding allowed,” she lists, “No offensive magic, defensive and supporting magic is up to you. No tap outs, stay within the sparring area. Go until one of us is down.” She nods definitely. “Does that work for you?”

For a moment, I’m stunned by the conviction in her voice. Standing opposite her, it would be so easy to picture her at the conclave, trained for years opposite the other acolytes.

“Do not connect a killing blow,” Perona snaps, pulling my attention briefly to the side where she stands. “Tap out if you need. This isn’t a battle, so don’t treat it like one.” Fire blooms in her eyes, her body rigid as fear threatens to take over the composure Perona so carefully curates. “If you need to fight with metal, fine!” she storms off, tossing the words over her shoulder. She props herself against the wall in a huff, “You will both remember you are not enemies–this is a spar. You will tell me when you can no longer stand.”

I stare at Perona, blinking rapidly as I try to figure where she thinks she can tell me how to fight. Where was she for the first twenty-seven and a half years of my life? In the Feywild, being trained by whatever instructors her family provided, poking at her with wooden swords and telling her, “She’ll do better next time.” Never in my life have I had someone tell me to hold back, to be less of myself. It’s always been more, give me more, not good enough, not strong enough. And after each insult and blow, I fought back. I fought back with might and determination to end my opponent the next time. There were no opportunities to ‘do better next time’. It was kill or be killed and you learned quickly as a result.

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Trees do not grow by placing a rock on top of a sapling, Huntress.

“Do not worry,” Alba calls, approaching from the perimeter wall. She comes to stand beside Perona and places a hand on her shoulder. “No one will be dying today, and you need not handle the aftermath of this spar alone.” Her smile is one of acceptance as she looks at Layna and I before turning to Perona. She muses, “Perhaps this is something these two need.”

Perona tilts her head towards Alba and whispers something I can’t make out. Shaking my head, I turn back to Layna as she speaks, “Sorry–I’m still trying to unlearn some things. I won’t kill her I promise. We’ll tap out if we need to.” She takes a deep breath as she holds Perona’s gaze. “You can trust me, Perona,” She declares before turning to me. “Does that work for you?”

The small ember that ignited in my chest threatens to snuff out as Layna submits to Perona’s demands. The autumn elf fears you, Huntress. She doesn’t understand you or your skill with a blade. You can just as easily spare the astral elf’s life as you can end it. Working the ashen taste out of my mouth following the Priest’s words, I scowl and ask Perona, “You think I’d actually kill her?”

“No, love,” Perona mutters, “But I’d rather not see either of you broken, even accidentally.” With that statement, she slides down the wall and sits, ready to observe the fight to come.

I’m already broken, my mind screams, and you can’t fucking see it! You keep squeezing, pulling me along with you, fitting me into the perfect little box that would suit your world! I’m already in pieces…

A knot forms in my throat, my chest tightening, and my eyes slip to where Lendys sits. His sky blue eyes meet mine and hold my gaze. My stomach twists as I fight the urge to go to him. Even though he hid his identity from me, he knew me. He knew when I was annoyed, when I was spiraling, when I had a bad idea–and he was there every step with me, side by side.

Conviction and resilience, Huntress. That’s what caught the attention of the god of Justice. Not making yourself small to alleviate the fears of another…

Without responding to Perona, I turn my attention back to Layna. With more confidence than I expect, I state, “I know you won’t kill me.” My face is stone and my tone even as I continue, “I’ve stared into the eyes of my brothers and sisters and knew if they were given the chance, I wouldn’t walk off the mat. You don’t have that same expression.” I roll the sword hilt in my hand, letting the metal kiss against my skin and the light glint off of the blade. “I’m not trying to unlearn anything,” I confess, surprising myself as much as Layna with my words, “Relearn? Maybe. But not unlearn. Does that work for you?”

Layna’s eyes narrow at my words, likely trying to discern their meaning. A moment later, her lips slide into a cocky smile and replies, “I stopped calling the Syndicate members my brothers and sisters when I learned they would kill me to save their own skin. That’s when they became my opponents. You’re my sister now too, so I know you won’t kill me.” She readies herself, widening her stance and lifting her swords, angling them in my direction.

From the sidelines, Alba proclaims, “Even death will not be the end for either of you. For if I must, I will bring you back.”

Her words should be comforting, reassuring that no matter how much I lose myself Layna could be brought back. But if I am defeated? Bahamut’s words ring through my mind–that my soul will go to him. That Lendys will also die should I fall. I didn’t get to choose this type of servitude to Bahamut. Had I been asked, would my answer have been any different? Maybe, maybe not. But the choice…the freedom to decide my own fate has a power in it that only now that it’s been taken from me do I appreciate. But I can’t think of that at the moment. This fight is a choice I’m making for myself, a little grasp at regaining myself.

Everything has felt so out of balance since that night at the Lodge and only amplified by the news of Goose’s true identity. None of that matters right now though. I am opposite another fighter, another with the edge and ruthlessness I crave. This…this is what I know. I am a weapon, a blade for Bahamut. Where along the line that got twisted in my mind is beyond my current control, but in my core, I know this to be true.

I suck in a breath through my nose, centering my mind and locking my attention on Layna–no one else exists. There are no obligations, no looming servitude, nothing beyond the opponent in front of me and my blades.

Relearn, Huntress. Find yourself once more. Sharpen your claws that have dulled in captivity. Fight!

With a quick jerk of her head, Layna beckons me to begin, and declares, “Works for me. Begin.”

An inferno ignites from that tiny ember in my chest, sending out a tendril of energy to link Layna and I. With her spirit tethered to my mind, I launch myself forward, pushing against the stone pavers with all my weight, striking the Red Wizard’s sword towards my opponent. A small gash slices across her shoulder and the energy that ripples through the sword is almost too much to contain. I pivot, spinning to hit Layna with a second attack. She parries the blow, catching me off guard.

My steps falter briefly, and Layna uses that to her advantage. She swings her left blade across the side of my torso, my skin peeling back from the slice. Blood, warm and sticky, begins to pool at the opening and the release of energy is cathartic. My arms hum pleasantly, my lungs fill with air and my brain focuses on my target.

After her first attack, Layna whirls around me to release her right weapon from where it’s bracing mine. Moving with both weapons, she brings the blades down along my back. Fire burns in a crisscross pattern down my shoulders and my back arches against the impact. Layna tuts, “Dirty little trick with the magic blade, yeah?” Her words are even as I spin to face her.

She’s now holding her favored dagger, a venom blade, and a single shortsword. Where the other is discarded is no concern of mine. My blood burns through my body as I spit back at her, “Just using everything at my disposal. If you can’t take it, you’re welcome to tap out.”

Without waiting for an answer, I cut my magic blade diagonally across her body. When the metal connects with her skin, coating the blade in crimson blood, energy spills out of her and into my body. A grin plays at my lips, knowing the necrotic magic of the blade has now latched onto the elf and will linger. Annoyed that she got the better of me with that pivot, my eyes flash, willing vines to grow from the stone pavers. The barbed tendrils snake across Layna’s body and begin to restrain her.

Layna dexterously slips out of the grip, slicing at the brambles to free herself. A wild snarl rips from my chest. Reactively, I slash out with the sword in my left hand, slicing across her other bicep. Red oozes out of the wound and blooms in my vision. It builds around the edges of my view, focusing my entire world on the opponent before me.

I blink once and when my eyes open, Layna no longer stands opposite me. The figure is clad in long black robes, hood up, shielding its face from my view. Despite not seeing any defining features, I know exactly who this is. His inky, dark presence has been in my mind for years and is now standing before me, framed in my blood red vision.

“Tap out? Nah, we’re just getting serious,” he taunts me. Hearing his voice outside of my mind sets off an inferno in my core. He flicks the venom blade, coating it in a liquid, and thrusts out. He ducks low, angling for my thigh as the blade sinks hilt deep into my flesh. The Priest rips it from my body and a cry escapes my lips. Mimicking Layna’s attack style, he spins around me, swiping at the back of my legs.

But this time I’m ready and I adjust my stance, throwing him off balance. His blade connects with the back of my boots, slipping harmlessly against the leather. Just as I think I’m in the clear, his arm shoots out with the dagger once more, striking the back of my upper arm.

I wince, gritting my teeth against the pain, and wheel around in time to bring my blade up to block his next attack. The metal weapons clang together in a chorus of strength and fury. Waves of adrenaline pulse through my body, smoothing the jittery edges of my spirit, focusing me and bringing me back to myself.

The Priest bursts forward in lightning fast strikes, swiping a dagger along my chest before swinging back around to stab forward with the same blade into my shoulder. He takes a swaggering step backwards, taunting me, luring me forward into another of his rapid fire attacks. “Done yet, Huntress?” he purrs.

Crimson blurs my vision as I snarl, “Not even close.”

I whirl around the dark form and slash my stolen blade across the back of his legs, determined to play his own trick against him successfully. When the attack connects and a groan escapes his hooded form, I take this opportunity to call forth the bramble vines from the earth. They twist, looping around his body, but a flick of his robes and he’s freed from the restraining magic.

“Why do you keep using a technique that clearly doesn’t work, Huntress?”

Fury builds in my chest, angered at my futile attempts to anchor him. I spin offhand, faking him out for a brief moment that opens his side up to attack. There is no way I was missing this connection. My teeth gritted, I pushed every remaining ounce of energy into the cut, slicing through his robes, down to the skin. It peels back, cutting against his ribs as blood spills out of his form.

My breathing comes in pants and I blink, once, twice, and the body crumpling to the ground shifts from the shrouded Priest into my friend. She’d called me her sister just moments ago. My eyes grow wide at the sight, panic replacing the high that the adrenaline had given me during this fight. I dive forward, dropping the swords to the ground and scooping the elf’s body into my arms. With as much care as my trembling hands can manage, I lay her in my lap.

“Perona!” I scream. My chest tightens as I hold Layna’s limp body. Perona will heal you, Layna. Don’t let this be the end. My hands shake as I go to touch her face, unsure of what else I’m supposed to do. I feel helpless as the moment it takes Perona and Alba to dash over to us seems to stretch out for minutes.

You did well, the Priest hums against the inside of my mind. A shiver ripples down my back as I fight to keep my arms supporting Layna’s bleeding torso. Alba reaches us first, sliding into a seated position opposite me. She lifts Layna’s hips and places her lower half in her lap delicately. Her soft hand grips my shoulder firmly as warmth spreads out from her touch, bringing life back into my body and steadying my shaking breaths.

Perona rushes around to stand behind me, tucking her body against mine and placing one hand on Layna’s shoulder as she brushes her cheek against me. Alba has begun singing a lullaby to Selune and Perona whispers her own song in harmony against my skin. She chokes back her emotions as their magic stitches Layna and I back together, restoring our bodies to new in mere moments. Alba locks eyes with me, my breathing restored to normal, and states, “Well done.”

As the last of the magic brushes over Layna’s body, color blooms in her face restoring the vibrancy in her features. Her eyes twitch slightly before she sluggishly opens them. It takes her a moment to focus on her surroundings and come back into herself. As she looks up at me, face softening, she quietly says, “I’m okay. It’s okay.” She winces, squinting her eyes against the sunlight. “I go down all the time,” she jokes, “I underestimated the attack and underestimated you. That’s on me. You did well.” She gives me a reassuring look and a knot forms in my throat.

The release of anxious energy and adrenaline during the fight and the sight of the Priest shifting into Layna has left me vulnerable. The box I so carefully packaged my emotions into is cracking and I’m not ready for the tidal wave that will be released. In an attempt to hold them at bay a little longer, I nod rapidly, silently echoing Layna’s sentiments.

She turns her gaze slightly to look at Perona over my shoulder. She sheepishly smiles and jokes, “See? I didn’t kill her.”

“I never thought you would,” Perona replies, tucking her face further into my shoulder. “I just hate seeing you both–” she pauses, searching for the right word as always. Finally she lands on an acceptable choice and concludes with a sigh, “Bloody.”

An awkward laugh bubbles out of me as I continue to fight the emotions, and I blurt, “Sorry I did almost kill you…” Another laugh chokes out of me, threatening to build into a sob.

“I think we both needed it,” Layna replies. Her eyes drift to Perona once more and guilt is written all over her face. “I’m sorry we worried you. I don’t think we’re going to make it a habit, especially after that…that one kind of hurt,” she starts to groan but twists her features into a smirk.

A weight sinks in my gut as Layna removes any possibility of another spar. Despite having brought Layna to the brink of death, I’m not ashamed to say it was the most alive I’ve felt since we left the ground on this godsforsaken castle. After everything that’s happened over the last few days to be offered this opportunity has felt like a lifeline. And now it’s slipping through my fingers with each passing word.

“Hey,” Layna chirrups as my face drops once again, “You didn’t kill me. I feel better than I have in days, actually.” She smiles and adds to Perona and Layna, “Thank you both.”

The thread becomes a little more solid at Layna’s words. Maybe there is hope for more of this. Layna shifts between Alba and I and turns to give me a hug. My body goes rigid at the unexpected embrace. “I hope it helped,” she whispers into my ear, “You definitely learn quick.” Layna chuckles and pulls back from me. She flashes her signature grin and adds, “I can now confidently say I taught you to aim for the back of someone’s knees.”

At her compliments and empathy, my chest starts to tighten again. Is this what other people do when they train? After someone goes down, do you give each other compliments? There’s no step by step breakdown of my movements, picking apart the moments I excelled and the ones that left me open for attack. There are no harsh words. Layna isn’t being taken away for one on one lessons immediately following her brush with death.

Huntress, don’t let their ways taint your training. You are a warrior for Bahamut. You are meant to be harsher than the masses. You are a weapon.

My mind is spinning and panic is threatening to build in my chest with each breath. I shake my head at the Priest’s declaration, trying to dislodge him from the forefront of my mind. Unsure what else to say at this moment, I softly mumble to Layna, “Thanks.”

Perona stands abruptly, taking both Layna and my wrists in her hands, and begins to drag us out of the courtyard. “You both need a bath now,” she chirps. Her gaze drifts down to her own clothes as she presses forward and muses, “It seems I also need a bath.” Perona nervously laughs and turns to Layna. “We shall do that before you go back to work on your–” she pauses, wiggling her fingers as she beams, “invention.”

At the mention of bathing, my steps slow, legs going leaden. The urge to pull my wrist from Perona’s grip and hold my left arm tight to my body is all consuming. I can’t do this. I’m not ready for more questions and criticism of my life.

Huntress, don’t lose the ground you’ve gained through this blood letting.

The Priest’s words bring me fully to a halt and before I can speak up, Layna interjects, “Okay! Okay!” She rights herself as Perona releases her grip and continues, “Yeah, something like an invention. I’m working on a spell today that I’ve been calling ‘Conjure Cover’.” She turns to look at me, eyes beckoning me to focus on her and not get lost in my mind. “It might be useful for you too, Maire, if you want to learn it after I’m done. It’s the fifth one I’ve worked on this week. They all help with long ranged weaponry.” She smirks with pride at her achievements.

I’m so glad your week has been so productive…I groan sarcastically in my mind, leaning mentally against the Priest for support.

Outwardly, I stammer at a loss for words, “Um…I–”

Perona’s face drops, blinking in confusion as she holds out her hand towards me, “Maire?”

I take a half step backwards without thinking.

“E-even if you don’t want to bathe with us, you still need to wash off the blood and sweat,” her voice is soft, like she knows I might startle at the slightest change in pitch.

Another step backwards.

“We can go one at a time or in different baths, but I know blood isn’t comfortable,” she pleads.

My mouth starts to open, praying that I would find the right words to say, but once again, Layna comes to my rescue. “Honestly, I would prefer to bathe separately, too,” she comments, “No use mixing all our blood together more.” She chuckles slightly as her hand drifts subconsciously to the small exposed part of her midsection.

Alba clocks the motion and declares, “If it’s the scars that you intend to hide, don’t! I have seen them and they are beautiful! Scars are a warrior’s trophies–proof of their success in battle, evidence of survival and a life lived.” Alba squares her shoulders and holds her head high as she continues, “They should be admired. To hide them is to diminish the effort you put in to get here. Come! Let us bathe.”

Layna stares, mouth agape at the minotaur before clamping it shut quickly. Blush rises to her cheeks as she stammers, “It-it isn’t like I usually try to hide them! They’re just…the new ones are fresh.” She blinks and looks at Alba with an amused scoff, “Beautiful huh? That’s a new one.” A moment later Layna looks between the rest of us, regaining her composure and stating, “I’m fine with whatever.”

The hurt on Perona’s face holds me still, keeping me from turning and walking away as Alba declares scars to be something beautiful, though I’m not sure I agree.

Don’t let them change you, Huntress. You won the battle today. Take some time to yourself as you once did in the mountains.

Holding Perona’s worried expression, I step back again and say, “I need a minute to myself.” Without looking back, I turn and slip into the nearest staircase.

Somewhere, anywhere that’s quiet.