Page 8 of Scars and Burns

I’m sitting on the edge of my balcony looking out towards the Middle Kingdom. The night air is cool and the moon shines bright over the Forest of Despair.

The forest slowly starts to come alive again as it reaches the Middle Kingdom and Celestial Realm. It’s fascinating how our Goddess’s magic works, woven into the earth.

I dangle my feet over the railing. Pondering on the conversation I had with my Father earlier. Contemplating his plan.

He didn’t look up at me once. He said it all so flatly. Even when he disowned me and claimed I was no longer his heir. I’ve never been anything to him. Nothing more than something to mold and bend tohis will. I’ve only ever trained to kill. To become a ruthless ruler just like him. To rein over the Shadowlands is all I know. The only future I have ever been told. And now, I am no longer heir to the throne. Yet, I am to marry and unite two realms. My Father has another angle. Something he isn’t telling me.

My mood sours. Determination consuming me. More so than the grief of no longer being heir and my Father no longer allowing me to be called his son. I have not suffered and endured to simply have it taken away. I will earn my title back as heir to the Shadowlands. My Father be damned if he no longer wishes for me to be called his son. He’s never treated me as one anyway. What loss is that? But I will rule the Shadowlands. I will grow to be formidable. I will become so ruthless and deadly more than he ever was. They will not be able to deny me as heir. I will gain back my title through fear or respect whichever is more effective. I will become death itself. And there will be nopeace.

* * *

I wake before dawn. Heading straight for the fighting pits and training arena. I found a practice dummy as a makeshift opponent. Harnessing my magic. Forming long spears, throwing them at my target. Finding anywhere that would be deadly. I aim for the head, torso, and most importantly heart. Forcing each one to disappear after it hits its mark. I must have created, thrown, and vanished hundreds of spears before I am nearly spent. Sweat is stinging my eyes. My arm hurts from throwing. I need to rest before my real training for the day begins. I begin to leave when I am stopped by my Father, or King Perseus, now.

I freeze. Taking a step back to bow. “My King, I did not realize you were here. I will get out of your way.”

“Nonsense.” He says cutting me off.

“I see you have heeded our little chat. Now, that your mental punishment has taken root. It is time for the physical pain to begin.”

My posture shifts. Not allowing him the satisfaction of fear. “What did you have in mind, My King?”

He smiles. One side going higher than the other. A tortuous smile indeed.

He then throws out his hand and his magic comes to life. He forms a rope of black flames and hurls it at me. My eyes widened. I attempt to form a shield but it’s no use. The rope is already wrapped around my arm. Burning and stinging. I hear the sound of my flesh sizzling. My eyes begin to tear from the smoke that is emanating off my skin. My Father - My King - is burning me alive without killing me. I try to pull free but the grip is too strong. With a flick of his arm the rope releases.

I look down to my forearm. Now red and covered in blisters from where his magic had just been. I stare up at him. He has a smug look on his face. I clench my jaw and furrow my brows. But all he says is, “Until you are skilled enough to counteract me. You will receive a new burn everyday. Each one will be different. Depending on how I am feeling and how well you are doing.”

He turns and begins to walk away. Pausing, he turns half way and looks down at me. I am now on the ground holding my arm. Tears building in my eyes but I refuse to let them fall. “Do not think I won’t mutilate every inch of your skin until you have proven yourself worthy of anything less.”

7

Dinalia

Mother says our magic is woven into our soul. Just like the goddess wove her magic into the earth. It’s a part of us. We have to feel it breathing, growing and evolving as we do. We must be one in the same with our magic.

“Close your eyes and feel for it. Envision it.”

“What does it look like?”, I ask, “What is it supposed to feel like?”

She gives me a slight giggle. “That is for you to figure out on your own, my little light. It is different for each Fae and in each realm.”

She cups her hands under mine. “Harness it. It’s inside you”

With a burst of light my magic flies to life in my hands.

It’s a white flame with swirling colors of the same deep purple and icy blue of my eyes. But there’s something else there. I examine it closer. Tiny sparks are floating from it. Almost like crystal bits of starlight sparking from my flames.

I look to my Mother. Who is just smiling as if she would knew this is what my magic would look like.

My brows furrow. “It’s cold”

I immediately think something is wrong with me. It’s a flame. Isn’t it supposed to be hot? Or at least warm. I’ve been chilled to thebone ever since my kill. Even though we are hundreds of miles from any snow or glaciers. And even though Akino is the center of all life among the three realms, I’ve never felt colder and more distant from the world around me.

“Mom, is my soul broken? Will the Goddess accept me if my magic is cold? What if I’m not worthy?”

She releases my hands and the flame fades away. “The Goddess has already deemed you worthy. She’s blessed you with her mark. And as for your soul. Well, it’s not broken… just incomplete.”

Incomplete. What does that even mean? How can a soul be incomplete? Is it because I don’t know who my Father is? Is my miscellaneous lineage hindering?

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