Page 73 of Vicious Princess
A Brief History of Phantom Rangers.
Where Affinity Stems from and How it Chooses a Decarios.
Different Ways Affinity May Manifest.
How to Test for Affinity.
Training Practices for Mastering the Affinity.
“How to Choose the Right Bow,” I read to myself, then tap a finger. “That sounds about right.”
I flip through pages, the old paper dry under my fingertips. The header of this chapter is an elaborate illustration of the most beautiful bow I’ve ever seen—every inch has intricate patterns of flowers and animals weaving together. Below, it reads:
Every legendary Phantom Ranger needs a bow that matches their might and skill. If you were to go back to all the history books, every notable Phantom Ranger had a bow that was just much of a legend as the archer.
I pause and roll my eyes. These damn Ekiosh fae are so pompous. But I continue to read.
Historians and archery craft masters believe that it’s because of the symbiotic relationship that must be present between the archer and the bow. A Phantom Ranger may wield any bow, and they might be successful at it. But to unlock their full potential, they must find the bow that completes them.
“That’s a lot of damn pressure,” I murmur with a sigh.
What if the bow I chose because it was beautiful and nothing like I’ve ever seen before is not my destined bow? Maybe there’s another Phantom Ranger right now, looking for the bow I own.
Just as this thought arises in my mind, though, I feel a weird tug in my chest towards my bow, which rests next to me on the desk. Cautiously, I run a light finger over the bone. A quiet hum rings in my mind.
I snatch my hand back, startled. It’s fascinating and terrifying at the same time to have my bow, an inanimate item…communicate to me. But maybe I need to stop thinking about mybow in this way. Clearly, it’s not completely inanimate. It has…a spirit or a soul or whatever else I may call it. A mind of its own.
“Okay, buddy,” I whisper to my bow. “How about we try this new tactic?”
I wait for the bow to respond in any way. But nothing comes.
“Of course,” I say with a sigh. “With your attitude, I shouldn’t expect our communication issues to be solved this fucking easily.”
A few fae from my group pass me at that moment. They look at me talking to myself with arched eyebrows and then exchange glances before walking away, snickering.
I throw my bow a pointed glance. “You’re making people around me think I’m fucking weird. As if they need any more reasons to hate me.”
No response.
I return to reading the chapter. I notice from my studies so far that fae have a way with words. It’s a talent really, the ability to say so much yet convey absolutely nothing valuable or meaningful.
Midway through the chapter, though, one passage catches my eye.The Power of Names.
It’s obvious that our names carry great power. That’s why families with certain names have powerful lineage and great riches that expand for generations. That’s why when we welcome a fae child into the world, we pay such careful attention to choosing the right name they have to carry for the rest of their lives.
The same care should be applied to naming one’s weapon. Many Phantom Rangers have made the mistake of naming the bow according to their wishes, not because it was the true name of their bow. Those who did that had to pay the price—a bow that refuses to form a partnership.
Think of it this way—when the smiths forge the weapon, they infuse it with its unique power and imprint on the world, the bow’s true name included. Now, one might ask the true name of the bow from their weaponsmith. However, that would be considered cheating, so do not.
True Phantom Rangers figure it out as part of their bonding ritual. When the time is right, the bow shall reveal their true name, and the bonding ritual will be concluded. It’s one of the greatest honors any archer may experience.
“Ah, so you have a name,” I say to my bow. “You look like a Sassy Bitch, but I might be wrong.”
My dearest bow communicates only when it desires. I wish I had other archers to speak to about this. Other Phantom Rangers. There are a few more in my group, but none of them are friendly to me.
The only other Phantom Ranger I know is Leti. But the hot and intimidating ex of the mentor I have a strong crush on sure as fuck won’t talk to me about archery.
Just as I remember Leti, I realize I have training with Daegel tonight. A glance at the large iron clock on the wall tells me I’m running late. I lost track of time. Slamming the book shut, I push myself to my feet.
