Nobody’s Hero

Sweat broke on my brow as I slashed towards the knight in front of me, finally able to release pent up stress and frustration from the past week. As the fight bore on, my slashes soon turned from light and scraping to hard and scathing as I let myself drown in the feeling. The man in front of me was no longer a knight, but an enemy. It was no longer practice, but a fight that meant the difference between life and death. Unconsciously my hands begin to grow hot, quickly burning through the now blackened leather of my sword handle. Faintly, I hear the voice of the Grand Master calling out to me, but I take no notice of his words as my anger continues to rise, heat seeping into the blade of my sword as purple lightning crackles around it.

I soon grow bored of the fight. Not wanting to entertain him any longer, I disarm my opponent. His sword falls out of his hands as he falls to his knees in fear. Good, he should fear me. I start to lift my sword, a cruel smirk twisting onto my lips, as I prepare to end his worthless life. My plans are interrupted, however, as my sword is ripped from my hands. Seething, I turn around to face the thief. A knight stands before me, holding my precious sword. My vision goes red, matching the overpowering emotion I feel, causing my hands heat until a ball of crackling purple energy ignites between them. He deserves to burn.

“Cyra!” A sharp slap on my face accompanies the word, pulling me from my deranged state. I blink sluggishly, watching my fake reality shift back to my real one. I see the ball in my hands, burning bright white and electric purple, quickly moving to extinguish it. The Grand Master looks furious, a glance over my shoulder shows me why. Sir Huelin is curled up in a fetal position on the ground. As my eyes roam his quivering form, the pit in my stomach grows; his armor is dented and his skin is covered in blood, bruises, and the occasional fiery red burn. He’s injured, but he’ll live…Right? I turn back to the Grand Master, and my eyes begin to water at the harsh disappointment in his eyes.

“I…” My voice is on the verge of breaking. For once, I am at a loss for words. My eyes burn as I struggle to hold back tears. I see the knights surrounding us all look away awkwardly, making me cringe shamefully.

“Knights,” he addresses them first, “Tend to Sir Huelin, then continue your training for the day. Sir Brianus is in charge.” The knights reply respectfully before moving to do as he said. Guilt twists in my stomach as I watch. The wounds I inflicted are worse than usual. “You are the princess so I can’t tell you what to do, but I suggest you rest in your chambers while I have a conversation with your parents.”

Not trusting myself to speak, I simply bow my head in acknowledgement and walk away. I’ve disappointed everyone again. I don’t understand why they’re pushing knight training on me so hard, I always fail. Well, I guess fail isn’t the right word. I excel - but that’s the problem. I’m a princess. I’m meant to be married off to some prince and bear children. As soon as we discovered my…abilities, my father pushed me to train with the knights to help protect the kingdom. I learned the knights code and far more about swords and armor than a princess should care to know. I don’t mind too much, though. Training helps me clear my mind and allows me to protect my kingdom. I was supposed to lead my own patrol tonight, but - due to recent events - I doubt that’ll happen.

Ignoring the Grand Master’s advice, I walk right past my bedroom door. The sound of my boots hitting the floor seems loud to my ears, though quieter than the heels I’m usually forced to wear, in my panic. Against my better judgment, and stop at the room in the corridor that crosses mine. I lift my hand up to the old wood, knocking in a specific pattern. I hear soft footfalls approaching the door, right before the hinges creak.

“Hey, Cy,” my brother grins at me, dimples appearing on his cheeks. He stops when I don’t reply. Seeing my crestfallen face causes his brows to furrow in concern. “Hey, what’s wrong? Come in.” Zach opens the door more and steps back, allowing me to step into the room. He eyes my trousers in confusion.

“I just got back from training,” I explain. He gapes at me.

“Cy, you have to change! You know father will be upset if he sees you in trousers outside of training!” He rushes out worriedly.

“Zach, calm down. He’s going to be upset anyways.” I look down at my feet, idly scuffing the toe of my boot on the floor as I wait for a response. He lets out a sigh, and I can feel him pinching the bridge of his nose. I may be the firstborn, but Zach is definitely the older sibling. He’s also the favorite.

“It happened again?” I force myself to meet his eyes at the question, only offering a small nod in response. “How bad was it?

“Bad enough.”

“Does that mean-?”

“He’s talking to them now.” The silence feels almost tangible, thick with tension, as I avoid Zach’s gaze. I can practically hear his thoughts racing, seeming contemplative, as he tries to figure out what to say.

“It’s not your fault,” he finally decides. It’s a lie, and we both know it. It’s entirely my fault. No one forces me to recede into the burning tornado of emotions swirling around inside me. It’s always my choice. A choice that could one day take someone’s life. Still, it’s nice to see someone trying to comfort me. Mother and Father would never.

“Thank you, Brother,” are the only words I can say, in fear of breaking this unspoken agreement we have.

“They’ll stop your training, Cy,” Zach pauses, seeming afraid to continue. When he finally does, I wish he hadn’t. “Or Father will lead it.” I look up at him, seeing his grim expression does nothing to quell the churning in my stomach. His eyes swirl with an emotion that I think comes from far more than this - regret. They’re laced with fear and regret as he realizes what this means. Realization hits me next, and my mind flashes with memories. Dizzying sword practice that ended in concussions while father stared at me disappointed. I push them to the back of my mind and follow my brother to the dining hall.

Dinner is tense. Father and Mother are already seated when I arrive, sharing a look that can only mean trouble, before Father glares at me. Zach and I enter the dining room together, taking our respective seats at the table. His to my father’s left and mine next to my mother, who sits to Father’s right. Servants bring out our meal at a simple flick of my father’s wrist. It’s simpler today - though more lavish than what most of our people have the privilege of eating - seasoned duck served with roasted carrots and grapes. I don’t dare pick up my fork until Father takes his first bite. Each minute passes slowly as we dine, only the sound quiet of scraping or the light thud of a goblet filling the rigid air.

“Your mother and I have something to tell you two,” Father speaks suddenly, interrupting the quiet clatter of silverware on porcelain. He and Mother share a look across the table that kicks in my fight or flight instincts. I stiffen in my chair. Whatever it is, it must be bad.

“It will be time for us to retire soon,” Mother continues, smiling gently, carefully. But that means…Maybe the talk didn't go so bad, I think to myself. My brother shoots me a hopeful, encouraging smile from across the table and I struggle to hold one back myself. I finally did it. I’m-

“We’re naming you, Zachary, as the rightful heir.” The shock hits me like a brick, almost knocking me over with the shock of the news. My fork clatters loudly onto the table, all heads snapping in my direction. They can’t. The throne is the only thing I have, they can’t take that away. They can’t.

“You…You can’t be serious,” my chest feels like it’s going to collapse as I stumble through my sentence, my voice shaking more with each word. Father gives me a disapproving look from the head of the table, and his answer is clear as day.

“Cyra,” Mother starts, her words are carefully chosen, “we just feel like your brother would be better suited to rule.” The words hurt. It’s not like before, when I could take the pain and use it as fuel to do better. There is no better. I’ll be stuck living in my brother's shadow until he decides to marry me off.

“No…” I mutter. “No, no, no, no!” My voice rises as I speak, until my hands are hot with anger. My body trembles as I shoot to my feet. The pity on their faces makes me seethe. I don’t want their pity. I want the throne.

“Cyra-” Father starts, irritated. My legs move on their own accord, carrying me out the door before he can finish. As soon as the doors bang shut behind me, I bolt.

I don’t bother to hold the tears back as I race down the corridor, making a beeline for the doors. My legs choose my destination, heading straight for the forest as soon as I make it down the stairs. My path is clumsy, forged by shaky legs, as instinct leads me. I need to get away from here. My legs bring me out of the citadel and through the town, I don’t hesitate as I walk through the gate. My body shakes as my rage builds, soon causing chaos to sizzle in the air around me.

I don’t know where I‘m going, but I know I have a destination in mind. My legs take me down an unknown path, moving swiftly, yet clumsily through the trees. The air is still hot around me, but seems to grow warmer and the grass greener. I see more flowers and animals, peacefully grazing on the vibrant greenery surrounding us. I keep going; something is drawing me towards this place, leading me here without my own volition. I see a path beyond the trees, and stumble out of the foliage towards it. I gasp when I see the trail laid before me.

While most paths are simply dirt and leaves, this one is made of crystals. There’s quartz, opal, moonstone, tourmaline, citrine, amethyst and so many more that I can’t name immediately, all shimmering brightly. Something about this place feels familiar, yet I know I have never stepped foot here. It feels right, like this is where I belong. I decide to see where this path leads, uncaring of the potential consequences, continuing to follow the magnetic force that brought me here.

Dusk begins to settle in the sky, but I take little notice as I walk down the path. Soon, the dense forest grows thinner, and I see the outline of a town in the distance. I realize then how tired I am. The town seems to sparkle even more than the path that leads to it, even in the low moonlight. It registers that the air around me continues to fizz, and I try to calm myself. I take a deep breath and slow my steps. Soon the purple lightning fades and all I feel is the chill evening air.

I approach the gate and force myself to stop walking. I’m a princess, alone at night with nothing but the clothes on my back, and about to walk into a town I didn’t know existed. Should I really be doing this? Yes. The answer comes to me before I can even ponder it. I glance at the gate, it’s arch towering over me as I realize there’s writing on it. My eyes strain to make out what it says in the dark, but eventually I succeed.

Alynthi. The name rings a bell, somewhere in the farest depths of my mind. I step forward, one foot crossing the threshold into the kingdom. A vibrating shock runs through me as soon as my foot hits the ground. I collapse, seizing, as the electricity surges through my body. My vision goes black, limbs flailing involuntarily as the hot current circulates. I hear heavy footsteps approach me and I’m dragged up from the ground, body vibrating and limp.

My ears ring, and my vision clears as I’m dragged through the town. Still slightly disoriented, I make out clean, shining buildings and cute little houses. The town thrums with life and beauty, evening in the low light of the moon. The market is bustling, though the moon is high in the sky. There are no homeless townspeople shivering in corners, or begging for scraps. There's not a single trace of poverty. The thought would be enough to make me smile if my body wasn’t tingling with the aftershock of electrocution.

I’m dragged into an alley, still unable to identify my captors, and we stop. I briefly wonder how much time has passed since I arrived. I see one man step forward, a glowing fire opal in hand. He draws a set of runes - I only recognize one, the rune for passage - on the wall we’re facing and then a large circle around them. They glow for a second, before the runes fade and the circle glows brighter. I blink.

The wall is gone, only where the circle was drawn, replaced instead with a space of swirling colors. One second it looks like a whirling sunset, the next a churning ocean of blue, green and purple. Each color dissolves into the next, and I stare at the array, enthralled. Immediately I’m jerked forward, gasping in surprise, and thrown into the glowing circle.

The sensation is strange. One second I’m in the alley, the next passing swiftly through the circle. It’s warmth surrounds me, almost safely, but the pressure of the strange environment suffocates me. Seconds later I’m forced out, scrambling for purchase as I tumble gracelessly onto the floor. My head is his swimming with the effects of the portal, my body still weak from electrocution, and I slowly push myself up to sit on the hard floor.

Two sets of feet thump onto the ground behind me as I take in my surroundings. The floor is opal, shiny and waxed to perfection. The ceiling towers above us, gold arching gracefully towards the sky. Golden pillars line the room, supporting the towering arch, they’re shade matching the color of the walls perfectly. A dozen knights in charcoal grey armor stand in perfect rows, facing opposite each other from their respective sides of the room. I could probably take them, if my limbs weren’t numb and weak.

The most notable detail, however, is the throne, or rather, the women sitting on the throne. The throne is large too, a few stairs at the bottom for access to the tall seat. It is gold and elegant, a swirling design of ivy and flowers inlaid into its surface. The woman on the throne is intimidating, her face hard as stone, white dress pearlescent and shining in the candlelight. Her raven hair cascades down her shoulders, gray eyes dangerous. When she speaks her voice is hard and cold, but still holds delicacy.

“Sirs?” The two men who brought me here step forward to kneel. She waits impatiently; one eyebrow arching when they take too long.

“Your Grace,” the one speaking bowed his head, “we found her inside the gate.” The woman, the queen, I presume, regards me for a moment. Her calculating eyes scrutinize every inch of me.

“How did you find this place?” Silence fills the room. The answer is simple. I stumbled across the path, and, enamored, I followed it. However, the wording of the question makes me hesitate. How did you find this place? It’s an odd question to ask, with a path as distinguished as theirs. Not why are you here or what business do you have here? My answer could mean the difference between life and death.

“I stumbled across the path that leads to it, Your Grace,” I said, truthfully. Her stormy eyes peirce mine, gaze sharp.

“Impossible,” she denies. “Our path is only visible to the citizens of our country. Outsiders do not stumble across it. You must have been searching for it.” I can feel the confusion etched across my face, I feel her eyes already searching for the lie in my features.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” I say. The queen motions to the guard next to me, and he steps forward, a blade in hand. My heart stops as I fear the inevitable death I’m about to face. I squeeze my eyes shut, but rather than feeling a blade pierce my chest, I feel a blade slice the skin of my forearm shallowly.

I ignore all movement around me as I feel the red liquid drip down my arm. I’ve always been deathly afraid of my blood, according to my parents. Upon seeing even a drop I would turn pale and vomit. I’ve avoided looking at it since they told me this. My chin is grabbed and turned up, by gentle feminine hands, and I jump slightly at the contact. A drop of red blood hits the floor.

“What color is your blood?” The question startles me. My blood is red, I want to say. All blood is red. Except that of the fae. I can’t say I’m shocked when that thought surfaces, it’s always been in the back of my mind. I’ve always known I was different, even more so when I got my powers. What normal human child has purple eyes?

“Red,” I try to answer with confidence but it comes out more unsure. Another drop hits the floor, adding to the puddle of red already there.

“Open your eyes, my child.” Hesitating, I listen. The queen smiles before me gently, the cold and hard woman replaced by the soft and kind one. I glance down at my arm, confirming what I’ve always feared. There, metallic and shining on the opal floor, is a puddle of golden blood. I watch a drop fall onto the rest, entranced as the gold liquid ripples. I stop as a sudden thought hits me, erasing all of my previous tranquillity.

I shoot to my feet, startling the three people surrounding me and get into a fighting stance. Fae are evil creatures, most known for tricking and the violent way they fight. “It’s an illusion, it’s not real,” I say and try to mean it. I have red blood. The queen looks at me, pity written across her face.

“14 years ago,” she starts, “I had a child.” My heart stutters painfully in my chest, fists loosening and falling to my sides. “She was three when she was taken. Born with violet eyes and raven hair. She had the power of chaos.” She stared at me, seeing how I’ve changed. This information doesn’t distress me how one might think it would. It was the hard truth I'd known all along, the real reason Zach was named heir. My violet eyes meet her misty ones. “You found your way home.” Her voice is breathless, elated.

Memories flood my mind. Her holding me for the first time, her telling me stories, singing me lullabies, my hair lightening to its current shade of red-brown. These memories aren’t my own, but mine piece together with these. Filling in gaps I didn't realize were there. The memories turn sour, playfulness replaced by grief. My father lies in a puddle of blood, eyes glassy, next to an empty crib. The curtains dance in the open window. Tears gather in my eyes.

I’m finally home. My mother rushes to embrace me, uncaring that my blood will stain her pearlescent dress, makeup running down her face with her tears. At once I feel safe in her gentle arms and my scathing rage returns. The ones who took me from it will pay.

Weeks had passed since I learned of my true lineage. I’ve learned much in that time, and finally accepted myself for who I really am. I have mastered my chaos, and no longer fear hurting someone with it. I learned of my true culture, faerie culture. We thrive under the moonlight, choosing to live nocturnally. So my days training are spent under the light of the moon.

The most important thing, however, that I’ve learned is the art of war. Mortals took me from my home and took the throne they promised me. They tortured me for years, and lied to me about my kind. They will not leave this fight unscathed. Over the course of the past few weeks, we've been planning a war. Well, I have. Though mom isn’t taking part, she supports my decision and is glad I’m standing up for myself. To show her support, she gave me an army.

I changed a lot in the past few weeks. There’s a purple streak in my hair now, from continuous use of my powers. I grew to loathe the ones who took everything from me. I could have had a loving mother and father, grew up loving my chaos rather than fearing it. Instead they tried to drive me to heroics by force. All it did was drive me away, and now, I will take back the throne they promised me.

I stand in the mirror of my chambers, wearing my smokey purple armor. My hair is loose, braided back on one side, the purple streak woven in. I turn away, sheathing my sword. It is just past dusk, and it is time for us to ride to war. I march out of my chambers, steps heavy. I meet my knights, men and women alike, all standing in their own armor ready for my command. I mount my horse, her midnight coat shining, and we prepare ourselves for war.

The walk back is nothing like the walk there. My mind is clear now, and I'm able to more carefully observe, and notice more of the subtle changes as we move towards the other kingdom. The other kingdom. My fists clench on the horse's saddle, a scowl making its way into my face. Thanks to my training I’m able to reel in my chaos, but it bubbles beneath my skin, eager for escape. Nethilor is within our sights now, it’s beauty not even close to that of Alynthi. The stone that used to seem so alluring appears dull. By now they must have seen us. Messengers must have seen our torches and told the king; they should be preparing for siege. It will soon be mine.

It’s almost midnight by the time we make it past the city's gates. I order my knights to start throwing torches, burning buildings. They do so with little hesitation. If we didn’t already have their attention, we certainly have it now. I can’t bring myself to care as the town I grew up believing I would rule burned to ashes around me. The frantic families that ran out in their nightclothes and arguments over whose house got water first doesn’t phase me. Neighbor turns against neighbor, paying us little attention as they attempt to put out fires.

Soon the clanging armor of Nethilor’s knights can be heard, and we have successfully breached the citadel. They shout at us to stop, drawing their swords. I break away from my army with a small group of knights. A candle is lit in the council chambers, I must get there to confront the king. The sound of slashing swords fills the air as more knights rush to help. Determination drives me forward, up to the council chambers to confront the king.

“Cyra,” Zachary breathes the word, wearing the king’s crown. To his left sits his mother and father, to his right the council. He’s up in an instant.

“Keaton,” I spit. He recoils as if I have burned him. I am unaffected by the hurt on his face.

“Cyra, what is the meaning of this?” My false father, Maxim, looks disgusted at the sight of me. “Where have you been? We’ve been looking everywhere for you!” I scoff at his accusatory tone. It’s nothing like when mom figured out who I was. She was soft and gentle.

“You’re home,” Zach sounds relieved, happy even. I don’t fall for it. I simply take my empty seat next to my false mother, Ariadne, leaning back in my chair to prop my feet up on the table. Flakes of dirt and dried mud fall from my ebony boots onto the shining table. She gaspes, appalled by my crude behavior.

“‘Home,’ right. I suppose it’s relative, isn't it? One might call this my home,” I say dismissively. “I might call Alynthi my home.” I feel the tension in the room swell, from little to the point of suffocating. I smirk at Maxim’s twitching jaw and Ariadne’s clenched one.

“Is…is that where you’ve been all this time?” Ariadne clears her throat as if to cover her stuttering. I tilt my head, like I'm thinking deeply about something.

”How about I tell you why I came back?” There’s a darkness in my voice that scares them, I can tell by the way Zachary swallows and my false parents tense. I let out a little bit of the chaos that’s been bubbling under my skin since I arrived. It pulses in my hand, electric bolts of toxic purple and bright white swirling in a sphere. “You’re going to give me the throne.”

At once, the knights draw their swords while Ariadne and Maxim each let out their own desperate, “No!” I laugh, the sound is cruel and hard, ringing throughout the silent room. I toss the ball up in the air, as if to throw it at someone and they all flinch. A thrill runs through me at the sight.

“Hand it over or die.” My choice is made, there’s no coming back from this.

“Cyra, come on, this isn’t you. We can talk about this!” Zachary wastes his breath. The chaos flies out of my hands and hits the councilman sitting across from me in the heart. He convulses for a moment, electricity pulsing through him, but eventually he stops. He falls out of his chair, his tunic charred black where he was struck.

“Enough, you’ve had your fun,” Maxim says, trying to sound confident. The slight tremor in his voice gives him away. I sneer and a knife flies from the sleeve of my shirt into Ariadne’s neck. Blood pours from the wound, soaking her navy dress, and I feel a brief regret for not making her death more painful.

“Surrender or you will join her.” Maxim looks at me, gaze filled with tension and grief.

“This is not the little girl I raised,” he says.

“No,” I sneer, “but I am what you made me.” He looks sad for a moment, weak.

“Don’t make yourself the villain, Cyra. You can be the hero, that’s what you were made to be,” Zachary pleads, desperate. Tears are streaming down his face and I almost feel bad.

“I’m nobody’s hero.”

The chaos is suddenly too much, and, with a cry, I unleash it. The room fills with bright, crackling energy, as everyone is electrocuted. Charred, mangled bodies lie around the room and my knights enter the room. The crown, having survived the explosion, lies on the blackened corpse of my fake brother.

“Your command?” My general asks, kneeling. I wave her up.

“Spread the word, there is a new ruler.” I place the crown on my head and make my way to the throne, stepping over corpses of my own doing. I lounge lazily on the chair, the scent of death filling the air, and allow my knights to leave. I look at all the death and destruction around me, of my own creation, and realize that maybe I am a monster. But most of all I realize why they all tried so hard to make me a hero.

They knew I’d be unstoppable as the villain.