The Stolen Child

One figure steps lightly through the shadows of the vacant corridor. Long hair in a bun, and a sword at her side, she missed the familiar heft of her chainmail. Though, as strange as this place was, it had an eerie calm to it. It was the unsettling type of calm; the kind you feel when you know you’re where you aren't supposed to be, intruding on something, and anything could go wrong at any moment. Her silent footsteps echoed down the hall as its inhabitants were sound asleep, in spite of the sun blazing high in the sky. The girl heaves a sigh. Keep it together, Misa, she scolds herself. You have a job to complete. She approaches the last turn she has to take, at the end of the corridor she would find the nursery.

Misa was and forever would be loyal to her king and queen, but she couldn’t help the doubts entering her mind. Why was she meant to kidnap a two-year-old girl? It didn’t make sense, they already had an heir. Prince Zachary was no older than 16 months, yet he already had the heart of a true prince. He would make a fine king. That begs the question, yet again, why was she sent to kidnap a child? Misa would do anything for her kingdom, she had proven so time and time again, but she couldn’t help but doubt this decision.

What could a toddler have to do with anything? The little girl was currently sound asleep in her crib. A sleeping child is not much of a threat, but then would she be one when she was older? If she was, then why wasn’t Misa ordered to kill her? Questions flooded her mind, but she had to focus. There must be a reason the king and queen sent her to get this child. She knew, deep down inside, that this child was important. The castle itself in which she was hidden was a sparking maze of shining gold and iridescent opal. There must be a reason.

She shakes herself from her thoughts as she approaches a door carved from dark, elegant amethyst. A name is carved onto the door. Cyra Ravaryn. It meant a beautiful, dark throne of the sun. This child would be their savior or their doom. With a deep, shaky breath, Misa pushes the door open. Sunlight streamed through the window onto the crib, rocking gently. She approaches with light footsteps. The still form of a chubby, but lithe little girl with short, curly auburn hair and lightly tanned skin lies in a silver silk dress. She steps forward, leaning down to pick up the sleeping beauty. A floorboard creaks. Misa freezes. Dioxazine purple eyes drowsily blink open, peering at her curiously.

A chubby hand reaches up towards her, and cautiously she reciprocates the gesture. She makes contact with the child’s finger just as a purple spark lights up. She jerks back as a shock runs through her body, letting out a loud gasp. A hand twitches on the bars of the crib. “Cyra?” A deep groggy voice mumbles. Misa freezes. A man with the same auburn hair as his daughter sits up, his mocha eyes blink open. He spots Misa standing over his daughter, sword at her side, and is on his feet in an instant. Before he can even lift his hands, Misa is shaking off her numbness. Her sword, thin but sturdy, is sliding out of its sheath, slicing towards him.

He ducks, removing his own small blade from his jacket. It's simple; the thin, silver blade is slightly curved with a gold hilt and a handle wrapped in brown leather. He’s tired, and his movements are still a little sluggish, seemingly blinded by the harsh sunlight. Misa takes advantage with quick, hard slices. He blocks them as best he can with his small blade, but ends up jumping around the crib to the side Misa is on. He flicks his wrist and the stone floor comes up in a slab, throwing her off balance. She falls to the floor with a harsh thump and loses her sword in the process. He goes to stab her with his dagger, but she rolls out of the way just in time. There's a dent on the floor where her heart had lain only seconds ago.

She kicks out, wrapping her foot around his ankle and dragging it up. He hits his chin on the ground, teeth biting through his bottom lip. She straddles him, dropping her weight onto his legs and using her knees to pin his arms. She snatched his blade from him. He’s breathing harshly, eyes wide with fear and glances at the sleeping girl. “Don’t hurt her.” He’s desperate, begging.

“That’s not what I’m here for.” With that, she delivers a swift punch to the face and knocks him out. Letting out a breath, she swears under her breath. She was not supposed to be seen. When - if - he wakes up, he may remember what she looks like and begin searching for her. What if he saw the royal seal on her sword handle? She can’t linger on those thoughts now, she has to leave. Misa stands up, dusts off her pants, grabs her sword and returns to the crib. Those toxic purple eyes blink up at her with what she could only describe as a dangerous fire blazing in their depths.

Misa picks up the child, cradling her gently to her chest. Crya, she thinks, looking into those fiery purple eyes, you may doom us all. Outside, a barn owl hoos at her. She glances at it, the symbol for wisdom staring at her, unblinking. Its brown fur ruffles slightly in the wind before it takes off, wings flapping powerfully. It was the smallest interaction, but was enough for those small shreds of doubt to make their way back into her mind. The owl was out of sight, but her wrong doings were not. With a glance at the man on the floor, she carries the child out the door.