Shackled Exalted

Aoife

After she was declared a defective of the royal family, Aoife was left alone. She would no longer be demanded to visit the palace for lessons. Her regular life in that spacious mansion then resumed like normal.

But the damage had already been done.

The insidious voices continued to whisper in her head. No matter where she looked, she cannot unsee malicious eyes scrutinizing her every move. Even when she locked herself in her room, she could still sense their murmurs and gazes.

She would later find out that they were hallucinations and echoes fabricated by her mind.

The only time where she felt safe was in the gentle embrace of her bedridden mother. Her thin, fragile fingers would brush through her hair and lightly caress her back. Only then did the voices and eyes cease to exist.

From her earliest memories, Aoife had only known her mother from the confines of that bed. She always wore the same white gown. There would be an amulet dangling from her neck. Like a cage, she would always be there with a weak and melancholic smile. She was never very talkative. Whenever Aoife tried to pry something out of her past, such as how she and her father met, her mother would only reply with a forlorn look.

Then without fail, she would whisper the same five words.

"Be a good girl, Aoife."

Every time when she was on the verge of a tantrum. Every time when she was frustrated with something that didn't go her way. Every time when the voices and eyes grew unbearable.

Aoife would be given those same five words.

"Be a good girl, Aoife."

And so, she did.

A good girl never voiced her dissatisfaction. A good girl never caused trouble. A good girl always kept to herself. A good girl never brought attention to herself. A good girl never cried. A good girl always smiled.

No matter the situation.

No matter how she felt.

Even when she was in pain.

Even when she wanted to burst into tears.

Even when her mother passed in her sleep.

***

Be a good girl, Aoife.

The voice of her deceased mother echoed in her ears. It was a vague, maternal tone. Aoife could no longer remember exactly how her mother sounded. But it didn't matter. As long as it was the same soothing tenderness that she remembered. As long as it was the same voice that would push away the terrible feelings eroding her sanity. As long as it was the same words that would drown out all the piercing eyes and vicious whispers.

Be a good girl, Aoife.

The high-pitched murmurs grew louder.

Be a good girl, Aoife.

The beady eyes flooded her vision.

Be a good girl, Aoife.

"…I-I'm trying, mother."

The faint whimper escaped her mouth as Aoife continued to repeat her mother's mantra. It didn't help. No matter how much she tried to recreate the safety of her mother's embrace in her head, she could not escape this torturous reality.

The high-pitch squeaks. The crimson eyes. The unsettling feelings of their claws and feet crawling along every inch of her body. They refused to go away.

Her throat suddenly felt hoarse. She must have been screaming. Not that she would know—she could no longer hear herself over the incessant squeals of the rats.

Aoife felt her mind melting. Her brain seemed to erode into the bony orifices of her skull. The sounds were endless. The boundaries between reality and fantasy were blurring. Her sense of self was beginning to fade.

The door to her stony cage suddenly opened.

The earthy crunch of stone against stone resonated loudly across the narrow room. Instantly, there was silence. The squeals stopped. The rats stopped moving. The cacophony was no more.

Then, the tiny rodents parted from her.

Aoife felt her body being lifted by some invisible force once more. Unable to resist, she allowed herself to move without complaint. The consequences of disobedience were clear now.

Be a good girl, Aoife.

She was let down gently on a slab of stone. The cold surface etched into her back. The sensation of something other than the patters of rat was terribly welcoming.

"…I think you overdid it, Karni."

"I would hope not. I didn't even ask them to bite. Is she still sound of mind?"

"Yes. Although we were quite close to the point of no return. She'll be rattled for a little bit."

Aoife tilted her head to the sound of those voices. A petite Gharian woman was accompanied by a tall pale man with snow-white hair and eyes as red as the rats.

"Then it's perfect. You can conduct your business without problems," Karni said before strolling away, "The pursuers are close, by the way."

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"I'll have to trouble you and Nagi then."

Aoife heard Karni click her tongue as she exited her view.

"Your Highness, please comply with me this time. Despite what you might think of me, I don't wish to inflict you with anymore distress," Kleine said.

Aoife felt something sharp stab into the side of her arm. The stinging pain knocked her out of her daze as she winced with discomfort.

So that was a lie.

Despite her consternation, she didn't dare voice that thought out loud. The traumatizing feeling of the rats swarming every crevice of her body was still heavy on her mind. She didn't want to risk reliving that horrible experience again.

"…What are you doing?" she asked.

She glanced down, finding a syringe with a needle firm in Kleine's hands. The sight of the menacing needle etched into her skin made her head spin. She closed her eyes, biting on her lips as she felt the suction of the needle.

"I'm drawing your blood. Melody and I need a few pints of it."

My blood? At least that means they won't be getting rid of me any time soon. Hopefully.

"Why? I don't understand," she muttered weakly, "Is this what you kidnapped me for?"

"You're the only one who still has her blood after all."

The statement made her pause.

"My mother."

"Yes."

"You knew her? Why do you need her blood?"

Kleine's mouth curved into a faint smile. "Good, you're finally asking questions and taking matters into your own hands. As for your first question, no. I've never met her. But I've heard of her. There's no one in the previous generation who hasn't, actually. And I guess you can say that a part of her lives on through me."

"You're not making any sense."

"How much did you know about your mother?"

Aoife let her mind drift, pondering the question. She revisited the core memories of her childhood, indulging in the fleeting feeling of comfort and tranquility. Her mother would always be resting by her bedside, staring out the window with a pensive look on her worn down face. Quiet. Always seemed to be lost in thought.

I never got a chance to know her, did I?

"Just that she was sick. She never spoke much. Whenever I'd ask her a question about herself, she'd always just smile and tell me to be a good girl."

Kleine shook his head. "What a shame. Your mother was actually a very skilled Exalted. Despite being a commoner, she quickly gained infamy as a one-of-a-kind talent. She was her generation's Ice Maiden. In her prime, she had an argument for being the number one Exalted in the kingdom. Layla the Salvo, was her moniker, named for her explosive Gift and fiery personality."

Mother? Explosive and fiery?

The image in her head couldn't have been further from her memories.

"…That's hard for me to imagine. I only ever saw her weak and confined to a bed," Aoife said.

The gears in her head spun at this newfound information. Her butler, Horace, and the maids never spoke much about Mother either. Nor did Father. Rory would have been too young. And her interactions with Aidan were limited to the occasional formalities. In hindsight, she never really considered why her mother was chosen as the king's consort. After her mother's death, she had locked herself in her own thoughts, trying to make sense of who she was.

Now things started to click into place.

My father wanted Mother's blood. They had hopes that I would inherit Mother's talents to bolster the royal family's influence. Instead, I was born a defective. An Ordinary. A permanent stain on the royal family's prestigious bloodline.

And since her mother grew too sick to conceive after giving birth to her, her parents were never given a chance to try again.

Suddenly, it made sense why she had been shunned. Not only was did Aoife fail to inherit her mother's talents, but she also robbed her of her health.

So that's why they would always look at me with such distain.

She let out an exhausted sigh, trying to process this revelation. Kleine continued to draw her blood in silence. When she was ready to move on, she asked him again.

"Then what about my second question? Why do you need my mother's blood?"

Kleine's smile suddenly grew sinister. His eyes widened—the crimson pupils shone, flickering with a thick murderous intent.

Aoife shuddered at the mad glint. Under the vestige of moonlight from ceiling opening, Kleine looked monstrous. The calm vibe around him disappeared. She gulped, beginning to regret her question. For a moment while listening to the story of her mother, she forgot this was the same person who harbored ambitions to tear this kingdom asunder.

"Tell me, have you heard of the Bestowed Project?"

Emil

He couldn't see anything. The flames from the explosive traps laid by Vigil had suddenly been snuffed out. It was unimaginably dark. Even the light from Blaze had disappeared.

For a moment, everything was still. Emil felt a viscid terror crawl up his spine. The lack of sensory input horrified him, drawing his frantic mind into a frenzy. He was in the middle of combat against the Vigil assailants. Losing his senses right now was a death sentence.

Suddenly, light returned. The darkness withdrew, like an ebon cloak that had been removed. In his periphery, he caught the enemies lying on the ground. A massive hole that had been carved into each one's torso, marked by a menacing tendril of shadow that quickly faded from the bright flames.

Was that Van's Gift?

He spun around. His senior was cradled in Diana's arms. His hands were extended, radiating mana. The shadow tendrils disappeared as the azure glow around him began to fade. Emil walked over, shooting Diana a glance. The woman nodded as their eyes met. He instantly let out a sigh of relief as the tension in his shoulders escaped.

"Van, are you alright?"

"I could be better," Van replied with labored breaths. He was clearly still in pain. "But it's not so bad, to be honest, resting in the lap of a pretty woman."

Thud!

Van suddenly flopped onto the ground as his face planted flat into the earth. A muffled groan escaped his mouth. Emil shook his head while voicing an apology to Diana. The woman kept her impassive expression, but the corners of her lips were quivering with anger.

"Maybe not the time for the frivolous act, Van. You know that was a stupid decision. You've put the entire mission in jeopardy. If we didn't have Diana, we would have been screwed."

"I'm aware." Van pushed himself up, wiping the dirt off his face. "And I'm sorry," he said, suddenly eyeing both Emil and Diana with intensity, "I thought I could protect himself from any traps that had been laid with my Gift. What I didn't expect was for them to use powerful incendiary devices."

The loud part was left unsaid. Emil decided to spell it out for Diana who was a stranger to his senior's recklessness.

"…Will you do the same thing again if we encounter another set of hostages?"

"Yes," Van responded immediately, "Undoubtedly. I don't regret what I just did." The resolve in his eyes was unwavering. It was obvious that was no point in arguing.

"Then let's hope that Vigil won't swoop that low again," Emil said, turning towards Rohan's summon. The bloodhound had remained at the edge of the forest clearing, out of danger, patiently waiting for the fight to conclude. With a gesture from Emil, it resumed the search for the princess's trail.

***

It would be another twenty minutes before the bloodhound suddenly stopped again.

This time Emil noticed the peculiarity immediately. There was a heavy stench of blood hanging in the air. The foliage around them seemed disturbed. Traces of ruins littered the forest trail. Signs of a battle.

Emil motioned for Van and Diana to get into formation as he slowly creeped closer to the source of the bloody smell. His eyes darted the vicinity, searching for signs of traps. As he continued his advance, he overheard a faint grunt.

"H-Help…"

Someone was moaning in pain.

Calm down. It could be another trap.

Emil looked behind him, making sure that Van wasn't recklessly moving ahead again. His senior didn't seem to have heard the groan. Slowly, he peeled back a set of foliage blocking his view.

Oh, fuck.

A pile of bodies laid at the bottom of a foothill. Red drenched the earthy soil. Emil covered his mouth, nearly grasping at the grotesque sight. Under the moonlight, he caught a hint of the insignia inscribed on their chests.

The symbol of Lionheart. These are the people under Rohan who moved first to rescue the princess.

Dread crawled down his neck. His heart raced. His throat inexplicably tightened as if it had been pressed down by an invisible noose. Emil narrowed his eyes. Each corpse was lined with large scratches and deep incisions. They looked like bite marks. From something large.

"Miles! We got company!"

Emil turned around. Van and Diana were standing back-to-back. In the shadows of the deep forest, dozens of red beady eyes suddenly materialized.