Unrepentant

The sound of running water filled the room as Selen drew herself a bath, the steam rising and curling around her, wrapping her in a warm, comforting embrace.

She glanced over at the clothes Zinnia had given her, neatly folded on a stool nearby. The sight of them brought a fleeting sense of normalcy after everything that had happened. The warmth of the bathwater was a welcome relief, soothing her tense muscles and offering a brief respite from the confusion that had plagued her since waking.

In the main room, Silas and Zinnia were deep in conversation. Silas, usually so reserved, seemed almost relaxed, his posture easy, a faint smile playing on his lips. Zinnia, however, was far from at ease. Her brow was furrowed, her thoughts clearly tangled as she tried to make sense of the situation.

"Why doesn’t she recognize me?" Zinnia's voice was tinged with frustration. She paced back and forth, her agitation evident. "Hell, I've basically stolen her life!"

Silas’s smile widened slightly, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Her cognition is just fine," he said, leaning back in his chair as though the answer was obvious. "One of the brews I gave her after we established communication was a truth serum of sorts."

Zinnia paused, recalling the moment when Silas and Selen had exchanged parchment, both scribbling furiously. At one point, Silas had taken out several vials and creams, handing them to Selen. Zinnia had watched as Selen had taken a whiff of one vial, shrugged, and downed it without a second thought. Her cheeks had flushed, and she had burped softly, covering her mouth with embarrassment before nodding at Silas and continuing to write.

"So you believe her when she says she doesn’t know why she stole 'my' appearance?" Zinnia pressed, her voice filled with skepticism.

Silas nodded, his attention now on a fresh scroll he had unrolled. He began to write out the alphabet of the Empire's language, Livish, his pen moving swiftly across the page. He added lines that correlated to some of the strange, headache-inducing symbols that Zinnia had seen before.

"I do," he replied simply, as though the matter was settled.

With an exasperated sigh, Zinnia flopped onto the bed, her frustration evident. "What do you want to do with her?~" she asked, her voice tinged with resignation.

Silas’s eyes never left the blank scroll as he continued writing, his focus unwavering. "I would like to learn from her," he said, his tone thoughtful. "She seems to have developed an ability to understand a language that shouldn’t exist."

Zinnia’s curiosity was piqued by his words. She propped herself up on one elbow, her earlier frustration momentarily forgotten. "How do you know it then? And why would a date with an inquisitor make someone understand a dead language?~" she questioned, her tone more curious than accusatory.

Silas paused in his writing, turning to face her. "The language is not dead," he corrected her, his voice steady. "It simply should no longer exist." He took a moment to choose his words before continuing, "I know it due to some 'fortunate' circumstances in my youth, but it has taken me my whole life to decipher a portion of it."

He looked at Zinnia, a pleased expression on his face that sent a shiver down her spine. There was something about the way he looked at her that made her uneasy, he was always one step ahead, always planning something she couldn’t quite grasp… or rather wasn't allowed to grasp.

"Understanding this language was once my single most vehement drive in life," Silas admitted, taking a deep breath before stretching his back. The loud cracks that followed made Zinnia’s eyes widen; she thought for a moment that he had injured himself. But no—Silas simply continued speaking, his voice calm, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. "Life likes to play tricks on its players," he mused, his tone almost philosophical.

Zinnia couldn’t help but roll her eyes at his words, though a part of her couldn’t shake the feeling that he was somehow becoming even more dangerous than he let on originally. She sat up, watching him carefully as he continued to speak.

"As for how and why she developed the understanding..." Silas’s voice trailed off as he suddenly flickered and appeared right in front of her, his blue eyes darkening into an abyssal onyx as he locked his gaze onto hers. The suddenness of his movement took her by surprise, and she gulped, her throat suddenly dry.

"How and why did she develop the understanding?" Zinnia asked again, her voice barely a whisper, the intensity of his gaze unnerving her.

Silas’s gaze grew even more piercing as he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a raspy whisper that sent chills down her spine. "Impossible to guess and not important," he answered, his words cryptic.

Then, just as suddenly as he had appeared, Silas flickered back to the desk, resuming his writing as if nothing had happened.

Zinnia exhaled a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding, sticking her tongue out at him in a childish display of defiance. "That schtick is getting old!" she called out, though there was a tremor in her voice that betrayed her nerves.

Silas remained unbothered, his attention still on the scroll in front of him. "Why would I bother understanding why it happened if I only want the knowledge she has after it happened? What if probing into her now destroys the unique opportunity?" he replied, his tone as rational as ever.

Zinnia was at a loss for words. Silas’s logic was, in a way, flawless, but it also felt deeply unsettling. Who the hell was that rational? And more importantly, what was he really after? She glanced around the room, suddenly realizing that Nyx had slipped away again without her noticing.

As she was about to ask where the bird had gone, the sound of someone getting out of a bath echoed through the room, drawing her attention back.

Miranda’s Boutique stood silently under the night sky, the small windows reflecting the soft glow from the street lamps outside. Inside the shop, Miranda, an aged woman whose beauty had only deepened with time, moved with graceful finesse as she locked up for the night.

Her hands, though marked by years of work, still carried an air of elegance as they turned the key in the lock, ensuring the security of her carefully curated inventory.

She took a moment to survey the various herbs, metals, and tonics that filled the shelves of her shop. Miranda’s Boutique was known for offering exotic materials sought after by cultivators, who valued the rare and potent ingredients she provided.

Despite the challenges that came with being a mortal now, Miranda had managed to maintain a thriving business, thanks in part to her sons, who ensured that any would-be troublemakers were kept at bay. Miranda herself was once a feared and respected Dancer, capable of intimidating even the most seasoned warriors. But now, she had to rely on the strength of her sons to protect her.

Satisfied with the day’s business, Miranda allowed herself a small, contented smile. The recent surge in economic activity in Sichal had brought many customers to her door, and while she didn’t know the exact reason for this increase, she was more than happy to reap the benefits. As she prepared to head to the side room, she heard a faint rustling sound coming from behind the counter.

Curiosity piqued, Miranda moved toward the source of the noise and pulled aside the curtain that separated the main shop from her storage area. Her eyes widened in surprise as she saw a crow with a sash full of pockets hanging upside down from one of her shelves. The bird was busily rummaging through her carefully organized herb containers, seemingly oblivious to her presence.

“What on earth…?” she thought, staring at the unusual sight.

Before she could react further, a strong hand suddenly clamped over her mouth, and another grabbed her arm, forcing her against the door frame. A cold blade pressed menacingly against her side as a voice, slurred with intoxication and thick with a noticeable lisp, growled into her ear.

“You psycho bitch! Was it really necessary to sic your attack dog on me just for a harmless compliment to an old bag like you?” the voice spat, dripping with venom.

Miranda’s mind raced as she recognized the voice. It belonged to a ruffian who had made inappropriate and crude comments about her hind quarters in front of her son Gabri, a Warrior with a fierce temper when it came to his mother’s honor.

He had responded by giving the man an impromptu lesson in respect and dentistry, which apparently had not been taken to heart. Now, the brute had returned, fueled by liquor and bent on revenge.

Despite her current limitations as a mortal, Miranda was far from defenseless. Her years as a Dancer had left her with a level of physical agility and flexibility that belied her age.

Though her hands were pinned and one of the attacker’s legs was wedged between hers, she knew she still had options. With deliberate precision, Miranda began to maneuver her left leg, sliding it in front of her and then bending it at an impossible angle for most until her heel was pressed flat against her thigh. Her foot, now positioned perfectly, aimed directly at a rather sensitive area of her attacker’s anatomy.

The man was too slow to react as Miranda pushed herself forward, nicking herself on the blade slightly, but using the momentum to escape his grasp while simultaneously delivering a powerful kick. The force of the blow propelled her forward, while the man let out a high-pitched yelp of pain, his voice breaking as a wet stain quickly appeared on his trousers.

“Bitch!” he shrieked, doubling over in agony.

Miranda quickly put some distance between them, though not without consequence. Her daring move had caused her dress to tear lengthwise, exposing much of her long, slender leg and a portion of her wounded torso.

Undeterred, she turned to face her attacker, her expression one of steely resolve. Raising her arms above her head, she reached up and pulled a large pin from her hair, causing her dark locks to cascade down around her shoulders. As she brought her hands down, she revealed the true nature of the pin—a thin, exotic dagger, its blade shining ominously in the dim light of the street lamps coming from outside.

From his perch on the shelf, Nyx emitted a sound that could only be described as a catcalling whistle. Miranda, however, had no time to pay attention to the bird. Her focus was entirely on the man before her, who, despite his injury, was already lunging at her once more.

With the grace of a seasoned Dancer, Miranda twisted out of his reach, her blade flashing as she sliced through the air, catching the man’s ear. He howled in pain, stumbling forward as he clutched at the wound. Seizing the opportunity, Miranda extended her leg once more, delivering a swift kick to his back that sent him sprawling to the floor.

As the man struggled to regain his footing, Miranda used the brief lull to compose herself. With a swift motion, she used the dagger to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear, the movement highlighting her high cheekbones and the small beauty mark near her ear.

Meanwhile, the crow, who had been watching the scene unfold with apparent amusement, let out a rumbling squawk that sounded suspiciously like laughter. His beady eyes gleamed with a mischievous light, as if to vocalize a perverse, “Hehehe!”

Despite the situation, Miranda remained focused on the task at hand. Perhaps the years she had spent living as a mortal had dulled some of her instincts because she had failed to account for one crucial detail: when dealing with an ambush, always assume there are more enemies than it seems.

A dull thwack echoed through the room as something hard struck Miranda from behind. Her world tilted, and she crumpled to the ground in an unflattering heap. Pain shot through her head, and her vision blurred as she reached up to feel the now-damp spot at the back of her skull. She rolled over, her breath coming in ragged gasps, to see a scrawny young man standing over her, holding one of the Icklium metal bars from her stock.

The pain was sharp and intense, clouding her thoughts as she struggled to process what had just happened. Desperation clawed at her mind as she realized the gravity of her situation. She tried to roll away, but the older man, who had by now recovered, stomped down hard on her back, pinning her to the floor.

“Not good!” Miranda’s mind screamed as she attempted another defensive move. She arched her back and bent her legs, trying to execute a trick kick, but the younger man was quicker. He grabbed hold of her calves, effectively immobilizing her. Her dress, already ripped, was now in tatters, leaving nothing to the imagination.

The older man grinned maliciously as he pressed his weight down on her. “Ohhh, you’re gonna regret that,” he sneered, his voice dripping with menace.

But Miranda was not one to go down without a fight. With no other options left, she bit down hard on her tongue, drawing blood. The sudden and unexpected action caught the two men off guard, their expressions shifting from smug satisfaction to shock and confusion.

In that instant, Nyx, swooped down from his perch and landed squarely on the older man’s shoulder. Before the man could react, the crow’s talon flashed before his eyes.