Vengeance Through Passion

Xylaris, Fire Clan.

The air inside Xylaris’ great hall was thick with the mingling scents of incense and wine. Courtesans flitted about, their laughter soft as silk, attending to Lord Blackwell who lounged upon his high seat, his dark eyes half-lidded with disinterest. The flicker of torches cast an eerie glow, highlighting the rich reds and golds that adorned the Fire Clan’s seat of power.

Amid the quiet murmur of the evening, the heavy wooden doors swung open with a creak, and Lady Nyphera burst into the hall, her breath labored and her brow furrowed in agitation.

"Father! Father!" she called, her voice echoing in the grand chamber. "I've checked everywhere for Gwendolyn, but I can't seem to find her. The last time I saw her was during the preparations for the ceremony, which is due next week."

Her eyes, wide with concern, scanned the room. She expected her father’s face to shift with some sign of worry, but his expression remained indifferent, as if her words had not even reached his ears.

"What is it now?" Lord Blackwell drawled, barely lifting his head up.

His voice carried a tone of cold indifference, as though her concerns were beneath his notice.

"Lord Blackwell the Second!" Lady Nyphera's impatience was beginning to flare. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides as she struggled to keep her composure.

"Silence, child," Lord Blackwell said quietly, his gaze still focused elsewhere, dismissing her presence entirely.

Nyphera’s temper flared. "I said Gwen is missing, Sire!" she pressed, her voice rising with frustration.

Lord Blackwell sighed, waving a lazy hand as if swatting away a bothersome fly. "She must be somewhere doing something… peculiar or the other." His voice was lethargic, the words trailing off, lacking any semblance of concern.

Nyphera’s heart pounded, her anger mixing with anxiety. "Did you not hear me? I said she’s missing, which means I’ve checked everywhere for her! Are you not worried?"

Her father finally shifted in his seat, but not with any urgency. "No, child," he said, his voice laced with disdain. "This is not the first time she has left home unannounced. Just like your good-for-nothing brother, Vincent. They all leave at their own time and return when they see fit. Sometimes I wonder what sin I committed to have such useless people as children."

Nyphera felt her blood turn cold at his words. Her heart constricted with a mix of hurt and fury. "Father!" she spat, unable to contain her outrage any longer. "Do you really want to know what sin it is you committed?" She let out a bitter laugh, her voice dripping with venom. "Killing your own wife and blaming someone else for it!"

The room seemed to still, the courtesans backing away slightly, sensing the dangerous tension that filled the air.

"Silence!" Lord Blackwell roared, his tone deadly, eyes flashing with sudden rage. "Or I will cut out your tongue and feed it to the dogs. I have tolerated your insolence for far too long. You were permitted to speak freely because you were young and ignorant, but no more. You are nothing but the filthy child of a courtesan!"

Nyphera’s breath caught in her throat. The room spun for a moment as her father’s cruel words sliced through her like a blade. Her voice trembled as she whispered, "Fa… ther." Tears welled in her eyes, but she fought them back, refusing to let them fall in his presence.

Lord Blackwell’s eyes narrowed. "That’s right. You are the child of a courtesan," he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "But I never asked for a daughter like you. Hell, I would never wish for you as a child for even my deepest enemies."

The words struck Nyphera like a physical blow. Her legs trembled beneath her, her world collapsing as she tried to steady herself.

"Father!" she shouted, her voice filled with anguish. "You… you’re a monster!"

"Insolent child!" Blackwell bellowed, rising from his seat with a sudden, terrifying speed. His hand came crashing down, slapping her across the face with such force that she stumbled backward, her cheek instantly burning with pain.

"Get out of my sight!" Blackwell growled, his voice now low and menacing. "Filthy thing!"

Nyphera collapsed to the floor, tears streaming down her face as the shock and pain washed over her. Her body shook, but she refused to cry out further. Before she could pull herself up, a familiar voice called out her name.

"Nyph!" Caelric’s voice was urgent as he ran toward her, his boots thudding against the marble floor. He knelt beside her, gently lifting her from the ground. His sister was trembling in his arms, her tears flowing freely now.

"What happened?" Caelric demanded, his eyes burning with fury as he glared at their father. He wanted to strike out, to defend her, but Nyphera clung to his arm, stopping him.

"He’s… drunk," Nyphera whispered, her voice barely audible. Her body shook, but she clung to Caelric with all the strength she had left.

Caelric’s fists clenched, his rage barely contained. His sister’s pain mirrored his own, and for a moment, all he wanted was to lash out at their father. But he knew it was futile. Lord Blackwell would never change.

Lord Blackwell sneered from across the room, his voice dripping with venom. "Take that dirty thing and yourself out of my sight," he spat. "You are both the same—filthy children from a filthy mother!"

Caelric surged forward, his rage about to boil over, but Nyphera held him back with all the strength she had left. "No," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "Don’t… it’s not worth it."

Caelric’s eyes softened as he looked at his sister, her tear-streaked face pale and trembling. He knew she was right. The insults had become too frequent, too sharp, but they would have to endure them—at least for now.

"Come on," Caelric said softly, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. He helped her stand, supporting her weight as they moved toward the exit. Lord Blackwell watched them leave, a cruel smirk playing on his lips as he drained his wine and turned back to the courtesans.

Once they reached the safety of Caelric’s chamber, Nyphera finally allowed herself to break down completely. Her body shook with sobs as Caelric led her to a chair by the hearth, where he knelt before her, his hands gently wiping away her tears.

"Gwendolyn is missing," Nyphera choked out between sobs, her voice trembling with fresh anxiety. She reached into the folds of her gown and pulled out a small jade locket, holding it up for Caelric to see. "Vincent had gotten this from Aelaras for her… and now it’s here. She wouldn’t have left it behind."

Caelric’s brow furrowed in concern as he examined the locket. His hands tightened into fists as a new wave of worry coursed through him.

"It’s nearly impossible to find her this time," Nyphera continued, her voice shaking with fear. "What if she’s scared, or alone… or worse? What if she’s hungry and there’s no one to help her? I’m so worried, Rick."

Caelric placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, his voice firm. "It’s alright, Nyph. I’ll send the fastest horses to all the states. We’ll conduct a thorough search, and she will be found. I promise."

Nyphera’s eyes shimmered with tears, but she managed a small nod. "I hope so."

***

Somewhere in the world.

Suddenly, the door swung open with a loud creak, and a gust of wind swept into the small cottage, sending the sheer curtains fluttering wildly. Loose papers on the table scattered, and the air in the room felt charged, as if the storm outside had forced its way in.

Aricia jumped, startled by the sudden gust, her pulse quickening. "It’s just the wind," she muttered, more to herself than anyone else, her voice shaky as she smoothed her tunic and tried to regain her composure. But she couldn’t deny the strange feeling that something was amiss.

Freya, who had been sitting nearby, rose swiftly, clearly unfazed by the unsettling shift in the air. "I’m leaving," she announced briskly, throwing her cloak over her shoulders. "Unlike you, I’m not unemployed. I'll be back by evening." There was a slight edge to her tone, though it was more playful than scornful. Freya always had a way of masking concern with sarcasm.

"Please don’t," Aricia quipped with a wry smile, though her voice was tinged with exhaustion. She watched her friend depart, the door slamming shut behind her, leaving the cottage eerily quiet once more.

Several hours passed after Freya had gone, and Aricia found herself alone with the little child they had found wandering outside the village—a girl no older than nine. Her hair, wild and matted, framed a face pale with hunger. Despite Aricia’s best efforts, the child had refused every offering of food, staring at her with wide, unblinking eyes as though Aricia were some strange creature.

Aricia sat across from the girl, her brow furrowing as she tried to think of another way to coax her into eating. An idea sparked. "What if I tell you a story?" she said softly, hoping to break the silence that had settled like a weight in the room.

The child didn’t respond, but neither did she turn away.

"Once upon a time," Aricia began, leaning forward, her voice soft but animated, "the clouds darkened black, and a little princess, about your age, was preparing for an engagement ceremony. In those days, such customs were sacred, a must for every noble family. Everything was perfect, the music played, the people gathered... until—boom!" She mimicked an explosion with her hands, her voice rising dramatically. "During the ceremony, all hell broke loose. A great battle, chaos beyond imagining. In a single moment, the little princess lost everything—her family, her kingdom, her future. But she was saved by her maidservant, and that was where her true story began."

But the child remained silent, staring blankly ahead, as though the words were bouncing off an invisible wall.

Frustration prickled at Aricia, and she sighed, slumping back in her chair. "What is it you want me to do?" she asked, more to herself than to the child. "I’ve tried everything. You’re making this hard for both of us."

The little girl just stared at her, those large, somber eyes never blinking. Aricia rubbed her temples, trying to push away the headache that had been building all day.

"You don’t have to be afraid," Aricia said gently. "You can tell me anything. What’s your name?" She waited, her heart aching with the hope that the girl would respond, even if just with a whisper.

But still, nothing.

Defeated, Aricia collapsed further into the nearby chair, her body sagging with the weight of exhaustion. "Is it always this hard with children?" she muttered to herself, staring up at the ceiling as if the answer might be written in the wooden beams.

She felt a slight tug on her hair, and she glanced down to see the child standing beside her, her tiny fingers wrapped around a lock of Aricia’s scarlet hair. The girl held it up, inspecting it curiously, the first sign of any real interest she had shown.

"Do you... like it?" Aricia asked softly, a smile tugging at her lips despite her fatigue. "I bet you’ve never seen hair of such a color before. And I didn’t even dye it."

As the girl continued to play with her hair, Aricia’s mind drifted, and she suddenly recalled something strange.

"Come to think of it."

The first time she had noticed the scarlet hue creeping into her once dark hair had been shortly after that day—the day of the Great Chaos.

Maybe one of her ancestors had such hair. She does come from a bloodline of ruthless witches.

Lost in thought, Aricia barely noticed when the child raised the lock of her hair to her mouth, trying to chew on it.

"No, no!" Aricia laughed, gently pulling her hair away from the girl’s mouth. "It’s not for eating." She reached for the loaf of bread she had placed on the table earlier. "Here, try this instead." She handed the child a small piece of bread and a bowl of carrot soup.

To her surprise, the girl hesitated for only a moment before she began to eat, tentatively at first, but then with increasing urgency, as if she hadn’t tasted food in days. Aricia watched, relief washing over her, a chuckle escaping her lips.

"Not bad, is it?" she asked, though the girl still didn’t respond. But for the first time, Aricia didn’t mind the silence. The child was eating, and that was all that mattered.

After a while, both the girl and Aricia seemed to settle into a shared quiet. The child finished her meal and curled up on a makeshift bed, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep. Aricia, now drained from the day, sank deeper into her chair.

Her eyelids grew heavy, and before she knew it, she too drifted off into sleep, the room filled only with the soft sound of their breathing and the distant howl of the wind outside.