THE smell that day was a nostalgic blend of a sickeningly dry, sweet metallic scent and vomit.
Cradling her twisted arm, breathing shallow and agony glinting in her reddened eyes, she stooped and bowed. The pain, sharp and burning, robbed her of rational thought, her body weak, disoriented, and perspiring. Her flesh bore the scars of the beating, not to mention her heart. To them, there was just something so gratifying about agonizing a Powerless and that alone broke something inside of her—something that would endure even after her skin and bones healed. There was sadness in her eyes, a heaviness, an unyielding sorrow that stripped her of her once easy smile. She was almost afraid to look up, to take in their conceited smiles and malicious grins, the mock in their eyes, their fingers counting her breaths, anticipated for the last to come.
She’d beg but the sea of unbearable pain that had washed over her was far too great and exhausting. Her stomach rumbled with uneasiness, maddening her to frustration and bitterness. Was it bad she was praying for relief from the suffering, yearning for her body to completely stop feeling, for her brain to permanently shut, for death, after its long-awaited arrival, to step inside? When a chair clashed with force against her frail back and blood spluttered out of her dry mouth, staining Athena Takao’s new shoes, she silently cackled. Her friends would tell her to fight harder, to make a run for the door or seize the nearest item and use it as a weapon but her body said to stay put, lying on the floor, wheezing from the throbbing ache, and wait for the end to come.
“The kingdom has treated you and your people like mere ants. . .”
“Ugh! You ruined them!” Athena bent and reached for her jaw, forcing their eyes to meet. Breathing was slow and painful. They could all hear the loud inhales and exhales, each slower than the last, but that did not stop Athena from digging her nails into her skin, a bruise quickly taking shape and joining the rest. “These were my favorites too. I hope you’re planning on washing them for me.”
She managed a nod.
“They have forced them into slavery and executed them mercilessly.”
“I’m surprised you even made it this far,” Athena spat. “I’m surprised you tricked us all long enough to turn fifteen. You really had us fooled, I’ll give you that. But. . .” She leaned forward, heart-shaped lips curling into a sinister smile and her black deep-set eyes sparkling with nefarious glee. “What are you waiting for, Eun? What’s stopping you from picking up that rope I know you hide under your bed?”
Her forehead puckered, fresh tears running down her reddened cheeks, newfound panic flaring in her eyes, seizing her brain. Who would have thought that someone she had so much faith in could be this wicked?
“Are you waiting for me to do the honors, Eun?” Athena’s eyebrows raised with excitement, a jolly laugh fleeing from her mouth. “Or is it that you’re. . . hopeful?” Next came a gasp dipped in contempt. “Oh no, you couldn’t possibly be hopeful. I refuse to believe you’re that foolish.”
There had been hope before in the past, a sense of possibility in a brighter future, the future society claimed she was unable to achieve. With the open eyes of a child, she’d reached out, fingers extended. During that moment, people were given the choice between kindness and cruelty. It was no surprise the Powerless chose the former. One of them, she was. They suffered and wept together. And neither was it a surprise when Holders chose to cast her away. They were aware of her people’s great affliction, witnessed their miseries but either did nothing or made it worse. Holders were all one and the same—the arrogance, the hate, the corruption.
She’d been misled by the woman from her dreams, the woman that promised her she was only born for great things, born with a different fate. That woman had uttered nothing but lies and empty assurances. No, she was merely a plaything to be toyed with whenever their hearts desired. Perhaps, it was her own fault for heeding these fabrications despite everything else the world told her.
“Eun, please,” Athena snorted, “you’d be doing the world and yourself a favor. Finish it.”
“Karma is like a rubber band. You can only stretch it so far before it comes back and smacks you in the face—and now, it's their turn to be confronted by their long-awaited fate.”
That little innocent child she fortunately outgrew had been too hopeful for this kingdom.
The Holders were never going to change.
“Never let them see you in a moment of weakness. Never let them see you falter.”
Never let them see you falter.
These words stand out loudest among the hundreds of suffocating thoughts that are swimming through her mind, not just because they come from someone dear to her but because they’re her drive, something that has sustained her through the shattering memories that refuse to leave her alone. She wakes up and the words are the first things she thinks about. Just as they’re the last before she falls asleep. As the girl saunters through the busy streets of Findara with her tamed midnight-black hair tied into pigtails and a small sword fastened to either side of her thin waist, she recites the words again and again to herself while her snow-white horse trots alongside her. Never let them see you falter.
The greatest error she believes she ever made was trusting that there would ever be a day of peace between her people and those high in power, that they would come to understand the way they were born was never her people’s fault. That day will never arrive, not until Holders drop to their knees and learn what it’s like to beg for mercy, to beg for their lives to be spared. She understands that now and after centuries of the torture, the abuse, the damage, it’s only fair she returns the favor.
Findara’s tremendous crowd seems to have a life of its own, each individual moving just as though unseen hands are dragging them this way and that, pulling their eyes to one thing and then another. The vibrant clothes shimmer in the late-afternoon light and people move about like beguiling schools of fish. They respond in foreseeable ways, each with a daily objective in mind. There is chatter between sellers and buyers, young children running about, old friends catching up and new friends making. Despite the cheery atmosphere, she knows better than to put her faith in the elated grins on their faces.
Sure, it’s a beautiful day but not for the Powerless on their knees, begging with tears for something—anything—to fill their empty bellies or for medicine to mend their loved ones. Not for the Powerless working without rest or preparing themselves for the gruesome tournament due in a couple of days. How dare these Holders laugh and dance and look the other way when her people are suffering right in front of them, their bodies so thin that their bones are prominent and they can hardly move?
Even in the bitter September cold, she can feel the warmth of bodies pressing against hers as she maneuvers through an abundance of individuals. Worst of all, she can smell them too—a mighty accumulation of over-applied cologne, perfumes, and body odor. A registration table she’s been searching for eventually comes into sight and she begins her way toward it. For most people, today is a day like any other. But for her, today is the day a scheme she’s put her blood, sweat, and tears into for three years officially commences. She can’t recall just how many people have warned her that vengeance is never the answer—they were all wrong. Simply thinking about this scheme brightens her spirits.
Though half of her face is covered with a black handkerchief with a plan made not to reveal herself just yet, she can’t help but notice that people are mumbling, pointing. Perhaps, not at her yet she wonders if there is a possibility she’s already been recognized. Being habituated to noxious attention has done a great deal of harm to her. Even after those three years spent far from this death-dealing kingdom, memories of past maltreatment never left her mind—and they never will. She’s accepted that, accepted that no matter what she does, the scars she’s acquired over the years will never fade, nor will her hatred for Holders. One day, they will all finally feel her people’s wrath. Definitely not today. Maybe not next month or next year. But one day.
Even if she has to die trying.
She nears the registration table and pounds an arm against it to retrieve the attention of the man in charge, unconcerned about how ill-mannered the behavior may have appeared. The large man’s dark brown round eyes stare at her for a moment before they dive down to her bare neck. He raises his eyebrows and opens his mouth to speak, revealing the small gap between his two front teeth.
“You aren’t here for the academy, are you?”
“No, I’m here for bread,” the conniver scorns after a light scoff, cocking her head to the side, her straight eyebrows sculpting into a glare contemptuous enough to make the man grasp onto the fact he just asked an obvious question.
“Well, can you blame me for wondering?” He points at her neck with a scowl. The man is wary, she can tell. Holders normally come to register with an Amulet adorning their neck. “If you’re a Powerless,” he warns, “do understand that you’ll be greatly punished for even stepping foot inside the academy. Watch yourself.”
“I’m well aware of the rules.”
Right then and there, she wonders just how many of her people have pretended to have an Amulet in their possession simply to gain access to a place they are not permitted to enter. She knows the Powerless only do this to steal food and any other necessities they manage to come across and she can’t exactly blame them either, not when she’s done the same exact thing when she was younger. Her eyes concentrate on the dark brown pendant around the man’s fat neck and scoffs again to herself when he caresses it as though it’s his own child. The love these Holders have for their precious necklaces is far too great that it makes it impossible for them to love anything else just the same. She’ll never comprehend that.
“Every student ought to be in possession of a real Amulet if they wish to apply for the academy,” the man reiterates as though it isn’t already obvious enough. He waits a few more seconds, and when she doesn’t turn to leave, he eventually shifts a paper and an antique red-feathered quill pen her way. “Just write your full name here,” he instructs, the puzzlement still clear in his voice.
She picks up the pen, at first scanning the paper, quietly reading the names of many others that have already registered while stroking the red feather.
The man’s perplexed and judgmental eyes continue to examine her neck. “You know. . .” he says, “Holders wear their Amulets everywhere they go so they don’t get mistaken for the Powerless. You would do the same if you were even half as intelligent. Where’s yours?”
Avoiding the question, she pushes the writing materials back toward the man after printing her name as her lips curve into a minor smirk. “I’d watch my tongue if I were you.”
The man presses his thin lips together, slightly glowering at the girl. “You youngsters really don’t know how to respect your elders anymore, huh?” he utters with a low scoff. He wants to believe she’s lying, that she doesn’t actually have an Amulet and this is all just a foolish plot to get inside the academy, but would a Powerless really be this brave? He’d deny her registration if it was up to him.
“At least, I'm not an elder who doesn’t know when to stick to his own knitting.”
Shrugging with a sneer, the younger steps away from the table. The aggravated man is still scowling even as she continues her walk, her sharp, wily eyes studying each direction of the immeasurable kingdom. How easy it is to tick these Holders off, she thinks mockingly. If only their self-control is as high as their ego, or even better, their injustice. Nothing appears to have changed since the last time she was here—the Holders are more shrewd than ever and the Powerless have descended to such a demoralizing level that defending themselves is no longer possible.
In her eyes, Arya’s new inclusion is merely another institution that’ll only impart to younger Holders the belief that her people merit suffering, as the rest of them have done annually for centuries. The fact so many Holders are genuinely convinced this academy is precisely what the kingdom needs to achieve supreme greatness intrigues and amuses her. None of them need any more power. Not now. Not ever. And it’s time someone stripped them of the dominion they currently hold.
Seems like she hasn’t come back for nothing.
Stopping a couple of feet away from two women sitting around a rounded wooden folding table, she glances around again. A particular family comes to mind straight away and once again, her lips extend into an ill-disposed grin as her heart pumps with great ecstasy from envisioning her scheme in motion.
One might wonder how the mere thought of vengeance—a simple image of her adversaries unable to form words from the agonizing anguish that’s filled every aspect of their frail bodies tearing them apart, slashing through their perspirant skin, and searing their worn-out muscles—can bring her such joy. The planning process was not simple. In fact, she can still remember the exact number of times her mentor, Adora, pleaded with her to reconsider. But how can she when Holders never hesitated?
“This academy should have been opened a long time ago.” The voice of one of the women around the folding table seizes the schemer’s attention instantaneously. “But at least now, they’ll be taught to use their abilities more efficiently, especially now that the Outsiders have become more of a menace to this kingdom, wouldn’t you agree? We weren’t this fortunate back in the day. It’s nice to have some protection.”
The Outsiders? She’s heard that term before. Her mentor brought it up a number of times during her training after she fled Arya three years ago. Although she’s aware of their opposition to Arya, she’s unsure whether she’ll regard these Outsiders as allies or foes. Aside from her own people, nobody can be trusted these days.
“The Powerless, on the other hand, are just complete wastes of space. Their lack of contribution is absolutely frustrating,” the second woman chips in with a derisive scoff. “If the Outsiders were to invade right now, their presence would be nothing more than a hindrance. Why do we bother to keep them around? They’re just taking up valuable resources that could be used for those of us who actually matter. Honestly, I say we throw them to the Outsiders and let them deal with those cowards. Good riddance to them all.”
Her opinion is clear and concise, leaving no room for ambiguity. Ah, so she’s one of those. The young girl chuckles bitterly at the thought. She finds it quite comical that certain Holders hold the belief that her people serve no purpose when in reality, they’ve been the ones handling every arduous task the Holders refuse to undertake. How disheartening that such a belief exists, given the clear evidence to the contrary. Or perhaps, the dissatisfaction stems from the Powerless doing their jobs with reluctance. What do these Holders want? For her people to smile while taking a whip to the back?
“Who would clean our houses or run errands for us, then?” the first woman insists, shaking her head. “As irritating as those Powerless are, we can’t give them away. They can be good at what they do.”
The young girl’s focus flies over to a Powerless struggling to carry three hefty bags while a Holder screams at her to walk faster. A bunch of dogs. That’s all they are to them. There is something that has always puzzled her even until this day. Her people are detested for not possessing their very own Amulets, pendants that have been deemed the most significant things in the world, items so powerful that every life revolves around them. Even the mere sight of the Powerless always seems to enrage the Holders. Why not send them away, then? Why not chase them out of the kingdom? Why not end their miseries?
Holders often boast about their immense power and capabilities, yet they struggle with basic household tasks. Their free time is primarily spent indulging in partying, gossiping, and tormenting others. Worst of all, it’s not that they’re incapable of doing these things—they just choose not to. What’s the point of washing my clothes when I could just force a Powerless to do it for me? Their only concern is deriving pleasure from watching Powerless individuals beg for mercy. Nothing else matters.
Her stream of thinking is interrupted by an abrupt altercation that can be heard nearby. It's not the bickering itself that catches her attention per se, but rather one of the voices, which she’s certain is that of the same person she hasn't been able to shake from her thoughts for the previous three years. Pitiful she hasn't moved on, she's aware, yet on the other hand, picturing this person’s battered body has done well in motivating her numerous times.
Well, well, well. We meet again.
She nears the quarrel in a matter of seconds and at the sight of Arya’s Golden Girl screaming at a guard with both hands clenched, her lips draw back in a snarl. Although she has little interest in learning how the disagreement began, it doesn't take her long to notice the dark brown splotches all over Athena Takao's gown, which could have been caused by the guard mistakenly spilling something on her. In the midst of what appears to be a little tea party, she dismounts her horse and walks over to the chaos. Of course, with Athena, tea parties always involve more chit-chatting than actual tea consumption. She would know, after all, they'd been previously friends back when she was still posing as a Holder.
At least, there’s no need to pretend now.
Gathered around Athena and the guard are several other girls, each one of them cheering Arya’s Golden Girl on as the screeching, hot-headed child hurls insult after insult at the soldier. Three of these girls stand out to her right away—mind-controlling Jade Lavender, rumor-mongering Akira Ito, and defamatory Sa-rang Lee. Three years later and they're still clinging to Athena like moths to a flame. The guard, on the other hand, simply stands there, rolling his eyes and scoffing to himself, acting as though the taunts are not getting to him. It's easily understood that a tremendous part of him is too afraid of maligning the daughter of the king's closest friend.
Coward, she can't help but think. Yet at the same time, she has to concede that the previous registrant’s man was correct. Younger Holders have grown to think that respect for the elders, or for anyone, in fact, is never required if they have power or are associated with someone who does. She finds the way this perverse doctrine has been disseminated from generation to generation to be the most unsettling. No one has ever made an effort to halt it.
Until now.
She walks up to the guard and takes his arm, yanking him away from the girls while sending him a warning death stare to flee while he still has the chance. At first, the guard appears offended at the idea of someone else stomping all over him. He's meant to be one of Arya’s revered individuals, after all. However, the moment he believes he’s pieced two and two together and surmises she is simply another one of Athena's close friends, he turns and speedily strides away. Again, coward.
Nothing about what she just did makes Athena any less irate. In an instant, Athena turns her rage from the guard on her. She shrieks even louder now, “Who do you think you are?” and takes a step forward. “I was still talking to that man when you inconsiderately interrupted.”
The young schemer studies the girl for a moment. Athena still has that smooth olive-skinned squared face, straight nose, wide lips, and ridiculing black deep-set eyes that her adoptive brother, Alvin, once remarked were beguiling. Even the girl’s gait hasn't changed. She still obnoxiously swings her hips from side to side.
“Well, speak, you pig!” Athena hisses again. “Do you have the slightest idea who I am?”
“Do you have the slightest idea who I am?”
In the twinkling of an eye, Athena’s glare deforms at the sound of her voice, an expression of bewilderment replacing it instead. She points an unsteady finger in an attempt to hold her undaunted demeanor but the discomposure can already be seen. “You better walk away this instant if you know what's good for you,” the headstrong girl urges again through gritted teeth. “You don't want to mess with someone who's got the Royals on her side. I assure you that would be a grave mistake.”
“Still using your status as an excuse for every little thing?” the younger shakes her head, although she can't say it's out of disbelief. “I’m not sure whether I should get disappointed or glad at the fact your character hasn't changed even now. What I am sure of is that you're going to make this incredibly easy for me, Athena.”
“W-Who are you?”
But even with the question, she knows she's already got it figured out. She knows Athena has matched her voice to that of the helpless youngster she used to torture day in and day out three years ago. Why else would her voice sound so unstable?
“I asked for your name, you fool! Don't you know it's rude to keep me waiting?”
Still sporting the same sly grin, she takes a poised step toward her stunned foe as her fingers reach for her mask. Once near enough to whisper in Athena’s ear, she, with great pleasure, gradually lowers the piece of cloth down, revealing the entirety of her face.
“I’m the person who's going to bring this entire kingdom to its knees.
ns 15.158.61.5da2
