Arieon Falre

I feel pain shoot through me before I'm able focus on anything else. I open my eyes to an unfamiliar room with yellow walls and half functioning lights.

Where is Ash? An instant dread fills me as I recall my last memory of us being broken apart because of the aftermath of the explosion. A warm hand over mine slows my heartbeat and I turn to look at Ashton looking down at me. A guy, just barely taller than me stands behind her. I notice his clothes before him, wanderer rags.

I wonder why Ash hasn't burned him yet. She always did like to show off her powers. Me on the other hand, I like to be powerless. Just like the time Ash and I found the wounded but powerful hound, I would rather trust my mind over my flames. I would always choose to make allies than enemies and that is what makes Ash and I so different for each other.

But there is one similarity between us that bonds us closer than blood. The fact that we are both just weapons. The kingdom need a throne and a throne needs a royal. That's all the reason we were born. A show of power. We were supposed to light our flames higher than ever as respect at our elder sister's funeral. We weren't allowed to weep or share stories about how great she was. Instead we had to show it didn't affect us and that we can only grow more powerful.

The words Ashton said at the funeral are still etched into my soul, feeling like hidden tears of poisonous pain building unbreakable walls around our hearts. "We always have been weapons to them, and they just proved it. They want power, and I'll take it all. They are right about one thing, tears are for the weak and I'm going to prove that I am not weak."

My eyes dart through the place trying to figure out where we are. But unfortunately because of just the plain empty water logged yellow walls and the man standing with Ashton, I can only just figure out we are in a Wanderer hideout. The air isn't humid around me but it hard to say if that is because of Ashton's presence or if we really are close to home.

"How is your arm?" the man asks. His voice isn't deep unlike I expected, it makes me think he is about thirty years old but the scars staining his face prove he is much older.

"Just great. The cast on his arm explains nothing, does it?" Ashton snaps at him. But her voice doesn't hold the normal authority of a queen, rather it feels like a teenager throwing a tantrum. I'm quick to understand why. She is dressed in wanderer rags as well. They do not know who we are.

The man glares at Ash before turning towards me, "Why were you two at the castle?"

Ashton's eyes grow wide, "I already told you-"

"Let him speak." he cuts her off and nods towards me.

"We were Unscathed born, but with no powers. So we were disowned by our own parents to be servants." I say hoping my story matches with Ashton's. For all I know this could be a trap. His unwavering gaze never lifts off me, judging my story. There is no doubt they would kill or make us leverage if they knew who we really are.

He spits on the ground beside him, "Pathetic Unscathed, they claim they are greater than us with their powers but they are as heartless as ever. Ever held a sword boy?"

"I have." Ashton speaks up again. Honestly, the girl never could keep her mouth shut, but it didn't mean she was wrong. She is better with blades than most of us at training. The only ones she hasn't been able to defeat was our father and me. Even though she was blindfolded with a wound to her dominant arm, our fight was a really close call.

He turns towards her and raises his eyes as if to ask how a so called servant was able to learn to fight. "A girl's got to survive somehow." she shrugs. A small but interested smile spread across his face as he takes her in. She is a little shorter than him but the way she looks him in his eyes, challenging him, is nothing but fierce.

It seems they talked before I woke up but what could it be about? I don't know what happened and it's frustrating. Maybe that's why my mind is trying to take in as much information as possible, just like the corner of the old photograph sticking out of the man's pocket. I can only guess it is of his family as I watch him gently but unknowingly slide the picture deeper into his pocket, out of my view.

He finally smirks and returns her gaze, "You pay for your stay. Pledge your loyalty to us and you get to survive."