Cresselya

Sweat ran down her face, filling her eyes and making them sting like saltwater. Her boots splashed inside the mud as she ran and ran through the endless forest that surrounded the city of Sanc Tuary. She could see nothing but the shadows of trees and the giants casting them. She couldn't stop, she couldn't hide and worst of all, she couldn't stop crying. She knew she wasn't crying because of pain and that she was crying because of what she saw.

Along with the splashing of her boots the young lady could hear the screams of a woman. Screams of pain. Screams of suffering as her flesh was melting off her body. Screams of fear, not for her, but her children and all the people she loved. Screams of resistance, resistance to the strength of the King and to the flame in the eyes of her executioner. Cresselya couldn't see that, but she knew. The seven-year-old lady Pourrait-Marteau knew everything she needed to know.

She could feel her elder brother's tight grip on her wrist, pulling her through the bushes and the shadows. His eyes were now scars of the endless torment that had filled the past few moments, scars she knew would never go away. Scars of endless the pain. Scars of the suffering. Scars that reflected her own pain.

Her younger brother was back with the screams crying in his father's arms. He was but a year older than her, yet her father had decided that it would be the right thing for him to watch. Since he was their mother's favourite.

But Aesther wouldn't do that. Aesther didn't seem willing to sit with their father and cry. No, he seemed prepared to flip the world over just because of the leatherbound journal that was in his left hand. It was a slim brown thing, in which their mother wrote her thoughts every single day. Aesther seemed to be hoping for an answer. One he wasn't going to get.

She couldn't see his face very well, for her watery eyes didn't allow it. But she could see his sparkling eyes. And she would never forget them.

Eyes blue or green, depending on the shadows on his face. Eyes that never shone until that moment, until the moment when he felt truly lost. The more she looked at him, the colder she felt the air around her to be. The number her senses became. The more she felt like her brother would never love her again.

Why would they do this? Why would they burn her mother? The girl couldn't understand. All she could understand was the whispers of the approaching Winter. And all she would remember was the banner of the man who executed her mother. The Spider eating a king in front of a dark shade of blue.

The air bruised her again and again, colder and colder until her world had turned to ice. Ice that froze her heart. Ice that seemed to make time stop. Ice that froze her tears as they fell down her face. Ice that would never leave her.

It took her a few minutes to realise that she was on the ship, with her "bed" rocking left and right in the wind. The snores of shield maidens filled the entirety of the cabin as they slept on in the icy wind. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on the snoring, instead of that dream.

Ever since the Rebels had occupied the city of Darlan she had dreamt the same dream, over and over. She dreamt of the ice and the darkness. The fire and the screams. The cold and the woods. And it all ended with a pair of blue eyes.

She dreamt of the day the screams of her mother filled the shadowy woods. A mother that had nurtured her and helped her through every second of the life she could remember. A mother who had fought for the future of this world. A mother who had been betrayed by a father she resented.

Cresselya searched for beams of light in the cold room, but all she could see was the endless darkness of the night. She searched for a familiar smell, or a familiar hand to touch her, but all she could find was the warmth of the Dark steel around her scarred hand.

Years after the day she had gotten these scars, years after she had put her hand in the fire, she could still feel them, limiting her movements. After that day, her brother had bought her the new glove, as a gift that represented her favourite mythical beast, the Gryphon. She loved him for that. But he was wrong about it being a Gryphon's claw.

She smiled at the thought of her brother and how stupid he was before he learned how to read. He couldn't even realise that the glove was the claws of a Dragon. One claw that she then built an entire dragon-styled armour out of.

She stood up and put on the rest of her armour, trying to think about the endless ocean around her and not that dream of hers. She levitated a hand over her head to check in any of her hair were flying, before running her fingers through them to straighten them down. She would never dream that dream again, she promised herself, but that was nothing but an enormous lie. She knew that very well.

The armour felt as light as any that she had ever worn and as hard as any other armour made of Dark Steel. But that wasn't the reason why Dark Steel was so popular and expensive. No, Dark Steel had the ability to eject warmth off of it slowly. So slowly, in fact, that legend said it couldn't be worn for a century after it was made. Cresselya gave a slight grin at the thought of the first person who had tried to master Dark Steel immediately. In her head, he was so burned that he wouldn't ever go near an anvil again. But that was all in her head.

She tied the chain of her cloak to its pin, the pin that was there to hold it in place, and sighed at the thought she had mere seconds ago. Her feelings shifted from euphoria to misery once more and a voice inside her told her she was a monster. Maybe the man died, she thought, why would I laugh at a man who's dying?

With that thought in her mind, Cresselya walked up the stairs and onto the deck of the ship. The stars filled her surroundings and she could see them all clearly. On a good day, she would try to pronounce their names under her breath. But this wasn't a good day. This was the day her brother entered the castle of the Queen as an enemy. An enemy who was disguised as a friend.

But when was he her friend, said the voice in her head.

"Get out of my head, Saint!" she growled, turning around to spot the girl, but all she could see was her best friend, the Night Guard. Maurice the Night Guard was a fat man, around his 75th year of life. Her brother would make her call him 'Uncle Maurice' and each time she would, he would sit next to her and tell her stories of.

He would sit her down next to him and tell her about legends of Old. He would tell her about Dragons and Wyverns and Gryphons. He would tell her of Dead Men walking the Earth, ice and fire running from their mouths. He would tell her of gigantic masses of land and moss and stone in the shapes of sharks, flying through the air and spitting the first waters over the world, before crashing into the earth to create the first mountains.

And she would listen. She would listen while inspecting the features of his face. She would look at that fat red nose, the long white beard and its tufts of black and brown covered in grease. She would look at his fat fingers, which usually grasped a cup of wine or the lamp he held right now in front of her. And then he would try and scare her! Blowing the light off and growling in her face. And she would scream and laugh and smile.

"Why are you shouting, girl?" he said, his heavy voice filling the night. In his left hand, he had that candle of his which shone through the night. In the right hand, he held her sword, close to her face, as was customary.

Cresselya didn't answer. Instead, she looked around and sighed. "Did my brother sleep tonight?" she asked, her voice faint in her throat.

"No, girl, your brother hasn't slept since we sailed to this mission." he sighed before lowering his sword. "Or did you mean Draven? I am sure you didn't. You know as well as I do that the boy has been sleeping endlessly since we left Darlan".

That was true. Draven hadn't moved from his bed in three whole days. But Cresselya didn't care about him, not after he had sided with their father. And especially not after he and Lucian had killed her prisoners. Actually, that was a lie. Cresselya hated him wholeheartedly. Almost as much as she hated Saint. She shook those thoughts off her head and looked at her friend. "I suppose Aesther is in his Cabin?" she asked, softly.

"Yes, girl." He stopped and looked around, making sure nobody was there, before continuing. "He is with our good Lord and godsent messenger, Lucian, if I remember correctly..." he said mockingly.

"Thanks, Uncle!" she smiled at him, before turning around and heading towards the cabin under the starlight. She couldn't see her way or the barrels and the cannons around her. She couldn't see the red sails or the colour of the flag. But she knew where they were.

She had to talk to Aesther. She had to make him see. Make him understand what haunted her at night. He was the only brother that she trusted. And he was being corrupted.

Why would her brother choose to be with Lucian and not somebody able? Why would he be such an idiot as to trust a Fallen Angel? Why would he trust a former priest who had turned to bloodlust?

She could feel the sails overhead and the watchers all around her. She could feel their eyes set towards the vastness of the ocean. And most of all, she knew that they were ready to blow any ship at the bottom of the ocean.

She felt Maurice's eyes on her as she walked, pushing the cabin's door open in front of her. She felt her wild pupils shrinking to nothing in her wild grey eyes as the light of candles hit her.

Two figures. were standing over the table she had helped Aesther build. A table that was carved in the shape of Carthago, with mountains, forests and rivers running through it. As she marched in she threw an angry glare at Lucian and held the door open for him to leave.

The Angel had turned to her eyeing her up and down, his pitiful black wings shadowing his facial features. But she didn't care about him. She hated him as much as she hated every single new friend of Aesther's, every single person that had pulled him away from her advice and into this suicide of a mission.

"Get out!" she told Lucian, still angry because of Saint, whom she knew was using Lucian for her pleasures and all she could do was take her anger on him. She let out a small smirk after her yells, her eyes still focused on the figure of her brother.

He wasn't a man that legends would speak of. And he certainly didn't look like the fair heroes of the past, with their smooth, scarless skin and chivalrous ways. His hair was as black as night and his eyes as blue as ice. He had the stature of a general and the temper of a wolf in a sea of sheep.

He had a scar running over his right eye, rushing down his cheek and reaching his jaw before taking a sharp turn and running across his neck in the area under his ear. A series of matching scars over and under his lips, indications of the tortures he had gone through in the past.

Aesther pulled Lucian by the arm and whispered something about Draven in his ear. Lucian walked past her, his long and greasy black hair following him as he slipped through the door and closed it behind her. He said nothing to her, none of his stupid comments and none of his stupid remarks. He just left. And Cresselya was grateful.

Aesther's eyes settled on her after Lucian closed the door. They crept into her soul, pulling out her primitive instincts and making her want to run. But she held her ground, clearing her throat before looking down at the table. Under his gaze, she became very aware of the liquid drool on her chin, wiping it off before finally raising her voice again.

"We've been on the Terror for three days, Aesther..." she paused before looking up at him "Three days that you've ignored me. Did you know that I am dreaming of Mother screaming while the two of us are running away? Did you know that I am dreaming of times when you trusted me? Why don't you trust me Aesther? Ever since Draven returned from our father's lair you have been pushing me away." She was frustrated, more than she thought she was. "He doesn't understand our ways, Aesther. Therefore he will betray us".

Yet, her tone was calm and focused. That was a skill Aesther had taught her before he sent her off to look for allies.

"You are dreaming of Mother?" he asked, before shaking this thought out of his head. "Listen, Cress. I understand why you may not like what Draven has become. But his counsel is valuable. As is that of Lucian and Saint. They all have insights on different aspects of the war while you only have my training-".

"Is this not enough for you? Unlike Draven, I have spent my entire life building this revolution with you. I have almost died for it a million times. Yet I wasn't allowed to attend the Council meetings for a year. Aboard my own ship, no less." Cresselya's blood was now boiling in her veins.

"Cress, there is nothing I can do for you in our current situation. We are going to speak of this again after I return from Alexandria", he commanded before sliding a miniature ship through the painted sea and close to the coast.

Cresselya looked away once more, her eyes now stinging with tears of anger. "After our mission is over, you'll either need to take me back to your court or find a new Captain for the Terror", she said before opening the door and marching outside.

She spent the following hours on the Eagle's Nest, looking out until they reached the city of Alexandria. When they did went down to shout her orders and prepared the ship's defences. She then watched the crystal waters and her sweaty crewmates bounce around as she moved her eyes to the city. The city with its tall towers, white houses and gigantic Temples.

She sighed and remembered days long gone, as she clutched her fist around her sword. She remembered running down the main Road and into the port with Draven while Aesther was coming into port with gifts from faraway lands.

She remembered how much she had loved looking into the crates he had brought, seeing toys and swords and armours and jewels, all stolen from Royal ships. Why would her brother set her aside again after all those years? Why now that she was actually useful? She tightened her grip on the sword and then looked at the mission party. All the people she hated were there. All three of them were standing around her brother, while she looked at him from afar.

Draven was oblivious as ever, his smirk showing through his 'disguise'. Saint, from her perspective, looked like her, dressed in the exact same clothes and armed with the exact same weapons. And then Lucian smiled under the shadow of his black wings. Or were they white?

She felt Maurice and the blacksmith, Katamira of Asakawa, looking at them behind her. "I'd kick his face into the open sea if he wasn't your brother", said the foreigner, her thick, choppy accent shining through.

"You can kick him into the open sea right now for all I care!" she said with her face forming into a grin. "Make sure his armour is heavy enough, though. I want him to drown before he drifts into another long sleep of his".

Katamira laughed, or snorted, for all she cared, but Cresselya didn't bother looking at her. She knew the raven-haired girl was more than willing to do it, even though she took it as a joke. "Back to your stations, you two, we have to be ready for an attack...!" she commanded while getting herself to the stirring wheel.

But still, what seemed like an eternity later, they weren't ready for an attack. Because it came from the inside.