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āMomma?Where are you? Momma?ā the little girl muttered warily, using her fragile hands to wipe her face that was stained with tears. Her hands were clutching a ragged bunny, her dress tattered and patched up. āWhere are you?āĀ
All around her in the Christmas market,Ā families were strolling past, each of them with contented smiles. Only the little girl was standing by the roadside, lost and alone, but no one seemed to notice her.Ā
āMomma!ā she cried out again, holding the bunny closer to her chest. The freezing winter air was starting to bite her exposed skin, and though it was icy cold, it seemed to burn her each time the wind blew.Ā
Soft, white snowflakes fluttered down, covering the roadside in a white blanket, and the market-goers started cheering and laughing happily. But the cries of the little girl only got louder, her voice and figure drowning in the crowd. The snowfall became heavier, just like her innocent heart, and before long, she was hugging herself, crouched low near a stall, counting the pairs of shoes that passed by over the hours.Ā
āIāll be back before you know it,ā the soft words of her mother echoed in her head. So where are you, momma? The little girl thought, helpless tears streaking her face.Ā
From afar, she heard Tchaikovskyās āDecember: Noelā from The Seasons playing, the light dance of the keys reverberating throughout the bustling market. The girl closed her eyes, letting the warmth of the notes fill the emptiness hidden inside her, like a hole that could never be mended.Ā
To others, Christmas was a time of celebration, but for her now, and for the many years to come, Christmas, to her, would just be a period of mourning--for the loss of her mother, the loss of her tribe, her family, and the loss of her innocence. Something that she would never earn backĀ for as long as she lived.Ā
~
The young adult walked past the stalls, scarf wrapped around her head, her eyes darting front and back in alertness. She was a girl of about eighteen to nineteen, with a height around 1.6 meters. When people looked at her they wondered why they had not noticed her before. She had long, haze-brown hair, thick and rich, which came to a point in her forehead in what people called a devilās peak. She had regular features and a full-lipped mouth. But everyone else noticed nothing except her eyes. She might have been pretty, but she had deep-set, intense eyes of a startling azure colour, so luminous and penetrating that, when she looked at someone, they felt she could see right into their hearts, and they would avert their eyes, scared that she would discover their secrets. Her gorgeous eyes were prominent, but not uncommon. Unfortunately for her, however, that was the one thing that almost got her killed that day.Ā
With the Truthtellers patrolling the market, she really had no escape. Walking faster while trying to throw the guards off their path, she could only hear their footpaths getting louder and faster. Heaving loudly and in shock, all four walls seemed to be closing in on her. Her only hope had been to make it out of there alive, but Truthtellers were known for their sharp vision. One look at her eyes and they had radioed the headquarters, āLe dernier raconteur est en vue. Cible acquise .ā The last Raconteur. Target Acquired.Ā
In the middle of the market, on a snowy Christmas night, a girl was knocked to her knees, scarf ripped from her. Shivering in the cold, the guards pinned her down, rifles pointing towards her.Ā āComment tāappelles-tu?ā Whatās your name? they demanded in German harshly, the fury in their eyes being the only thing recognizable from their masked up face. She could have sworn they had spoken in French earlier, but realised quickly that they probably knew both, so she retorted in German with equal harshness, āauf keinen Fall.ā No way. Ā
The guards had never seen such defiance, such anger, such power in a response before, but even that didnāt stop them from looking at each other and nodding, a signal that this was the one they had been looking for all these years.Ā
And with the watching eyes of everyone in the market, one of the guards aimed for her head and pulled the trigger.Ā The bullet was as tiny as a pin, yet as powerful as a wild horse. A collective gasp rang among the netizens around the girl as time seemed to slow down into a blur. Clenching her fists, the girl shut her eyes peacefully and mustered all of her energy, hanging on to the warm, buzzing feeling in her heart. The fire in her seemed to grow bigger and bigger but she continued to shove it down, unaware and oblivious to the pain and the bullet that was inching closer and closer to her by the millisecond.Ā Ā
In the misty blue smog settling among the sands of the shore, there was a lone boy sitting on the pavilion, gazing out into the unknown. He was, well, different from all others. He was stunning, not perhaps in the conventional sense, but he had that appearance which could make him stand out in the crowd. His skin was as pale as a sheet. His unfathomable, dark green eyes contrasted exceptionally with face. His eyes were as deep and expressive, where people could get lost if they stared long enough. His face had that faraway look in it, which cannot be described in words. His smile, which reached up to his eyes, flaunted his modesty and humility. Often, people could see a hint of pain in his sparkling turquoise eyes, which would disappear as suddenly as it emerged. He sometimes spoke too fast, which perhaps revealed how much agony he concealed within himself. Above all was his frame and his stature. He was not extremely muscular, however, he could stand out in a crowd, which was mostly due to his way of carrying himself. Perhaps he was not the kind who had many girls swooning over him, but he was simple and innocent. He was perhaps, just one in a million, who was ānothing special, but all the same uniqueā. That boy, who was stuffing his hands in his pockets, slid down the slide slowly and cautiously from the pavilion. Turning his head to scan his surroundings, he then stood up to his full height. Basking in the sun, he was around 1.9 meters tall in height. Running a hand through his black raven hair, he ruffled it after hours of running and training in the sand. From afar, he could see the girlās from his tribe staring and gave a friendly smile while waving. Almost immediately, he saw one of the two putting her hands on her forehead in shyness and laughing wholeheartedly to her other friend whilst pointing at him. That was his childhood best friend, Ava, together with her friend Kate. They had grown up together and had been inseparable since birth. Only in the recent years that he found Ava to be behaving strangely, avoiding him and all. He still could not fathom her behaviour but he was still satisfied that he had not lost his only friend. He had not stepped out of the village for years but he had heard rumours from the other Truthtellers in his tribe. He believed them wholeheartedly for it was all along believed by others that Truthtellers werenāt able to lie for if they did, their lifespan would be cut short by a month for every one they told. The boy shuddered at the thought of having to live a shorter life. Yes, despite not leaving the village for an entire 18 years, he was still optimistic that he would be able to see the outside world one day, just like how his seniors and ancestors did. Staring at the house in front of him, he could not help but resist frowning as he looked at the burnt building. Despite the accident happening years ago, he could not help but feel a shiver crawling down his spine as the memories of that painful incident burnt his head, making it throb. Stumbling back, he cradled his face with his rough hands as he retreated back to the safety of the nearby shelter. The truthtellers were always a peaceful group of people who had meant no harm. But ever since his birth, he had caused nothing but trouble. The boy tries to hide his fear and pain behind a mask of optimism. Not a single soul, even Ava, was able to break down his facade and make him feel whole again. Just then, his mind drifted back to two blurry figures. The frown that was etched on his face became more prominent as he let out a breath that he didnāt know he had been holding in. He could feel the burning heat that was threatening to seep out of his hands but he inhaled a sharp breath before calming pounding ribcage. They shouldnāt have left when he needed them the most. Regaining back his calm and composed demeanour, he plastered on his poker face before walking towards a rugged hut where his lunch was awaiting him. Upon entering the house, he saw a tiny lunchbox with messy handwriting hastily scribbled on it,
To my dearest nephew,
Adam, Remember to eat your meals on time and stop skipping them! You need to eat more lest you faint during training and I wouldnāt want the first aid people to come. You know how nasty they are. Iām watching youā¦
Adam let out a deep hearty laugh that resonated throughout the empty house as he read and reread the post-it. His uncle always had a way of cheering him up everyday no matter how lethargic he felt. His uncle was a middle aged man, maybe around his late forties? He was shorter than Adam by at least a head, his golden hair duller with age. His eyes were a darker shade of turquoise than Adamās, but somehow more prominent and cheerful, even if he was tired. He didnāt have Adamās beauty--he had crooked teeth and a too-big nose, but people who met him said he was entertaining, fun, jovial, and more often than not, handsome. It was the inner beauty they were talking about, Adam figured, and cast a forlorn glance at the wooden floor in the hut.Ā If it was inner beauty they saw, he thought, I would be cast out of the world. Sighing, Adam opened up the lunchbox and picked up a pair of chopsticks, digging into the simple meal of fried eggs and rice. It wasnāt much, but Adam appreciated the thought nonetheless. Besides, his uncle was already so busy with everything as he was the head chief of the tribe, a simple meal of fried eggs and rice must have made him pass out for a few hours. Smiling contentedly to himself, he stuffed the stir-fried food into his mouth and devoured it hungrily. Even though the rice tasted expired, he was still glad that he had something to eat. It was better than nothing for the record. Still pushing the small portions of food into his mouth, his mind wandered back unconsciously to the past few days. During physical training days he had always seen Ava either hiding behind a tree or giggling with her other friends. He felt himself drifting further and further away from his best friend. What happened to the āno secretsā rule? Did she forget about it too? It was a pact that they had sworn when they were younger, to never keep the truth away from each other. But now, he felt as if he didnātĀ know Ava that well anymore. Maybe it was because of the fact that they no longer hung out with each other since she had learnt about her new found ability, or maybe it was because of the fact that Ava became more and more popular throughout the village that she no longer had time for him. Either way, Adam did not feel jealous of the attention she was receiving from the locals and the other Truthtellers. After all, Ava was known to be one of the most wealthy girls in the village for she came from the Johnson family, a family known for their extreme wealth and generosity. Many of the boys in the village vyed for her attention but she was known to turn them down without a second thought. But nowadays, he could sense that something had changed in his best friend. When he passed by the Johnsonās house, he could always see bouquets and bouquets of flowers spewing out of the house from her suitors, which didnāt seem to be right as Ava always complained to him about how unhygienic those flowers were as they were picked directly from the ground. Clenching his fists, Adam snapped out of his daydream and stabbed the pair of chopsticks right into his rice in frustration. Why was no one listening to him these days? Was he no longer of any importance to others? Thinking about how he was cast aside by his good friend made him feel a sense of pure hatred. But he wasnāt going to be mad at her for the pure fact that she had stood by him through thick and thin throughout the years they had been friends with each other. Thatās right. He had to be strong and brave as usual. In the village, it had been tradition for men not to cry for if they did, they would be deemed as cowardice, causing them to face scorn and disdain for the rest of their lives. He saw Ava as his younger sister, nothing more, despite how the other villagers have been speculating about their friendship. But still, there were times where he questioned everything in his life, from friends to family, and always felt alone and afraid. Despite the brave front he had been putting on for all these years, he could slowly feel himself faltering and wavering, his fearless facade slowly breaking into pieces.Ā
What people saw was a boy who was strong and fearless, but what Adam Bancroft saw in his reflection was a fragile boy who was scared and broken, ready to be carried away by the wind.Ā
Cora charged like an angry bull towards the target. The Truthteller threw up his forearms like an offensive lineman blocking a defensive back, but Cora slipped to the side, pushed the manās elbow down and away, caught his head, and rolled him into the floor. Third of a second once contact was made, and she was on her feet, watching the muscular man rush toward her in slow motion as the three other men, even more slowly, jumped to their feet.Ā The muscular man reached under his shirt as he pushed past the dirty woodblocks along the alley. Cora did not try to stop the gun; she rolled her hand under the manās wrist, drove the manās arm over and back, and pulled him backward and down. Cora had the gun before the man slammed into the floor, and she hit him, hard, on the forehead with it twoĀ times. However, Cora Blaise could predict that the other Truthteller was going to attack her next in line. He put out a nice stiff left, which he planned to follow with a right cross. But Cora slipped to the left, which threw him off enough so that she could step inside the right cross and get a handful of his hair. She pulled his head forward and brokeĀ his nose with her head. Still holding his hair in one hand, she dug another hand into the guardās shoulder and lifted him off the ground before slamming him down on the hood of the nearby truck. He grunted, and went limp. When she stood back, he slowly slid off the hood and lay in the street with his mouth open. Tackling the third guard, she threw a linebacker drilling a quarterback from the blindside, a clean shoulder-to-shoulder hit that arched the guardās spine. The gun clattered from his hand and skittered into the drainage ditch. Cora kept coming, driving his legs, finishing the hit before smashing an elbow into the side of the guardās skull, the soft spot high on the temple. Finally, she came to the last standing guard. Heās strong, She thought. But not strong enough. Running swiftly towards the guard, she slapped her right palm down on the manās face, shattering his nose. Yanking back the Truthteller with her right forearm, she snapped the manās neck like a tree branch. He sagged and she immediately shoved him away. Cora had expected this attack. No, she had anticipated it. Only after landing a final punch to make sure all the guards were dead did she let her body relax. Pulling up her mask and tying back her tangled hair, she dragged each of the guardās bodies to the corner of the alley, breathing heavily,Ā before stealthily darting away from the bloody and gruesome scene. āThat was close,ā She mumbled, walking into the sea of people that had just finished work. Keeping her cap low, she pushed her disguise tightly towards her face, afraid that there might be Truthtellers around that would recognize her distinctive eyes. Her hands were badly bruised and were sore from all the fighting. Stumbling into the nearby petrol kiosk, she placed ice cubes into a bowl and ran some water and before putting her hands in to soak. Cora knocked, no, killed four of the Truthtellers, which was a much worse outcome than her last encounter. Dropping onto the floor, she took a deep breath. It hurt her rib cage. Her eyes widened in disbelief. Cora exhaled and inhaled again before inching her arms under herself and pushing herself up on her hands and knees. Her head swam. She felt her stomach tighten and she threw up on the floor, which garnered the store holderās attention. Hearing slow and steady footsteps that were approaching her wearily, she could hear a faint voice, āMiss? Are you okay?ā Nodding her head, she flicked her hands which hurt her ribs some more. Wincing, CoraĀ stayed that way for a bit, on her hands and knees with her head hanging, like a winded horse. Her eyes focused a little better. She could now see the various shelves in the store clearly. Cora crawled over, got hold of the nearby sink and slowly got herself upright. Everything blurred for a minute, before coming back into focus again. Taking one last deep breath, she hovered for a second before glancing at her ribs. There it was. Although her black oversized shirt was dark in colour, she could still see the faint glimmer of crimson red against the fluorescent lights. One of the guards must have stabbed her while she was busy defending herself.Ā Letting out a sigh of tiredness, she held one of her arms close to her ribcage to keep pressure on her wound before staggering out of the store. Since young, she was taught to use fake words, lies, and to be deceptive. She was taught that one should twist the truth to hide themselves from the world, and use it as a shield to protect themselves from sources of harm. This way everyone could be safe and sound. Though people always said that the truth was ugly, it was the truth that had wiped her whole tribe from existence, leaving her alone. It was the truth that caused her to be deserted and to no longer feel warmth from others. The truth was far more dangerous than any weapon in the entire universe for the truth was something that could kill others without physical violence. Dragging her body back to the small pavilion in which she was temporarily staying in, she landed on the floor with a heavy thud before groaning in pain. While her legs were haphazardly sprawled on the floor, she reached for the ointment and bandages that were discreetly hidden in a box. Wincing while applying the stinging solution onto her ribcage, she took the opportunity to examine her injury. The wound wasnāt that deep, but it was deep enough to leave a scar. Red stained her slim and slender hands as she desperately tried to wash away the blood stains using the remaining water she had for the day. āI'll be back before you know it.ā A disembodied voice rang in her head. Snapping up in alertness, she scanned her surroundings. Was that Momma? Did she finally come back for me? Cora started to tremble upon seeing a glimmer of hope. She tried her best to make the voice reappear in her head for a whole hour but to now avail. She could have sworn she heard her motherās voice echoing beside her just then. Perhaps she had become delusional, or even psychotic. But that was no big deal. All she wanted was to hear that voice, that asuring voice once more. To comfort herself and to tell her that everything would be fine. No matter how desperately she tried, she couldnāt bring back the voice that she heard earlier. Sagging her body, her shoulders formed a permanent parentheses around herself. No matter how hard she prevailed, she would always come back to reality. The cold, hard truth. She was just plain old Cora Blaine, who was unfortunately born into a Raconteur tribe. Nothing more. Her true self was hidden, hidden away from the world, away from the judgmental gazes from the public. āSheāll never be worthy.ā Those four words were the pure reason why she continued to develop her abilities after the war had happened. It was her way of showing everyone her rebellion, a side she wasnāt comfortable in showing in the past. She had a point to prove, to show everyone that she could do it, and that she wasnāt afraid to fall, to make mistakes. Scrunching her brows together, her mind started to form furious bubbles of thoughts in her head. The Truthtellers were behind all of this. Why did they want her so badly? She was already torn and tattered, fractured into pieces. She had nothing left to offer or give to the Truthtellers. Whatever she had left was not valuable, even if it was, it wouldn't change the fact that her loved ones were dead, buried, with not a single one left breathing.
But that was fine.
Death. Death was inevitable wasnāt it?
It had already stripped Cora off her freedom, her innocence, her family.Ā
What more was there left for her to sacrifice?
Thatās right, she thought, Nothing. Ā
Now standing upright in the dark, lonely pavilion in the middle of the night, a vengeful silhouette of a girl vowed to give Death,Ā
A taste of its own medicine.Ā
The small flash of light. What was it? It seemed so...so foreign. So out of reach. She stretched out her arm, wanting to hold that tiny bit of light in, but it danced away, flickering in and out of existence. She frowned, attempting to stand up. But she couldnāt--her legs were tied to the ground. Squinting her eyes, she could only reach out a helpless hand in hope that the dot of brightness would land right into her arms. That was when she realised that it was just a dream. Reality sunk into her skin and bit her hard as she saw the paint of light fade away into the abyss, never to be seen again. The truth hurts. But she had to be brave. For she, the young woman, couldnāt afford to back down after coming so high up. Oblivious to what was waiting for her, she could only keep the past memories of the ground sealed in her palms as she traveled up into the unknown, waiting and waiting for the worst to come. Down on the ground, she could see families prancing around in pure joy, their thick scarfs keeping them warm from the cold. The young adult wasnāt jealous at all, not one single bit. But she longed for communication and for someone who would care for her, just like family. But that was just a hopeless wish that would never be fulfilled. For the young woman was made to be a lone figure, never meant to be discovered by the world.Ā
Adam woke up to the sound of shouting and yelling. Rubbing his eyes, he held back a small yawn before getting up to wash his face. It has to be Evan and Jacob again, He thought, rolling his eyes in a taunting manner. Evan and Jacob were the two playful children that liked to bother him early in the morning without fail. However, unbeknownst to Adam, it was two grown-ups who were having a heated argument--his uncle and another Truthteller. āHave you seen the number of injured Truthtellers that have been coming back to the village?ā A furious voice that was filled with rage resounded through the entire village. āYes, I am aware. I am trying my best to work on it so please, stay calm, before a fight starts.ā āLetās have one. If you die in the battle, Iāll be crowned head chief now, no?ā Adamās eyes widened in realisation upon hearing the familiar voice. His uncle was in trouble again. And this time, he might even lose his power status. Slowly finishing up his morning routine, Adam stepped out of the house gingerly out into the open only to find his uncle and a fellow Truthteller, Kora, who he was familiar with, faced off on the wooden floor in the gathering hall. The area was wide enough for the two of them to fight and not hurt others. Kora threw off his dark cloak and revealed a man clothed in a black tunic and long tight fitting tan pants, bound together with a rope at his waist. His face was scrunched up in anger. He slowly drew a long sword from his belt slowly, the blade making a hissing whisper as it was removed from the sheathe. All the while, Adamās uncle, George, was holding Kora firmly in his gaze. George was wearing a sleeveless red shirt and loose fitting black pants. On either hand, he had sturdy metal gauntlets. Adamās uncle bent down and stretched his back. He turned his neck from left to right and popped it with a series of clicks in rapid succession. Then, he proceeded to do the same with the rest of his body as he loosened himself up. āDon't hold back or Iām going to break you,ā Kora snarled. George just shrugged his shoulders, smiled, and slowly brought one foot behind his back. He put his weight on it and brought an open palm up. āWait,ā he said and put his hand up to say āstopā. Kora turned his head in curiosity. There was a band of players that were playing for a tiny shop near Georgeās right and they had an array of instruments. The jaunty tunes that brought Lockwood Village to life came out of their instruments. They had everything from woodwinds, to percussion, to string instruments in their possession and were quick skilled with them. George looked over at the band of players. He reached into his pants, pulled out a coin purse, and tossed it to them. āPlay something I can tap my foot to,ā he said with a winning smile. The band leader grabbed the purse out of the air,āOnem twoā¦ā he tapped off, then his band began playing a quick, pumping melody. George turned his attention back to the fight. āNow, where were we?ā And with a quick flick of his hand, as if to say, āCome on,ā towards Kora, the fight was on. Adam watched his uncle in disbelief. His uncle was always picking fights with the villagers. Who knew if that might be the death of him one day, Adam wondered, watching the fight progress. Kora rushed at George. He dipped and weaved right just as he was about to reach him and slashed downwards with the sword. George parried with one of his gauntlets and the blade clashed against the metal strapped to Koraās arm with a shriek that sent sparks flying into the air. The swordsman was quick and uppercut slashed at the hand to hand warrior, attempting to catch George from the stem all the way to stern. George sidestepped to the right just in time for the blade to pass a hairās breadth from his face. Quickly, before Kora could respond with a follow-up, George swiftly punched Kora in the stomach, knocking the wind out of the swordsman, and stunning him for a brief moment. Adam continued observing the fight and came to a conclusion that it was a āpowerlessā fight where the Truthtellers could only carry out physical attacks and not ones with abilities. The fight had taken George and Kora dangerously close to the edge of the cliff nearby and George had his back dangling in the air, despite his counter attacks. Kora was still open for more attacks though, and George wasnāt done. The quick blow had opened Kora up for another attack and George obliged him, putting a simple sidekick into the swordsmanās stomach, doubling him over. George followed that up with a quick rising uppercut. The crowd watching their fight let out a collective wince for the man. Taking the opening and using the environment to his advantage, George back flipped onto the wall and pushed off towards Kora. The maneuver sent him front slipping towards Kora and just before he reached the swordsman, George flattened his body out, feet first. Instead of colliding with his adversary though, George opted to wrap his feet around Koraās neck instead. The maneuver caught Kora off guard as he was recovering his wits, once again. George gave him an apologetic shrug mid air, as if to say āsorryā for what was going to come next. George used his momentum in a creative way, instead of piling into his opponent; instead, he jerked to the right and swung around Kora. Then, when he was directly behind his opponent, George curled his legs into his body body and angled his body towards the ground, changing the direction of his fall, putting the weight of his jump into a powerful throw. Kora was pulled off his feet violently and was thrown across the floor. He skidded and tumbled along the ground, uncontrolled. He was stopped by the other end of the floor, about five feet from the wall. A groan escaped his lips as the pain from the attack started to settle in. Kora looked up and his eyes opened with surprise. As George was about to let go of Kora, during the throw, he had planted both hands on the ground. When he completed the attack, George sprang off his hands, throwing himself into a quick backspring, followed by another, another and another to build momentum. When George was almost close to Kora, he bounded off the ground and threw himself into a spin that would have made an expert gymnast jealous. Flattening out in the air like a sideways whirling tornado, he made sure that his body was perpendicular with Koraās as he neared the fallen swordsman. Georgeās spin got increasingly fast as he whipped his arms in and out, efficiently putting him into an almost uncontrollableĀ rotation, arced at Kora. Just as George was about to reach Kora, the warrior threw one of his legs out, shin angled down. The entire force from the spin was pushed into his leg. The entire crowd including Adam was silent and it was as if time itself was holding its breath as George descended. Every person watching the fight was so enthralled, watching for the next move in the fight. However, Adam turned his head away, not able to keep up with the violence. Kora barely had time to breathe, let alone dodge. But, it was a testament to his experience in battle that Kora kept the presence of mind to roll to the right in a desperate dodge, towards the wall of the nearby house. Just in time. Georgeās leg smashed into the ground, slamming into the ground with his knee and shin flat into the wood. Adamās eyes widened in horror as he saw his uncle crushing the floor into a torrent of splinters that rose up around him in the air. Seeing George sprawl onto the floor, most swordsmen would have allowed their opponent to stand up. That was the honorable thing to do. However, there were no rules in this fight. Adamās breath lodged in his throat as he saw Kora charging towards his uncle. With the speed of a cat while the splinters were still hanging mid air, Kora spun his body around and swept his foot towards his opponent's head. The attack was so quick that George wasnāt hurt; it actually pushed the assassin a foot and a half into the air. George was curious, why had that not hurt? That was Koraās intention. Swiftly, he rolled forward and halfway through, slid straight so that he slid under George and stopped facing the rising assassin's back. Adam was not ready for what was to come as he let out a scream of fury, cursing at Kora. Kora cocked both arms back and double punched upwards into Georgeās back. Air whoosed from the head chief's lungs as he was pushed even higher into the air. The impact from the attack gave Kora a couple feet between him and George. Kora looked to his right and saw the lip of the floor, just an arms length away now. āThis is going to hurt you, just as much as it is going to hurt me,ā Kora promised with a forewanced wince. Kora quickly performed a handspring to his feet, crouched just under George with his legs choking him. Kora exploded from the ground towards Georgeās rising form. He grabbed the assassin around the arm, twisted mid air and arched the two of them towards the wall, easily angling Georgeās head first. Adam let out a horrified yell as he pushed through the crowd, begging Kora to stop. By then, tears were already streaming down his cheeks as the scene unfolded in front of him. George collided with the raised floor and his head plowed through the woodwork with a painful crackling and crunching sound as the wood shattered under the enormous pressure from the attack. Adam was crouched low with his hands covering his eyes in pain. He didnāt even know the cause of the fight and now he might stand a chance of losing his last kin. Kora let go and managed to land on two feet and his face was set hard and unreadable. Anger flashed through Adamās veins, pulsing and fueling the fury that he felt. An amazing way to start the day, Kora. Turning to his left, he saw his uncleās body hanging vertically for the briefest moment, suspended in an ephemeral moment in time, then he collapsed, head still firmly stuck into the ground. The rest of him hit the ground in an uncomfortable position which made Adam nauseated. Standing out from the crowd, the flames in him were begging to be freed, to be released. To be honest, no one knew that Adam had already developed his special ability but he just didnāt know how to control it yet. He could feel the burning heat rising from within and before he knew it, he was already shooting out flames from his palms. He could feel the prickling heat around him but the red hot flames on his hands were ice cold. He couldnāt feel, couldnāt think. All he wanted to do was just to rip and tear Kora into half and make sure he was never seen again.Ā Tears were stinging Adamās eyes as he cried his heart out in pain and fury. His last family member was gone, that damned Kora was all to blame. And with only Kora Carson in target, Adam muttered to himself,
āIgnite.āĀ
With the flames dancing precariously on both of his hands, Adamās eyes turned into a dangerous colour of crimson red as he stalked towards a cowering Kora.
āTreat this as a lesson to you, to never hurt the head chief.ā
And with that, Adam landed both flames onto a shrivelled Kora, making sure he was never to be seen again.
He had cried. No, he had mourned. But it was still considered crying, the boy confirmed to himself. He was trudging along the cold hard floors of the hut, freezing without the warm presence of his uncle. Looking at his trembling hands, he could not believe that he had killed one of his fellow Truth Tellers. He was sure to now be an outcast. A betrayer of his tribe. To make matters worse, he had cried in front of the large population of Truthtellers. He was sure to be deemed as a coward for the rest of his life, for all eternity. Looking at the clothes that were strewn all over the floor, the boyās face hardened as he pondered on it for a moment. The luggage and bags were all there. All he needed was to pack them up. After contemplating for a long time, he scrunched his eyes in confirmation. Yes, heāll do that. Now scurrying to pack his things up before the other Truthtellers disdain him, he quickly wrote a note on a post- it and pasted it on the clean walls of the hut. And in the middle of the night, a lost and hopeless pyrokinetic dashed out of his home, his comfort, his sanctuary, to explore the outside world for the first time in his life.
Dear Uncle,Ā
I know you arenāt there. But I wanted to say a big thank you for all that youāve done for me. Iām sorry I wasnāt able to protect you. But Iāll make sure things take a turn for the better. I know youāll probably be disappointed with me running away like a coward but itās for the best.. I hope youāll understand. Iāll make things go back to the back they were before. For now, rest assured.
With love forever and always,
Your beloved nephew.,
Adam
**-Chapter 4-Ā Cora was still laying up in her sleeping bag gazing at the starry sky. Her injury was healing slower than she had expected, maybe at least by a good five days. She sighed in frustration only to bring up her hand to clutch her wound on reflex. Her injury was still bringing unnecessary agony to her and she could not stand the feeling of being so weak and helpless while waiting to recover.Ā It reminded her just of the time where she was a little girl who was unable to save even the closest of family members. She was feeble, puny, fragile. Her head throbbed in pain upon thinking about how others might perceive her to be. The judgmental looks of the people around her were already hard to bear. Shuddering to herself, she muttered, āAt least Iām alive, for now.ā Sometimes, Cora Blaine wondered if everything in her life in which she had sacrificed for was worth it.Ā Family, freedom, innocence. Was it all worth the fight? Ā Feeling lonely had always been a problem in Coraās life. Especially in her younger years in the village. She had never really known how to deal with loneliness when she was younger. She used to get teased and ostracised by the other Raconteurs in the village. She slowly grew up to be rebellious and mischievous but before she could even do anything, the Truthtellers had already wiped out the population. The problem with making friends at such a young age was hard for Cora. Everyone seemed so happy, so joyous, so...so united and bonded. Cora could not help but feel envious of the families around her. Children were bouncing happily with the stuffed animals and parents were busy keeping them occupied. Sometimes, Cora could not resist the urge to curse the heavens for leaving her out as it took both her parents and tribe away. She still wondered to herself on some occasions whether they were doing fine, if Heaven was a much better place than Earth. Thatās such a redundant question, She chuckled to herself. Of course Heaven was a better place than Earth. There would be peace, shelter, and best of it all, all of them themwould be safe from harm. So why, Cora pondered,Ā why did you leave me behind? Was I not worthy enough to even be brought down together with the rest of the Tribe?Ā Unconsciously, warm sticky tears started to drip down her sunken cheeks. The past few days had been rough. It was just killing, fighting, and killing again and again on loop. Those dead eyes of the Truthtellers made her shiver in disgust. Disgraces, she spat. Rising up gingerly, she reached for her almost empty bag for a packet of ration biscuits she could feed on for the time being. With the Truthtellers being out in the open, she had no choice but to remain out of sight.Ā
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