The Weight of the Blade
1
“Rember , for I am Pride.”
The words chased her like shadows, tightening her chest until breathing hurt. She ran, and kept running, while trees lashed past in blurred columns against the night.
How long had it been? Hours? Minutes?
Mud slapped beneath bare soles. A hidden stone bit into her skin. She swore, stumbled, and found her pace again. Rain drenched everything, braiding itself with sweat and tears until she couldn’t tell one from the other. The forest slled of wet loam and crushed needles. It should have been comforting.
Should have been.
Fear had turned familiarity into sothing empty. She ran through a fog of thoughts she couldn’t make sense of, mories stripping away until all that remained was a single voice. And the one who spoke it.
Pride.
That smooth, taunting voice. A face too flawless to breathe mortal air, half‑hidden by damp curls. And those golden eyes — piercing, burning — had watched her as though they could see everything.
Her next step struck sothing rigid. Cobblestone. The forest sll vanished, replaced by smoke, spilled beer, garbage. Had she blacked out?
“Enjoying the night air?” a male voice asked behind her.
She spun, dizzy. Colours sared. Music thumped from a nearby doorway, making her head ache.
“Where am I?” Her voice sounded like she’d been screaming for hours.
The guy looked no older than twenty. His gaze slid over her soaked dress, then lingered. “We’re just outside the Oasis.”
She felt his stare crawl across her skin. Only now did she truly notice how drenched and exposed she looked.
He stepped closer, smoke trickling from his lips. “These streets get rough after dark. Let walk you sowhere safer.”
“Not interested.”
“Co on.” He rolled sothing between his fingers, took a slow drag. “Just trying to help.”
A shout ca from behind.
“Yo, Tony! Score another chick?”
Tony gestured toward her.“Another chick? Don’t be rude, Marcus. She’s not just anyone. She’s special. Looks like she could use so help.”
Marcus lurched into view, reeking of alcohol. “Special, huh? Dollface, how about a drink? We won’t bite… much.”
Tony chuckled, eyes on her blood‑streaked feet. “Might need more than a drink. Got a first‑aid kit at my place.”
Their stares felt like hands on her skin. She shifted her weight, preparing to get away.
Marcus moved to block her way. “Don’t be like that, baby,” he slurred, “too pretty to be out here alone.”
She sidestepped and continued toward the mouth of the alley.
“Don’t walk away from us. We’re just trying to be nice,” Marcus hissed, trailing after her. His fingers grazed her bare shoulder, sliding down slowly in a way that made her recoil.
Invasive. Violating.
“Look at you.” He tightened his grip. “Soaked, shaking, lost. And you know what?” His eyes dropped to her chest. “Rats get bolder after dark. It’s not safe for soone so… delici—delicate.”
His breath stank of hard liquour, and he was far too close, close enough that she could feel sothing inside her begin to snap.
“Let us both take ca—”
Wind snapped cold. Raindrops froze in mid‑fall, a glittering curtain suspended in the air. Marcus stared, blinked, and that was the last thing he saw.
A wave of white light surged from her, silent, formless, unstoppable.
Soone scread.
When it was over, Tony was stumbling back, scrambling away on his hands and staring at her like she wasn’t human.
Marcus was… no longer whole.
A gleaming blade now rested in her hand, pulsing as if alive and reflecting the neon glow overhead. She stared at it, mind blank. What just happened?
Then it hit her: She had done this. Horror should have risen, or grief, or even triumph. Nothing ca.
The sword was light, too light, like it had always belonged to soone else. She felt detached, as if watching from a distance while her body moved on without her. Strangely, the feeling wasn’t new. That numbness felt like sothing she’d always carried.
Tony whimpered, scrambling to his feet, legs trembling. "Y-You're… Gifted?!" He turned and bolted out of the alley as fast as he could.
She didn’t chase him.
Red and blue lights began to pulse at the alley’s entrance, flashing against wet brick. Smoke thickened around her, the air clustering with the sound of tires screeching and the scent of burnt rubber.
She heard the soft, hesitant clack of boots on the cobblestones behind her.
“Freeze,” a young woman’s voice called out, trembling on the one word.
“You’re under arrest for the murder of…” She trailed off as she stepped closer and took in the scene: the scattered limbs, the blood pooling between uneven stones. The woman swallowed hard. “J-just what’s going on here?”
Astra didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure she could.
Before she could even try to explain, another set of footsteps. A figure stepped into the alley. Calm. Unhurried.
“I’ll take it from here, Officer Jones,” ca a low voice.
Officer Jones whipped around, gun partially drawn. “How do you know my na—”
The newcor gave her a light tap on the shoulder, and the officer collapsed to the ground, unconscious. Behind her stood a young man about her age, wearing a crisp coat and standing with impeccable posture. Superficially, he might have passed for soone like Tony, but the resemblance ended there.
There was no hunger in his gaze, only quiet observation, as if he were examining a puzzle. He glanced at the blood-slick pavent and the grueso remains of Marcus, but if the sight bothered him, he didn’t show it.
Instead, he adjusted his umbrella, angling it slightly to shield her from the rain.
“Are you Gifted?” he asked.
It didn’t sound like an accusation, barely even a question. It was more like he was confirming sothing he already suspected. He spoke as if she hadn’t just killed soone.
When she gave no answer, he exhaled through his nose, nodding slightly, as if her silence was answer enough.
“I’ll take that as a no,” he murmured, his brown eyes gleaming with sothing unreadable. “Would you care to tell your na, Miss?”
The unexpected question caught her off guard. It was so normal, so gentle, and it cracked through her numbness just a little.
Her throat tightened. Idly, her fingers rose to the spot where sothing cool pressed against her skin. A sharp sting pricked her skin as her fingers found an athyst pendant, its edges cut like a snowflake. It felt familiar, yet distant.
She had always worn it, hadn’t she?
It felt… important. Significant. Even as it bit into her skin.
And the shape… Could it be her na?
Snow… no, that wasn’t right. That wasn’t her. Then, sothing clicked.
A star.
She tightened her grip on the pendant despite the sting and looked up, her eyes steadier now. “Astra,” she said quietly. “You can call Astra.”
The man studied her, the na lingering on his lips. His brown hair, slightly tousled, fell into his eyes as he ran a hand through it.
The man repeated the na softly. “Miss Astra. A rare na. But an unregistered Gifted? That is more than rare. It is… unprecedented.” A pause. Then, as though bracing himself, he added, “Except for—”
He stopped as frantic footsteps ca rushing toward the alley. More n in the sa attire as Officer Jones approached them.
The young man’s eyes flashed gold, and the approaching officers crumpled to the ground.
Golden eyes? Astra took a step back. “What did you just do?”
“They’re unhard,” he assured her, gesturing to their unconscious bodies. “They won’t rember you or any of this.”
His gaze turned gentle. “Trust , Astra. We should go. Speak sowhere more discreet.”
Astra eyed him warily. “This isn’t a trap, is it?”
His lips curved in amusent. “If this were a trap, would I be giving you a choice?”
She glanced at the fallen officers behind him. He had subdued them without lifting a finger. The blade still hung in her hand, and she raised it slightly, not entirely ready to let her guard down. “And if I refuse?”
His expression didn’t change. “Then we part ways. For now,” he murmured. “But I will find Tony for you.”
“Tony?” She frowned, confused. “How do you know that na?”
He answered by pointing to a small white object mounted beside a nearby door. “Alchymia has eyes and ears everywhere, Miss Astra. Caras, I an. And this…”
Reaching into his coat, he pulled out a small glowing device. He turned the screen toward her, showing a grainy moving image of Tony hovering near the alley’s entrance.
“…is a recording of Tony,” he said, his thumb hovering over the glass. “I’ll make sure he forgets. For your safety.”
He t her gaze and extended his hand again. “I’m on your side, Miss Astra. Would you co with ? Sowhere less…” He wrinkled his nose. “… unpleasant.”
His offer wasn’t so different from Tony’s in wording, yet sohow it felt entirely different.
It was inexplicable. Primal.
Instinct told her she could trust this stranger.
But instincts could be wrong.
She had no mory. No past. No proof of who she was; who she had been before she woke up running. How could she trust herself, let alone soone she’d just t?
Yet in his gaze, she saw no threat, no demand. Just quiet certainty, as if he already knew what she would choose. That confidence should have put her on guard, but strangely it didn’t.
She was lost, possibly hunted. Pride was the only clue to her identity, and this man with golden eyes might be tied to that clue.
What choice did she really have? Wander the streets alone and aimless, or take a chance and follow him? Either way, she was adrift.
She let out a long breath. There was only one way to know for sure. Relaxing her grip on the blade, she gave a small nod. “Very well,” she said quietly. “Let’s talk.”
Their hands t. Darkness surged. The world tilted.
And then—
Nothing.
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