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mckanwrites · 4 years

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Runa Character Backstory

“Bastard, absolute bastard—“ Runa hissed before she kicked her dresser beside her, causing it to quake and bump against the wall behind it with some force. Beneath her breath she cursed, her foot no worse for wear but her dresser likely scuffed. Hopefully Delilah would have no need to move it in the near future. It was unlikely, considering how busy her mother had become in just a few days time. Even Hana had been swept away with the current political climate, leaving Runa with but a few Durnatha in her halls and garden. Suddenly Runa was left utterly alone, and it was all because of Caly’s poorest decision yet.

Runa had been pacing her bedroom for days, attempting to exercise the anger and frustration she felt coursing through her but to no avail. Word had come in that the Morros family was no more, the house conceded by Caly’s own words to the queen in a private and impulsive meeting. Runa, in her short life, had lived to see her mother’s two greatest rivals of the underground fall, likely not even by her own will. First it was Lancer, then the Morros family in its entirety.

As if Celise’s death didn’t give her enough new opportunities, Runa thought bitterly as she played with the signet ring on her right middle finger; the ridges outlining the silver panther indentation hardly yet worn from age. It gave her a sense of both bitterness and pride, wearing the paraphernalia of her mother’s house when Delilah acted as she did.

After Caly relinquished his rights to the Morros name, his property was left untouched, his quarries simply just meant to be kept aside, yet Delilah was a viper as always. In her infinite cunning, she’d found a loophole or perhaps — better put — an old, relatively unused law by the courts’ standards.One that stated when someone like Caly collapses their family house, all properties under that name are but public property. Everything was but a purchase away, and Delilah of course, was a quick bidder. The quarries, the land, and eventually every underground contact the Morros kept were being swept under Delilah’s dress in less than a fortnight. Thinking too much of the future made Runa nauseous.

All her life, Runa was groomed for an important role in the Edarian council, she was all too well aware of this. Coming up under Delilah’s roof was a challenge, but it was bearable. She’d always lived with the small comfort that Caly would be her partner in crime in the council, that she would have her back watched by not only Hana, but another ally from a completely different house. Yet so suddenly the rug had been swept out from under her, and she did not yet know where she would land. Every time she thought ahead to the future, where her mother would inevitably tighten her leash on her and she’d be bound to the council, alone and all eyes on her — it made her eyes sting with tears.

So abruptly, she’d been betrayed and sentenced to a life in her mother’s prison while Caly got to travel world-wide with the infamous Guiding Lights, fighting and exploring, living so freely…the first day she had wept, but with every passing hour, a rage festered in her ribcage and Runa felt as though a fire were burning in her chest. Any guilt she could have for feeling hatred towards her best friend was pushed away. She had waited for a letter. For a formal explanation. Yet she never got one. Instead, all she heard was that Caly had moved on to the next country with his new troupe of friends while she sat in her room in silence.

She needed answers, and she couldn’t wait the weeks, months, or years it would take Caly to come and face her again. She couldn’t stand by in a dusty courtroom watching herself age in the reflection of her wine while others guided her through her entire life. Her best and only option was to confront him herself. Not in a few months, not in a year to wait for things to blow over, but now. She’d break up the never-ending party he was on if only for a moment, to hear what he had to say for himself. To know what grand plan he was riding on now.

“Wait—“ Runa said aloud as she caught her own gold eyes in the mirror on her vanity. Why stop there? she thought to herself, a smirk tugging on the corners of her lip. Why not just join the Guiding Lights too? If I’m already there to get answers, I might as well stick around for an adventure or two, she thought, her features softening. Looking to the mirror, she lifted her long blond locks up, pulling them back as if in a mock ponytail. She turned side to side, wondering what she’d look like in real armor, or dirtied after a real fight, one where the opponent didn’t hold back like Hana did in training. Suddenly her plan just got a whole lot grander, and for the first time in days, Runa felt ecstatic. And there was no time to waste.

***

“My Lady,” one of the Durnatha nodded in greeting as Runa left her bedroom, their face obscured by their long silver mask, “Do you need an escort somewhere?”

“No no,” Runa waved her hand, “I’m just going to the library. There’s only about three windows to pass on the way there, the likelihood of assassination seems perhaps rather low for a Durnatha to be needed.”

Beneath the edges of the mask she could see the two Durnatha on either side of her door grimace, obviously unimpressed with her humor. She smiled, satisfied with the reaction as she turned on her heel and headed down the hall. The Marshburne’s had estates in Valtimiri, the Capitol, and The Glittering Cliffs, yet the Capitol’s estate had by far the best library within it. Each book had its most recent edition included beside it with extensive improvements on topics from historical information to the newest atlases, and maps were exactly where Runa planned to start.

Passing through the marble halls, there was very little to see besides the occasional Durnatha or house servant, each one taking an opportunity to bow, nod, or curtsy as Runa passed by. Most of the usual faces, Hana included, were with Delilah in a council meeting no doubt.

When Runa reached the library and peered inside, it was unsurprising to find it empty. Her heeled shoes clicked gently beneath the folds of her dress as she walked in, shutting the door gently behind her. The shelves of books that stood against each wall reached the ceiling, encompassing a large open reading area a few steps down where desks, chairs, and couches companied an unlit fireplace. Everything seemed relatively untouched since Runa had last come into the library, though since it was dusted almost daily it was hard to tell if no one had really been here or not. Letting her guard down, Runa began to walk up and down the aisles of bookshelves, reading the spines of each collection as she passed, running her hands along the leather bindings as she wandered. After some time, she caught a glimpse of an atlas on a lower level. With one index finger she flipped it out onto its spine and pulled it from its place on the shelf before sitting on the floor in front of her.

Enthusiastically, she whipped the book open to its table of contents, quickly finding the map of every country and their most frequented travel routes. She bit her lip — as she often did when reading, writing, or focusing intently on something — as she ran her index finger over Valtamiri. Setting her nail under the dot that represented the city, she traced the line that led off towards Anaser’a, the elf kingdom she heard housed the Guiding Lights. To her disappointment, the first line she chose ended at the southern shoreline. Realistically, if she were to make it out of Edaria, going by ship was by far the last resort. Not only had the seas been out of control lately, but the likelihood of her being able to sneak her way onto a ship without any of the wrong people seeing her was near impossible. Delilah had eyes everywhere.

Nearly each travel line she followed from Valtamiri or any other nearby city all led to the coast, the most direct route possible obviously. It took several minutes to finally find a land-only route, and it seemed that involved crossing the land bridge directly into Noa and then an extensive journey south. And that was all before Ban’ya, where there’d be mountainous areas and seldom-traveled territory. Noa wasn’t much better, relatively speaking. The east was basically under water and who knows what kind of bandit rings or other thugs would take advantage of a lone female traveler in noble gear? Runa grimaced, sitting upright and rolling her shoulders as she thought to herself for a moment.

“Ok so ship-route pros and cons.” Runa said as she held up her fingers to count, “Pros are I don’t need armor or gear or maps, cons are…well…everything else. Pros of land route? No sea witches, no Delilah spies, no sea sickness. Cons? Where the hell am I gonna get a suit of armor and a sword?”

Sighing, she put her face in her hands before running her fingers through her hair. It wasn’t a fear of combat that complicated things, but the weaponry needed for long and safe travel through practically three countries was not easy to come by quickly or stealthily. It wasn’t as simple as asking Hana to acquire some for her. Hell, this was the first time she would be unable to rely on Hana or tell her anything at all. In all honesty, her heart ached when she thought of how Hana would react if she ran away, but Hana was patient and composed. Runa certainly was not, and could not wait for her life to untangle itself.

After closing the book and placing it back on the shelf, an idea came to her. These estates have storage for weapons and armor, she remembered. Nobles had so much valuable shit to store, of course there had to be a few swords or suits of armor that could go missing without anyone being any the wiser! Now with her second wind, Runa left the library, swiftly navigating through the halls to find the storage room she so often entered on her way from the east parlor room to her room. Turning the doorknob, she was pleased to find it unlocked.

Upon entering, Runa crossed onto the cobblestone floor, taking in the room that wasn’t much bigger than her own. The two large windows on the opposite side of the room let light fall on the tables and shelves packed with different containers, objects, and odd but expensive trinkets. On the right side of the room, multiple mannequins stood donned in bright armor. Initially elated to see them, as Runa approached the chest plates and helmets, each piece seemed so painfully gaudy. The Marshburnes were renown for their jewels certainly, but to choose high fashion over functioning chain mail seemed… excessive. Runa had never actually seen these outside of this room, so perhaps they were in fact used for a ball instead of battle, at least she hoped so.

The swords and daggers on the wall rack close by seemed to fall to the same fate of gaudy and unnecessary. At first glance they just seemed over-decorated, but as Runa held each sword in her hands she could sense the lack of balance in the blade, the lack of precision that went into the steel’s smithing. Beauty over brawn made sense in a lavish court of rubies and diamonds, yet Runa knew better than to take any of these items into serious combat.

Disappointed in her findings yet again, she sighed as she paced around the room, looking for anything of use. After a moment of perusing, her eyes fell on a note sat up in a glass case for what looked like a ring case. Curious, she lifted the lid and flipped the note open. In it, it stated “Military Rings relocated to basement treasury in Glittering Cliffs Estate,” signed off by one of the estate handlers Runa recognized the surname of.

“If they have old military rings, they must have legit armor and weapons,” Runa said to herself. She couldn’t even name a Marshburne in recent memory that would possess military rings, then again she had never imagined the Marshburnes as a fighting family. For all the knowledge she knew of every other major family’s history, she knew the least of her own, and she was uncertain whether or not she preferred it that way.

Satisfied with her investigation for the day, she began to wander back to her room, taking her time as she traversed the corridors. It wasn’t uncommon for her to hear parts of conversations when passing by rooms with open doors, yet as she passed a small break room often used by off-duty guards or Durnatha, she caught wind of something that sounded like “��burne estate” being mentioned between two Durnatha. Eager to eavesdrop on council drama, she passed the door then pressed herself against the wall beside it, standing just out of their potential line of sight.

“Why tomorrow night?” one asked, sounding dumbfounded.

“Because idiot, why let potential enemies know where we’re bringing or taking soldiers?” the second replied.

“But mate, consider,” the first said, “Half of us got darkvision. I bet if someone’s assassins are working under the cover of night, they’d probably send a man with darkvision too, eh?”

“That’s why we got masks.” the second said, followed by a light metallic sound that Runa guessed to be the man tapping on his mask.

“But Durnatha’s got special masks compared to other guards, ain’t they? So they know it’s us anyway.” said the first. There was an awkward pause.

“Well that’s why we got hoods and covered caravans obviously,” the second Durnatha finally replied, almost too confidently considering the pause it took for him to think of those.

“Do we gotta keep such a low profile all the way to the Glittering Cliff house? Sounds like an awful ride.” the first bemoaned. Runa’s ears perked at the name of the main Marshburne estate. This guard transfer might be exactly what she needed.

“If you’re gonna whine about your job, you might as well quit now. It’s just a couple days’ ride West, you ninny.” the second scolded his coworker.

“Yeah I know, but we gotta leave so late and sleeping in a caravan won’t do kindly for my back,” the first sighed.

“We’re poppin’ off at ten at night, what part of that is so late to you?” the second said.

“I go to bed early. Early to bed, early to rise, you know all that good stuff for you.”

“You’re somethin’ else, Roy. Ugh, whatever, just be at the gate by ten or I will tell the captain to shove off without ya.” the second finished the topic, causing Roy to grumble quite loud. Runa heard the sound of chairs scraping against wooden floorboards as the men presumably moved to leave their seats at the table. Without delay, Runa took this as her sign to leave and swiftly headed to her bedroom.

Her heart beat rapidly in her chest and her head began to spin as she plotted out the next days of her life. This Durnatha guard change was the perfect opportunity to get transport to the Glittering Cliffs estate. Though she would have to acquire a set of the Durnatha garb before tomorrow night. And after she made it there — assuming she made it — how would she travel then? No doubt she could steal a steed from her father’s stable, but then she’d be deemed a horse thief and tailed justly. She had magic, she was a sorcerer by nature, she could certainly summon a steed when necessary. But her practice was novice at best, and more than once had her spells gone awry and backfired on her.

There’s no time for me to doubt myself, she thought as she sat at her vanity, tucking her hair behind her ears as she pulled a blank journal from her drawer. It’s time for me to follow my own path.

***

“How was your day, my love?” Delilah asked in a calm, low voice as she tenderly ran a brush through Runa’s hair.

On her busiest days, especially ones where she didn’t take Runa with her wherever she went, Delilah still found time in her day to spend alone with her daughter. Runa sat at her vanity, watching her mother’s face as Delilah stood behind her, focused on the long strands of gold hair in her fingers. At times, Delilah was strict and abrasive, yet in moments like this, Runa felt at peace in her mother’s presence. For a short while, she could forget the times Delilah had been unkind or done unfavorable things in the name of their house. She preferred it that way, dreaming of a mother with no blood on her hands, that which would inevitably be passed on to her daughter.

“It was mostly uneventful,” Runa replied, fussing with the pages of her journal as she thought of what to write.

All she could think of were her future plans in the coming days, and those were not for her mother’s keen eyes to see. She wondered what Delilah’s reaction would be when she ran away. Would she be able to tell she ran away and be angry? Runa had never seen Delilah look sad or heartbroken, but when she pictured her mother weeping for the disappearance of her daughter, guilt built up in her stomach, heavy like a stone. Perhaps Delilah would think she’d been stolen, maybe indirectly by another council family for ransom use. Runa wouldn’t put it past Delilah to assume that first. To Delilah, it was her and Runa against the world; Delilah may very well uproot the entirety of Edaria and its noble families in search of her prized daughter. Runa fought back a smile, finding the idea of Delilah searching under every chair and table for her all across Edaria. But I won’t be there, Runa thought to herself contently, almost as though she were whispering it in the imagined Delilah’s ear.

“Certainly not that uneventful given that look.” Delilah said with a mischievous smile, as though Runa had gossip to tell and she desperately wanted to know it.

“It’s nothing that exciting,” Runa waved her off, “I just wandered the library and flipped through some of the older books for fun.”

“Ah, you’ve always loved books now haven’t you?” Delilah replied, clearly satisfied with the answer, “Looking at older texts reminds us how far we’ve come in learning and understanding the world today. Some of the oldest maps and roads are so vastly off the mark you can hardly recreate them in real life.”

“Is that so?” Runa asked, slightly shaken that her mother mentioned maps, as though she had looked into her daughter’s mind and seen the atlas Runa used herself. Still, she made sure not to let her guard drop as Delilah ran the brush through her hair again, the silver brush still just as gentle against her head as it had been when she was a little girl.

“Yes, yes,” Delilah nodded, her smile soft and genuine, something the courts never saw, saved for only private moments with her daughter or bodyguard, “the roads are always changing, becoming more efficient, or making room for new towns that tend to spring up in places such as Noa. Cartographers are skilled craftsmen and explorers in their own right.”

“I see,” Runa said, the conversation falling to a lull for a short moment as Runa thought of what else to say. Her silence could be suspicious, or at least it felt that way. Finally, after a moment, she asked, “So how goes the meetings with Delmare?”

“It goes,” Delilah sighed, tilting her head to the side, “Some of the others in the council are calling for a bidding war over the old lands and quarries of the Morros family. Yet it seems Queen Marion is on my side, thank Nox. She understands there would be no argument had I not reviewed my older Edarian property law books, and so rightfully I get the privilege of first buy and the rest of the council can fight as they please over what scraps remain.”

“But there won’t be any scraps left for them, will there?” Runa asked her, giving a wry smile. In many ways, her mother was a tyrant. Tactical, quick-moving, and constantly finding new paths to power. It was both respectable and rather terrifying, even from Runa’s standpoint. What need was there for so much land? What was it worth to be richer than the gods?

“You know me well, my dear,” Delilah smiled brightly, “every piece of land has use. If not today, then perhaps tomorrow. Our ancestors did not know they sat upon an expanse of fine jewels when they built the Glittering Cliffs estate. The land is fruitful and always giving in new ways. That’s Edaria for you.”

“Forgive me if it’s not my place,” Runa began, trying to keep her voice steady as she thought of her next words carefully, “but what if Caliean Morros returns to Edaria? What if he wishes to reclaim his lands?”

“Then he will have to have brought a sizable army to my doorstep.” Delilah guffawed, her smile still light but her eyes becoming more serious, dark, “The Morros children tarnished their mother’s name and now they are no more than traitors and deserters. Caliean has no stake in the game of nobility any longer. He gave up that right willingly and should expect nothing else from this country.”

“But his mother was your ally and he’s my friend,” Runa replied, feeling a heat rise in her chest, “If he returned, could we not just return some of his lands back to him in his name?”

“Young lady,” Delilah said, taking hold of one of Runa’s shoulders as though she was taken aback by her daughter’s statement, “We are not a charity, nor do we owe anything to people who give up their responsibilities so simply. This family is better than that. I raised you better than that.”

“But what of human compassion?” Runa asked, her heart beating as words left her mouth faster than she could filter them, “Who gains allies by leaving the children of family friends homeless? Caly’s just a child, this could all just be an impulsive mistake!”

“Runa Ardala Marshburne!” Delilah gasped, using Runa’s full name as she only did when truly upset with her daughter’s antics. She stepped to Runa’s side so that she could look straight at her, bringing a hand to her daughter’s jaw and turning it to face her, their gazes meeting. “You have to let these childish beliefs go. You are no common woman. Your priority is your house’s reputation first. Allies and friends come and go, but your heritage, your blood, your name does not. You are an adult now, and still younger than Caliean. He has no excuse to resign his name as much as you. Do not let emotions or the heat of the moment make you consider otherwise like he may have. Understood?”

Runa looked at her mother for a long, hard minute, both of the women practically boring holes into one another’s eyes as they tried to read one another. This was often how their disagreements went, with Delilah claiming the importance of the strength and reputation of the house more than anything or anyone. She always had the last say, dangling Runa’s responsibilities or inexperience over her like a blade. Delilah had her good moments, but often Runa was reminded that some things never changed.

“Understood.” Runa finally replied through clenched teeth. Delilah softly let go of her jaw before tenderly running a manicured hand through her daughter’s hair. Runa stifled a sigh.

“You should get to bed soon,” Delilah finally spoke, her gentle matronly voice having returned, “You have studies with Hana tomorrow morning and you don’t want to miss it. It’ll be your only opportunity for some semblance of tutelage this week before I take Hana with me again for a time.”

“Yes mother,” Runa nodded. Delilah took a step back as she opened her arms, looking for a hug goodnight. Obediently, Runa stood and entered her mother’s embrace, exhaling softly as she leaned her head against her mother’s shoulder. Just like that, they were both back to a calm life between mother and daughter, one where there was no fighting or grand responsibility looming over them. Runa was sure there would be more to come in some time if her escape plans came to fruition.

***

Runa held her longsword firmly, feeling her rapid pulse through her palms. Her breathing had become heavy, and in much less time than usual. She was out of shape from lack of practice, that much was clear. Hana rarely canceled their class sessions, yet as of late the climate of Edaria and the importance of Delilah’s position within it were rapidly changing and reshaping, and Hana was just as much Delilah’s bodyguard as Runa’s. Yet that didn’t make the lack of Hana’s presence any less bearable.

“You’re daydreaming!” Hana called out, waking Runa from her daze just as she brought down her own longsword on the girl, aiming for her right should her with the blunt iron blade. Runa, must smaller and swifter than her elven retainer, swiftly raised her sword to meet the blow. As the blades met, Runa felt the force of her teacher’s strike push against every muscle in her body. Unable to withstand it for long, she quickly slid her blade out from under Hana’s, using the momentum to retreat to a safe distance where she could catch her breath.

“S’not my fault someone’s been skipping practice.” Runa exhaled, rolling her shoulders and letting the belated rush of aching pain run through her body. Hana lowered her guard, sticking her sword in the mix of sand and dirt of the practice arena as she now had the attention of her student. The sun elf was statuesque as always, holding her head high as her amber eyes looked Runa over, the sweat caused by sword practice highlighted on her dark skin in the early morning sun. Though she wasn’t smiling, Runa had been around Hana long enough that she knew the woman was almost amused by her insult.

“You’ve got me there,” Hana said as she casually cracked her neck by rolling it side to side, “Though I can’t help it that your mother’s been so popular as of late.”

“Yes, but there are other bodyguards.” Runa huffed as she corrected her posture and brought her practice sword to rest against her shoulder.

“I could say the same for you, my Lady,” Hana spoke as a tender smile crossed her lips. It was something only Hana could do, making my Lady sound less like a dry title and more like a term Runa had genuinely earned from Hana’s admiration of her. Hana had been as much of a parent as Delilah and had every right to call Runa by name, but titles or pet names were her form of love and care, her love language.

“But there’s only one Hana,” Runa replied, kicking at the dirt at her feet, “and could you imagine how any of the other guards would react if I asked them to spar with me? Not only would they hold back in a fight, but everyone and my mother thinks I’m studying fencing, not badass sword fighting.”

“Fencing is sword fighting, dove,” Hana smirked, using her other favorite pet name for the young noblewoman.

“Yeah but like, for dainty little nobles with their little twinkle toes,” she rolled her eyes, hardly managing to stifle a groan at the thought of restrained and delicate “combat”. “I want to learn how to actually beat the shit out of an opponent, is that too much to ask? Is having a noble who can fight ten men at once a negative?”

“You certainly have the confidence for it,” Hana laughed, “though unfortunately we all have appearances to uphold. It’s best you appear gentle and compromising in court, while also being able to defend yourself at a moment’s notice. Your mother perhaps had the right idea with your first fencing studies, yet we’d have all our rapiers broken in half before you learned to control your hand.”

“I control my hand!” Runa huffed, her exhale causing her bangs to fly up for a second before settling back above her brow. “I could fight all fancy if I wanted. But sword fighting is more fun when you’re letting loose and feel powerful. If I wanted to feel like a ballet dancer after a long day at court then yeah maybe I would fence.”

“Too bad your brashness isn’t as charming at court as it is on the battlefield.” Hana teased, lifting her sword and turning it in her hand, “I suppose that’s why you beat yourself silly in practice. To knock the uncouth out of your personality for another day.”

“Hana,” Runa grumbled. She hated when Hana got all introspective and thoughtful, which was often. Those moments weren’t allowed at practice, Runa always told her that. Still, sometimes her sage-like disposition would peek through and Runa again would complain how Hana acted more like she was 800 years old as opposed to under 200.

“I wouldn’t need to fill the silence if you weren’t being so slow and wasting practice time.” Hana chided, raising her sword and pointing it at Runa. Her smile was gone, but Runa could see the mischievous look in Hana’s eyes, the one she always got when she knew she was goading Runa on on purpose. Runa smiled, lowering her sword from her shoulder and raising it at Hana. No sooner had she secured her beginning stance before Hana initiated the match.

Effortlessly, Hana traversed the distance between them, her first incoming strike aimed for Runa’s right hip. Wasting no time, Runa cleared the swing with a jump over the blade, following her move with a strike up towards Hana’s chest. Hana met Runa’s attack by catching the side of the blade with the hilt of her own. Before the girl had a chance to flick her blade around it, Hana drove a fist into Runa’s chest, the blow’s impact — while mostly absorbed by the practice armor’s protection — knocked the wind from her lungs as she fell on her back coughing. Hana retreated a good distance while Runa rolled onto her stomach, trying to find her breath.

“You leave yourself open.” Hana said in the stern voice she always used when teaching Runa, “How will you wound your opponent when you leave yourself so unguarded for them?”

“I always forget the fucking punching,” Runa coughed, speaking mostly to herself as she slowly rose to her feet. After learning the formal ways of dueling, Hana had expanded her teaching to include dirty tactics. Rarely did sword masters practice realistic fight situations where there could be biting, hair-pulling, sand-throwing, and most of all punching. That was Hana’s go-to way of showing Runa where she was leaving herself open.

“Come on now,” Hana called as Runa stood tall again, prepared to spar, “we’re running short on time today, and I’d like to see you knock me off my feet at least once this afternoon.”

“Why stop at one?” Runa joked.

Without another word, Runa initiated the match this time, lunging at Hana with her sword aimed for her left arm. As Hana went to parry it, Runa pulled back, her faint maneuver successful as she changed her target to Hana’s right hand, disarming her. The weapon went sliding behind Hana some distance, and as Hana retreated to retrieve it, Runa fell back as well. I’ll knock you off your feet, Runa thought, self-assured as the adrenaline of fighting rushed through her. Quickly, she focused on the distance between her and the fallen blade, collecting herself as she brought all her magical energy into the front of her mind. With a soft utterance of arcane words beneath her breath, she cast a chromatic orb onto the field.

Or at least, that’s what she intended to do.

Just as soon as she had focused all of her energy into her fingertips, she felt a surge of magic quicker than lightning snap back through her, destroying all control she had in favor of igniting the air before her into a burst of flame. Runa was thrown back by the force of her own rebelling magic, landing hard on her back. Her sight went hazy, blurred with tears that had risen in her eyes due to the heat she’d just faced. Breathless, she fought to suck in air before succumbing to a coughing fit. Slowly she rolled onto her side, lifting herself to lean onto her elbow as she heard Hana rush over.

“Runa, are you alright?” her retainer asked in a panicked voice, a rare sound coming from Hana.

“I lived,” Runa replied, trying to let out a chuckle, yet it was lost between coughs. Hana put her hand on her shoulder, her grip firm yet gentle, as though she were afraid Runa would break under her grasp.

“Trying to use magic?” Hana asked as Runa looked up at her, giving her an honest look that told Hana all she needed to know, “We talked about this Runa. You’re not in full control of your powers yet.”

“I figured better to practice now rather than later.” Runa replied as she moved into a sitting position, looking out over the practice arena. The floor where she’d failed to cast her spell was now lightly scorched. Tentatively, she ran her hand along her brows, curious if they had been singed off in the blast. Thankfully, they were still with her.

“Fortunately you don’t appear any worse for wear.” Hana said as she looked Runa over a few times, brushing a few locks of blond hair behind her ear.

“A fireball has nothing on a good punch or two from you,” Runa joked, and the two of them chuckled. Hana rose to her feet, reaching a hand out for Runa to grasp as she got up as well. It was almost time for the two of them to return to their daily lives apart from each other, Runa could sense it. Hana always wore a somber countenance before she had to excuse herself. It was rare that Hana was not by Runa’s side, but now that was no longer the case. Runa was no longer a child who required her babysitter, and Hana was needed at Delilah’s side in this time of sensitive dealings. It was unfair, Runa thought, but it wasn’t her place to give demands, only to accept them. That was her place in life, it seemed.

“It’s time, dove.” Hana spoke softly, looking down at the young lord.

“Until next time, I guess.” Runa joked bitterly, remembering her plans for the night, how she would do as Caly had before her and disappear. Desperate to fight back the anxiety in her chest, she stepped forward and embraced Hana, her head just barely reaching the chest of the elven woman who towered over her. Without delay, Hana returned the embrace, her hug soft and motherly, even with the armor on. After a moment, they pulled apart.

“Try not to get caught practicing in your bedroom,” Hana smiled.

“No promises,” Runa replied, returning the smile, though inside her felt her stomach drop. She would soon be in danger of getting caught in much worse places. But getting caught is not an option, she reminded herself, I have a job to do.

***

Night had fallen over the Capitol in a thick sheet of black, the new moon leaving the land unapologetically dark. Delilah had already spent time in Runa’s quarters relaying the day’s events to her daughter, and now at a quarter ’til nine, Runa was alone in her room, anxiously packed and ready to make her move. Delilah had given her a good sum of gold for what Runa had said was going to be a day trip into town. In her backpack, a solid, dark leather bag of holding, she’d packed three proper gowns — for potential espionage escapades, Runa thought (or rather dreamed) —, a couple simple dresses, and all the pants and shirts she owned and so rarely got to wear. The pants and shirt she wore now she never even knew she had, yet they fit well and the change of style was a welcome one.

Runa also stored her House dagger, a journal gifted to her by Hana — she wasn’t much of a writer, yet it reminded her of Hana and perhaps she’d find a use for it on the lonely journey —, blankets, and a few other adventuring goods that should see her through to Anaser’a. Finally, she packed the mask she’d been saving for any upcoming masquerade; a silver mask that covered the whole face, the upper half from hairline to the tip of her nose it was a simple female profile, the eyes seemingly blank though the wearer could see through it just fine. The lower half was a veil of fine blue silk, an elegant way to shadow one’s features while also allowing for food or drink to pass under it (and Runa certainly ate her fill at large parties). It would do better than a Durnatha mask when passing through Noa and Ban’ya while wanting to remain nondescript.

Now, as ready as she could be, Runa stood at the end of her bed lost in thought as she twirled her long golden hair, twisting it into a single braid. Dare she leave a note? What would she write if she did? She didn’t dare leave any word of where she was going for fear of being caught along the way. She considered leaving her signet ring, yet it would likely send the wrong message. Runa had no intentions of abandoning her house name. She wouldn’t risk appearing to be a deserter like Caly before her. In the end, it was best to leave nothing at all. Leave them all guessing just what she was doing. Perhaps they’d think she was stolen in the night, and maybe then they’d wait patiently for ransom notices or her mother would go blaming every noble family in the realm. Let her go mad then, Runa thought, resolute in her decision as she reached the end of her braid, tying off the end with a small band of scrap leather.

Without a last glance back, Runa left via her window, scaling down the multiple levels of rooftops of the Marshburne manor quietly before landing on the grass with a soft thud. There was a building that served as a Durnatha barracks and armory a few yards to the west which Runa had her sights set on since yesterday afternoon. Taking a moment to scan the area, Runa began her trek across the backyard garden, clearing a few hedges on her way over.

In the dark of the night, she still had exceptional vision. It served well given the lack of a moon’s glow to light the stone paths or the metal of the guard’s clothes. She wondered just what those with darkvision saw; perhaps night was merely a permanent twilight for them.

Swiftly, she made her way to the Durnatha’s hall, a well lit building where Durnatha serving under noble families of the local neighborhood would go to rest or dress. Doubting she’d get through the front door without trouble, she circled her way around the building, glancing through windows until she found her mark: the armory. At this time, there were no Durnatha in sight, as all were either retired for the night or out on duty. Gingerly, Runa pried the window open, sticking her head in to double check for people before climbing in.

Her landing onto the hardwood floor was less-than-silent — or graceful for that matter —, yet after a moment of panicked silence no one came in to check what the sound was, so Runa stood and took a deep breath. She approached the wall of armors, running her hands over the gold and red fabrics the Durnatha now sported, a proud signifier of their rebirth. Just the thought of the significance and might of their struggle caused goosebumps to rise along Runa’s arms.

She’d admired and adored knights since she was little, and before she understood what it meant to be a noble, she’d dreamed of being a Queensguard, a staunch and loyal knight who fought to protect and serve the realm. Even now it seemed that dream still lived inside her, anxiously anticipating her donning the armor of knights and fighting alongside the Guiding Lights, saviors of the realm and knights in their own right.

No longer able to contain her excitement, she began stepping into armored boots and trying on different gauntlets, searching for gear that would fit her petite frame and not bury her in metal. Even if the metal gloves were too long or the straps weren’t tight enough against her calves, she flexed each piece of armor in the torchlight, dazzled by the weight and strength of such beautiful armor. How they balanced both style and grace in the metal astonished her and took her breath away. If only the armors in the Marshburne mansion’s treasury had learned a thing or two from these! Hopefully the gear at the Glittering Cliffs estate would be half as breathtaking.

“Admiring the armor, my lady?” called a voice from behind. Pulled out of her state of revelry, Runa gasped and turned towards the person who’d entered the room unbeknownst to her. By the door, a Durnatha guard stood, their mask concealing their features, their pale straight hair tucked behind short, pointed ears. Runa stood silent for a few seconds, wondering if she should be angry at the guard or at herself. It was her own fault for getting so wrapped up in a silly dream when she had a task to do — and limited time to do it no less.

“You’d do best to forget I’m here, Durnatha,” Runa finally spoke, standing up straight and trying to take on the strict noblewoman persona her mother so often wore when giving orders, “no one is to know I’m here tonight and that goes for you as well.”

“Well you certainly won’t be able to fight me dressed like that,” the Durnatha replied, nodding to Runa’s half-dressed appearance. Runa felt the hair on the back of her neck rise, yet before she could jump into action, the Durnatha began to wander the room, perusing the sets of armor just as Runa had been doing not moments ago. Confused and speechless, Runa watched as the Durnatha would lift one gauntlet, glance to Runa and the put it back. Finally, after what felt like eons, the Durnatha seemed to find a set of boots they liked and closed the distance between them at Runa.

“Take a seat,” the Durnatha told her, nodding their head to a nearby bench. Hesitantly, Runa did as they asked. The Durnatha then took a seat in front of her before removing the leg armor she’d originally tried out and instead dressing her in one of the new ones.

“Do you mind if I ask what the fuck you’re doing?” Runa finally asked, causing the Durnatha to burst into a small bit of laughter.

“It’s not my business what you’re doing,” the Durnatha explained as they tightened the straps of the leg armor, “but you’re my liege, so who am I to say you can’t take a set of armor if you so please? I may as well make sure you take a set that fits you.”

“Hmph,” Runa exhaled as she sat back, thinking on the Durnatha’s words, “you’re a weird one.”

“You’re not the first to say that.” they replied, finishing the armor for each leg before motioning for Runa to stand. She took a few steps, feeling the welcome difference of a proper-fitting set of armor. Without another word, the Durnatha helped her find arm, hand, and torso armor, as well as a mask to complete the look.

“What’s your name?” Runa asked, holding out her arms as the Durnatha brought the chest armor over her head and set it firmly on her shoulders.

“Why do you ask, my lady?” the Durnatha asked, methodically pulling the straps on either side of the armor to tighten it in place.

“For insurance.” Runa replied, “If I know your name, I’ll know how to find you if you turn around and rat me out.”

“I see,” the Durnatha said, finishing up the chest piece with one last tight pull of a strap, “My name is Rhiannon. Does that serve as insurance enough, or would you like my place of birth as well?”

“That’ll do.” Runa replied, saving the name to memory. With little other speaking, Rhiannon finished both sets of arm armor before letting Runa put the mask on herself, completing the set and looking as authentic as any Durnatha. The weight of the armor across her body felt satisfying, both safe and powerful. I could get used to this, she thought.

“The sizes aren’t perfect,” Rhiannon said, stepping back, “we don’t have many petite people in this unit, as you can see. I recommend not wearing it for long periods of time, but otherwise you should get where you need to go just fine in this.”

“Uh, thank you,” Runa replied, unsure of how to repay the Durnatha for what she had done, “I can give you some coin in return for your help if you’d like —“

“It’s fine,” Rhiannon interrupted, putting up her hand, “I already told you it’s my duty.”

“Right,” Runa nodded, still uncertain of what to make of the situation, “well, this is where we part. It’s been splendid, Rhiannon.”

Runa put out a hand and in return Rhiannon shook it. After, Runa nodded in thanks to her one last time before making her exit, heading to the Marshburne estate gates to gather with other Durnatha where she would soon begin the first part of her long journey.

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mckanwrites · 4 years

Text

Character Exploration: Cafell’s Backstory

Chapter One: The Sound of the End

“Do you do any actual work on that ship or do you just siphon the Union wifi whenever you get the chance?” Aidan asked with a wide smile. In one of the smaller rooms of the Aquila, Cafell sat perched at a metal desk with a desktop communicator, one often used communally for calling relatives. As per usual, Cafell sat in an odd position, with her knees pulled tight to her chest, her toes hanging off the side of the chair. If Sybil were here, she’d berate Cafell on her posture, if only half-heartedly.

“Actually, as a matter of fact I do,” Cafell smiled, “Half the time I pilot this thing.”

“If you’re taking off-planet missions just to pilot a ship, you could always transfer to the air striker team,” Aidan said, “Besides, we get the cooler jackets.”

“Hey, us operators get pretty neat jackets too!” Fionnuala piped up as she walked into frame, her frizzy red curls appearing before her. Aidan gave her a look.

“You mean those parkas they give you when you?” he asked.

“What? It’s cold in our offices!” she replied, a smile breaking through her attempt at a defensive tone.

“I could use one of those up here,” Cafell said before tugging at her olive green bomber jacket, “This jacket isn’t cutting it anymore and I can’t exactly walk around with a blanket on 24/7.”

“I’ll get you a new jacket when you come home,” Maeron chimed in as she appeared on the other side of Aidan. Her red curls were pulled into a tight bun behind her head, indicating she had only just gotten off a shift from work.

“Maybe you could just ask your boyfriend if you could borrow his” Aidan chided. Both of Cafell’s sisters grinned as she began to turn red.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Cafell huffed, wanting to bury herself in her jacket.

“Yeah, uh-huh,” Aidan rolled his eyes, “Just some guy you, ya know, spend all your time with, go on missions with, —“

“— talk about all the time —“ Maeron added.

“— mention in nearly every conversation—“ Fio continued.

“Ok, I get it, I get it, thank you, peanut gallery.” Cafell interrupted them, rolling her eyes, “Call it what you will, we are not dating.”

“Because friends-with-benefits is too casual a term, amiright?” Maeron joked.

“I’m not going to explain my relationship status to you all over a military comm,” Cafell shook her head, “Even though that seems to be the case every time I call. And I do mean every time.”

“Only because we’re losing hope that Aidan and Sybil will ever find people willing to put up with them.” Fio giggled.

“Hey!” Aidan gasped, making a show of how taken aback he was.

“That’s just what Maeron said,” Fio shrugged.

“Hey!” Maeron whined, “Ya know, I never expected the youngest Sullivan sibling to betray me first.”

“Yeah, I was really putting money on Aidan,” Cafell smirked, causing Fio and Maeron to burst into laughter as Aidan did his best to look hurt. Before the topic could continue, someone knocked on the door of Cafell’s cramped room.

“Sully, need ya at the deck in five,” a familiar voice called from the other side.

“Got it,” Cafell replied before the shadows of feet under the door disappeared and she turned back to her family.

“Sully, huh?” Maeron asked.

“Is that a nickname?” Fio asked.

“Or a pet name?” Aidan asked as he attempted to smoothly wiggle his eyebrows.

“I mean —“

“Pet name it is,” Aidan declared. Doing a victory spin in his wheely chair.

“With that attitude I’m sure you’re having to beat men off with a stick,” Cafell grumbled.

“You know it,” Aidan smiled, “These Pyrin Strike Fighters can’t get enough of Aiden Sullivan.”

“Cute,” Cafell responded sarcastically, “Well, you heard the man, I gotta motor, and don’t forget to tell mom and Sybil that I said hi and I love them both very very much.”

“Oh wait, Cafell!” Fionnuala chirped before Cafell could end the comm, “My entrance ceremony for getting into the military academy is coming up! You’re gonna be home in time to make it, yeah?”

“Of course, Fio!” Cafell smiled at her little sister, proud of the excitement Fio felt over following family tradition, “I promise I won’t be a millisecond too late to celebrate our Fio getting into the academy.”

“Hell yeah!” Fio exclaimed, “I can’t wait for you to get back to Pyrin. I’ve already got so much drama to catch you up on! Serah left Desmina at a party last weekend totally stranded, like no credits or anything, and Philip —“

“And that concludes the previews for the upcoming soap opera that is Fio’s teenage life,” Aidan interjected, “Hope you have a safe trip home Caf. Can’t wait to mess with you in person again.”

“I love you guys!” Cafell smiled, waving and saying her goodbyes to her siblings before cutting off the comm. She stood up and straightened her jacket, checking for every miscellaneous patch that had managed to stay on for as long as they had.

Stepping out of the closet-like office space, Cafell headed towards the main deck, wondering what it was Buck needed her up front for. It was still Harris’s turn to pilot the ship as they were rounding Ipsum before heading to Wanu. Perhaps Buck just needed someone to spark an argument, as he sometimes did when bored by space travel where the most entertaining thing to do was read or debate with peers. Either way, Cafell’s mind was on other things.

She thought about coming home and seeing her smiling siblings pour out of their rather plain home in the heart of Pyrin. She thought of the chili her mom would make, the stories Fionnuala would tell, the stories Aidan would exaggerate, and Maeron’s calm presence as she kept the peace among them. Maybe she’d be home long enough to see Sybil, to run a hand through her straightened red hair and talk about what it was like being a Commander and being off-planet for long period of time. Watching Sybil’s stern, commanding expression and stature melt into the elder sister she grew up with was one of her favorite parts of coming home to them all. Even if their father was only there in spirit.

Cafell still had yet to come out of her joyous daze when she entered the left side door to the Aquila’s deck. In one of many instants that would come to find her in her dreams for years to come, time seemed to slow. The first thing she had noticed was that no one was at their usual stations. Katarina was not in the captain’s chair, Matthias and Verne were not at their desks, and Harris was not at the pilot’s seat. Everything seemed shifted in image. Cafell wasn’t sure if Buck was the only one in the room with her, or others were nearby, out of their places like skewed puzzle pieces, but she had no time to consider the locations of her comrades when something, something like air itself, snapped, and her chest felt hot. Unbelievably hot. Like fire.

Tilting her head down felt physically draining as Cafell attempted to see what must be fire blooming from her chest. At the same time, she brought a hand towards the flame, yet when she pulled her hand back, it was not burned nor caught alight, it was red. Nothing seemed to make sense as Cafell tried to find clarity in what happened. Was I…shot? Is this…what being shot is like? Her gaze shifted, attempting to focus on Buck in front of her. In his hand, it seemed to be a gun, an older model, the type that fired real bullets before Union standards provided better laser guns.

Cafell couldn’t tell if she was reacting verbally, or if she could speak at all. Her vision grew more shaky and lagged, as though her eyes in their exhaustion couldn’t keep up with her staggering. She thought she could see Buck’s lips moving, but focusing on them, on the hollow words they might produce made her sick until she looked away. Suddenly she was on her knees. When had she fallen to her knees? She had felt no impact as she sank to the ground under the weight of the pain in her chest. I can’t breathe, she thought, panicked, as though she had just realized she had not taken a breath in a long while. Yet in her lagged, pained reality, she had forgotten how to breathe. Or perhaps she couldn’t feel herself gasping for air on the floor of her ship.

In what felt like brutal, agonizing moments of trying to stand and fall like a newborn foal, trying to fight death, her thoughts were intrusive, overflowing in her head as her body fought to pretend nothing was wrong, that there was no fire in her chest.

I gotta make it…to Fio’s ceremony…

Aidan owes…me a plane… flying lesson…

If I don’t stand up…my mother would be hurt…

Like a curtain, grayness closed over her bleary eyes, just as she began to feel the liquid viscosity of the blood on one hand and the cool touch of the metal floor on the other. The fire in her chest had melted into a stinging feeling, bright white and blue, mixing with the other sensations she felt as she struggled hard to stay awake, yet lost to the cool sensation of the metal floor against the bullet hole in her chest. Buck…

***

“Sully,” Buck called from across the room. Cafell looked up from the pilot’s board. Both of them had opted to take the night shift on the first night of travel, and Cafell was thriving off of her third cup of coffee in the last two hours. She regretted waking up early just to meet Buck for breakfast before taking off, but at the same time it felt worth it in every way.

“Oh, we’re sticking with the nickname now?” she joked as she got out of the chair and stretched her limbs. She’d been plastered to the chair for a few hours now, much to the chagrin of her joints. Though the ship mostly drove itself, reading beside a window of stars was an experience she felt as though she would never grow tired of in all her life.

“I think it’s pretty good,” Buck smirked, that usual glint caught in his eyes, one hazel, one brown, an ever-so-slight difference. Ya know what grandma says whenever she sees someone with a glint in their eyes, ‘he’s got the devil in his eyes’, Aidan had joked with Cafell when he first met Buck in person. Cafell laughed it off, calling it charming.

“I still think last week’s ‘Major Caffeine’ is a strong contender for a nickname,” Cafell smiled as she closed the distance between her and Buck. In the dim lights of the ship’s deck, she traced the features of his face with her eyes. His hazelnut skin, the bump in his nose, the gaunt in his cheeks, the light scruffy stubble of his beard; it all seemed so much more intense when surrounded by stars. And she wondered if he thought the same of her.

“Eh, too long I think,” he replied, taking her hand and pulling her into his arms, her back against his chest as they watched the Aquila trudge on, “It’s gotta be short, simple, to the point. Cafell’s already short, but Sullivan, Sullivan we can work with. I think Sully’s an excellent name for a Major to be called by by her band of lost boys.”

Cafell chuckled quietly, like a hum, the sound lost under the lull of the noise of the ship gliding through space. She took Buck’s hands in her’s, fidgeting with the rings on his fingers as she became lost in thought. She considered hopeless romantic a strong phrase, but she did love feeling this way, floating among stars, embraced by her lover and bathed in moonlight. There was something poetic and pure in that image, an image she desperately wanted to last.

***

Cafell had no clue as to how long she had been out, but slowly, she felt herself regaining consciousness in steps. At first she heard something being dragged across the floor, something with weight. Whoever was dragging that weight was breathing through their mouth audibly, as though they had been dragging this weight for a while. After regaining her hearing, she began to have feeling again, although numb. After multiple seconds of investigation despite the heavy exhaustion she felt, she realized she was the weight being dragged. Whoever it was had only enough upper body strength to drag her presumed cadaver by the ankles.

Slowly, Cafell was able to open her eyes. They were obscenely heavy and only reinforced the dulled panic that her body was shutting down with each passing second. As she blinked, motivated by the lack of time she likely had, she began to make out the shape of someone’s head. Focusing caused her stomach to churn violently and her head felt as though it might roll away, but she forced herself to make out the person dragging her to gods know where. In time, she recognized the person as Dana, one of the ship’s resident engineers. What did he have to do with this? What was this?

Think, Cafell mulled over ideas in her brain, of what to do, where to go. Yet very quickly she found that multitasking had become mentally impossible. Cafell suddenly realized just how trapped she was in her current state, both in this ship and in her own body. Think faster, she urged herself. Gingerly, she began to move her left hand, which had been crossed over her limp body along with her right one, towards her gun holster. Achingly, she dragged her hand down to the holster, begging, praying, all the way that she might be fortunate enough to have a gun on hand. As though the gods had answered, her hand brushed her gun.

Time, space, and sound continued to warp themselves around her, pressuring her as she picked as the latch on her gun. Would it be too loud? Can I even lift it anymore? At this point, her mind was cheering on her body, begging it to know what to do. Feeling the latch come loose, every ounce of concentration fed into Cafell removing her gun and lifting it stably. Gods, she was seeing stars, and sometimes when she blinked there were milliseconds where it felt as though they would never open again. I can’t breathe. She steadied the gun in her hand to the best of her ability, leaning her elbow on her chest. I’m going to die. Every single blink was eternity and terror, but one eye closed gave her better aim, if only slightly. My family will never know what happened to me. She took aim, holding what little breath she had. I cannot end up like my father.

Two shots rang out, one of them shooting Dana in the back through what Cafell could guess was his heart. He fell forward with a resounding thud face first. Cafell took a moment to breathe, holding her gun to her chest, trying desperately to steady herself. There was more to be done, and she wasn’t home free just yet.

After a moment, Cafell attempted to sit up, only to be immediately floored by the pain in her lower chest. She did her best not to cry out too loud, biting on her hand until the fresh waves of pain had dulled again. Fresh tears in her eyes, she rethought her strategy. Gingerly, she rolled onto her stomach. Every little move caused her to make some sort of grunt or cry out in pain. It felt as if she had been shot and now the pain was seeping into other parts of her body, stiffening every muscle. Carefully, she pulled her legs up beneath her and stood, using the wall to lean on as she rediscovered her center of gravity. Oh fuck, she thought as adrenaline coursed through her, oh fuck this is my death.

For a moment, she collected herself against the wall, looking down at the still body of Dana gathering a pool of blood. If she were in the right mind, she would have regretted killing him like this, but it seemed that any level of empathy was lacking on this ship now. Suddenly she was fighting to survive in her own crew’s Union ship.

Thinking as quickly as her lack of blood allowed, Cafell removed her jacket, wadding it up and pressing it to her bullet wound. It stung like hell, everything hurt and each motion she made brought a new wave of pain and fresh tears. Oh gods I’m dying.

Escape pod…she thought slowly, beginning to limp in the direction of the pod units before even thinking it through fully. They must have first aid kits, she thought desperately. Anything, anything to slow this pain down, just make it stop.

Cafell led her hand along the walls as she walked, half-bent over in pain. The sounds of her ragged breathing could occasionally be heard as her heart beat profusely in her ears, irregular, slow, damaged. The pain in her chest fluctuated from dull to sharp and intense, causing nausea from the pit of her stomach. She wondered, in fragmented thought, about what she looked like in this moment. A Pyrin military Major, a current-generation Sullivan, bent over and bleeding as she dragged herself down a platinum hallway. The lights above seemed so bright, so overbearing, and the urge to lay down grew with each step, with each ragged breath.

As she ran her hand along the wall, the solid metal seemed to disappear, causing her to stagger for a moment. Catching her breath as best she could, she looked towards the wall to see that the metal had stopped for a small alcove with a door. Through shaking vision, Cafell could make out “Med”. Med. Med…med bay? Finding a renewed energy, she pressed open the door, stumbling into the sterile space, empty except for Cafell’s hunched figure.

Like a starved animal, Cafell ripped open drawers, hunting for health injections, finding none. After ripping a drawer from its hinges and emptying its contents on the ground, she managed to find small morphine injections. That’s something, she thought. Quickly she grabbed them, injecting a shot of one into her thigh. With a heavy sigh of relief she felt much of the pain ooze out of her, rejuvenating her for who knows how long. Feeling clearer-minded, she hastily scavenged for bandages, gauze, anything to stem the bleeding for a while. From a cabinet above the sink she found rolls of medical bandages and wasted no time pulling up her black army shirt and wrapping her wound. Buck had shot her in her lower chest, around the diaphragm. From her angle she couldn’t tell how bad it was, but Cafell couldn’t bear seeing her current state looking back at her. This will have to do.

Able to stand a little straighter, she adorned her bloodied jacket again and shuffled from the room, her mind still dulled and her thoughts diluted, but her vision more stable than it had been in the last few minutes. With a steadier pace, Cafell hobbled through the hallway, keeping a hand on her bandage. She couldn’t panic. She couldn’t think about her death. There was no time to dwell on anything that wasn’t relevant to her escape. Nearing the escape pod deck, she began to feel hope, yet also, in her clarity, she began to feel hate. Disgust rose in the back of her throat and she gritted her teeth as she thought of Buck. Of what he’d done to her. She’d repay the favor once she made it home in one piece.

Not too much longer, she told herself, trying to motivate her body to make more of an effort as she entered the open escape pod deck. She shuffled her way to the panel to boot up a pod, trembling as the small amount of morphine she had taken was beginning to fade. Determined, she shot herself with the second capsule in the thigh. You’re so fucking close, you better not fucking stop now.

As she brought a crimson-dyed hand to the panel, attempting to steady herself to read the steps to booting and releasing the pod, she felt something brush against her shoulder. Before she could think of what was touching her, a stiff hand grasped her shoulder and pulled her down with ease, sending her sliding across the floor, away from the pods. Cafell saw stars, unable to recover quickly. She heard a woman speaking but couldn’t understand the words. They were warped, dulled, as though she was underwater. When her view focused, Cafell saw Katarina standing over her, her golden hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, showing off her elegant elven ears, her brown eyes narrowed as she spoke.

“…over,” Cafell began to hear Katarina clearer as she began to pull herself up using a nearby table for stability, its surface covered in tinkerer’s tools, “There’s nowhere for you to go, Cafell.”

“Fuck…you…” Cafell spat, speaking between gasps. She felt cold, freezing even. Had she been cold this whole time? Was this a new feeling? A new sign of death coming closer? Cafell rested a hand on the table, feeling the cold metal of a wrench beneath her palm.

“Let go, Caf,” Katarina sighed, exasperated, fake pity in her eyes as she took a step towards Cafell. Cafell bared her teeth, gritting them as she braced for the action she was about to make. In one swift motion, she took hold of the wrench in her hand and, in the blink of an eye, brought it to Katarina’s temple with all the force her weakened body could muster. It was enough force to knock Kat down, and that was what Cafell needed. I gotta lose her, she thought, hurrying to the door across from where she entered, towards the small cargo bay. It wasn’t much, but maybe she could hide there.

“You rotten bitch!” Kat cried behind her as Cafell darted through the door, Kat’s curses being tuned out as the door shut behind her. The halls seemed to spin and twist and extend as Cafell traced her way to the cargo hull, her mind whirring. She had questions, so many questions, but she wouldn’t find the answers here. Breathe, she thought, but quietly.

Entering the small cargo bay, Cafell dragged herself near the back of the room, attempting to look for a group of crates that could hide her for a short time. In the center of the room, her nausea peaked as she fell to the ground coughing, sick but unable to wretch. The hit on Kat had taken more out of her than she had initially thought. Different bursts of pain wafted and pulsed throughout her body and she searched for the last injection of morphine she had carried with her. After scanning the floor around her, she saw that it had skidded a few feet away from her. She pushed back the sweaty strands of hair that clung to her face before beginning to crawl towards the vial.

Before she could lay a hand on it, a foot came down on the vial, at first only placing enough pressure to cause to to crackle under the weight. Desperate, Cafell scrambled, grabbing at the boot and attempting to move it, not caring who was standing above her. She could run away. She could flee into the vents, find her way back around to the escape pods. It was all possible, but only if she had that morphine.

“Sorry Sully,” the voice above her, which she recognized as Berrma, the half-orc woman who often worked in cargo, sighed as she pressed harder on the vial. Despite Cafell’s best efforts, the injection finally reached its breaking point beneath her boot, crushing what little help Cafell had. Before Cafell could curse her name, Berrma lifted her by her jacket, an easy feat for the muscular woman who could likely tear a phonebook in half with two fingers. As Cafell attempted to slide out of her jacket, Berrma instead grabbed her by her shirt, holding her up so that they might see eye to eye.

“I hope you’ll find it in yourself to forgive me, Sull,” Berrma told her, though Cafell could no longer distinguish if Berrma was playing with her or not. A new heat was rising in her chest, one she felt spread warmly through her body, numbing her joints so that she hung loosely in Berrma's grasp. She felt the end closing in on her faster.

“Go to hell,” Cafell hissed, before spitting in Berrma’s eyes. Disgusted, the half-orc threw her across the room like a stuffed animal. Cafell went tumbling, falling over the edge of something and into a shaft. Hitting the sides on her way down, she landed on her back, feeling broken, though in no specific place. Her vision blurred from motion and tears, and, unable to move her body, she felt the fire leave her body. Not the burning pain in her chest, but the will to move. Her entire crew had turned against her, and why?

After a moment, Berrma walked over, looking down into the shaft Cafell had fallen into, her face blurry and unreadable, despite the not so far distance. Berrma muttered something, and Cafell was unsure if it was meant for her or Berrma was talking to herself, but the woman took one last opportunity to spit back on Cafell, an “i win” gesture, if anything. Berrma then left her field of vision, and Cafell wondered if she had given up chase, or found something in her heart to not end Cafell’s life then and there. Then the doors closed.

Above her, the white metal doors slid shut, and in the distance Cafell heard a beeping noise, perhaps an alarm. It all seemed so distant. As though she were inside a bubble, and everything outside of the bubble was muted, diluted, and dull. She had lost all sensation in her body, and felt as though this was what happened when a body gave up before the soul. In the small, confined area, she felt so grievously isolated, so confined, she felt as though any minute the walls would close in on her and crush her. The distant beeping, the hiccuping through her own tears, the slowing sound of her beating heart. This was the sound of the end.

Within a moment, she felt a change within her small confinement. Looking carefully at the door above, she read the red text loosely, mulling it over on her dry tongue as she could tell air was rushing through the side vents into — or was it out of? — the room. Carefully, over and over again, she studied that red text, whispering the few words like a hymn one never forgets. Over and over again. Warning: Airlock. Do not stand in airlock when safety doors are closed.

The rush of space is not a memory in Cafell’s mind, at least, not in that instance. In the future, she would dream of it repeatedly, sometimes twice in the same night. Ripped from the ship’s airlock and out into the void of space, she floated, veering away from the Aquila that she once found home in. She doesn’t remember how long the ship stayed, but it was quick to leave her body behind for good. Without the ship’s presence, Cafell was surrounded with only space, and the vast expanse of stars that she had once dreamed of being surrounded by for the rest of her life.

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