Rayne Eternal

Chapter 1

Inhale, Exhale. Inhale, Exhale. I repeat to myself. Inhale, Exhale. It was just like training, hopefully, no real threat in the palace. My mother is safely tucked away in the bunkers, along with the twins and my brothers. But I can't think about them right now; I need to focus on finding the intruders. I put on my best attempt at a hardened war face and follow my father out of the throne room and into the open corridor. The guards at the door are laying on the floor, bloody crimson covering the pristine purple and cerulean. Neither are breathing. I let out a shaky breath, realizing I wasn't either.

Ahead of me, my father signals to halt. Pausing makes my legs weak, adrenaline taking away a majority of pain. I fear if we stop again, I won't be able to carry on. I grab onto the wall next to me and push myself off as my father takes off head first into danger. "Daughter, come here." my father commands me, as I approach cautiously.

"This is a lot different than training, things are going to be real here."

"I know Daddy; I'll be okay."

"I-" he hesitates, "I know that, love. I need you to stay right behind me the whole time, okay? You're only fourteen, I must protect you to protect the future of this country."

"Yes, Father. I'll be careful."

As we turn the corner, we see a group of intruders, dressed in black from head to toe, all bearing the symbol of our enemy nation, the bear. We've been at war with Chordania for many years now. I have no clue why, although I believe the root of the disagreement started over a border dispute hundreds of years ago. My father unsheathes his sword and immediately engages in combat. I followed suit holding my small dagger close to myself. Mame, not kill. Mame, not kill. This is what Instructor Benedict says in my training sessions―only kill if you absolutely have to. I decide on only using my weapon if I have to. I can always use my wind ability, but clouds and rain will not do much damage in the confined corridor.

I turn and see a startlingly large man ahead of me. I prepare to throw a strong blast of wind towards him, but I feel a sharp, stinging pain on my left bicep, followed by a warm trickling sensation. When I turn to see where the attack came from, there is a boy around my age, holding a long, double edged sword. I try to blow him over but I can barely move my arm. Clutching my arm to my chest, I slash my dagger through the air aming for anything I can. I strike something and I manage to war off further attacks, but my vision begins to spot.

I hear my father calling to some to get reinforcements. Trying to defend my father and his guards, I throw people into walls with my good arm, rendering only a few unconscious. Without my full strength, I struggle to use my abilities. Wind has always been my fighting specialty. Everyone in my family can control some form of nature, but we all specialize in something. I am strongest when I am controlling the weather, like wind, rain, and storms, respectively. Instructor Benedict always calls me His Little Hurricane.

I whirl around and find my father on the ground with an enemy soldier standing over him. Father...he isn't fighting back anymore; he's laying there, just laying. White-hot anger overtakes me as I pull the dagger out from its sheath. The soldier drops his weapon, a bloody knife. I feel like I've lost all control, over myself and my abilities. Next thing I know, I am over the man and, quite literally, stabbing him in the back, right between the shoulder blades. My first kill. I think I begin to cry, but I'm not positive. The last thing I remember, I am laying on the ground looking into my father's glassy eyes. As my vision fades, I contemplate which is worse, my pain or my guilt.

~ ~ ~

Today marks 4 years since my father was killed in the confines of our home. I intended to stay in my room all day, as I usually do on this morbid anniversary. I take a peep out of my large bay window, taking a break from the book I was reading. Even the brooding sky seemed to be mimicking the sorrow I felt, which it very well could be. Since that day, my storm abilities had been rather unreliable and uncontrollable, much like myself. No matter how hard I trained, I could no longer use them effectively and in a combat setting. My only form of reliable combat was my father's sword. I wasn't a huge fan of it, considering the last time it had been used. But alas, I am an excellent swordsman, according to Instructor Benedict.