His Challenge

His Challenge, Her

Kyro watches her work in silence, her brown eyes scanning the numerous piles of paper in front of her. She sits outside a café, a hot cup of coffee in one hand, sheets of paper in the other, and a half-eaten cookie on the table. Standing across the street from her is Kyro, studying the way her eyebrows draw together in confusion and the way her lips press together in concentration. He watches her hurry to move the stray strands of her curly hair away from her face. The midday sun stands directly above them, causing her deep brown skin to glimmer in the sunlight, as if she were fashioned out of the sparkles of the stars.

So she was his challenge. Of morality.

The word itself makes Kyro gag in disgust. Why could he not get a challenge of wit? Or a challenge of strength, like his father had gotten. Why must he be stuck with such an ambiguous challenge?

Everyone in the ballroom had been confused. They too expected wit, or strength, or maybe determination. Instead, the words read CHALLENGE OF MORALITY. What that meant, even the council members seemed to not know. When King Mayard ran after the members, begging for clarity, all they repeated where those same words: "He must find her and kill her."

"How is killing a human a challenge of morality?" King Mayard shouted after them, but all 13 members were quickly leaving the room and disappearing. King Mayard turned back to look at Kyro, his eyes wild and panicked. He ran towards him, grabbing his son's hand so tightly that his nails dug into Kyro's skin and left red marks.

"This is a trick. Do not kill her. Do not kill her!"

Kyro had stood in place, not knowing what to do and not having the energy to care either. He turned his head to the side, watching the small smirk on his uncle's face before the two make eye contact, and Prince Kip feigns a look of shock. But his eyes were smiling, glinting with joy, and Kyro didn't like that. So he forced himself to care, if only just to spite Kip.

"Yes father," he responded, but he had already been thinking of what he would do to her if not kill her. After all, what is a demon to do with a human if not use them for amusement? And amusement to Kyro is their violent death.

Now, at the busy street full of cars passing by and the sound of the lively city, Kyro decides it's time to approach her: his challenge. When the cars stop, Kyro starts walking across the street, towards her, while running through a list of things he might do when he reaches her. He's finding this whole mystery rather boring; if the council members didn't want him to kill her, as his father so strongly believes, then why would they say to kill? It seems to Kyro like a ridiculous notion to go directly against what the council wants, but Kyro decided last night as he stared at his ceiling that he would try his father's way first, and after, when he gets tired of this challenge, he would try his way. And it seems as if he's getting tired quickly.

As Kyro gets closer to where his challenge is sitting, he starts to notice the familiarity of her features. When he catches sight of the pictures his challenge stares at, the realization of where he knows her from strikes him. He can't help but smile; it makes sense. A challenge of morality.

A challenge to take her out of this miserable world; to do her a favor.

That, he certainly can do.

He takes a seat in front of her, and she slowly raises her head to look up at him, questioning why a random man has placed himself in a chair directly in front of her. She notices the black of his hair, the red of his eyes, the sharpness of his features, and can't help but feel uneasy. He is beautiful, attractive, but not in a typical way. Something about him feels... unhuman. She decides it's the contacts, that scarlet color of his eyes.

While she studies him, he studies her: deep brown eyes, surrounded by red instead of white; dark curls, unruly and quickly forced into a bun; bags under her eyes, sunken and dark. Every little thing about her screamed of her exhaustion; it's a state in humans Kyro has seen before and always loves seeing.

His challenge puts down the paper she was researching and stares at the man in front of her, waiting for him to say something, do something. Kyro grins, his eyes wide with excitement.

"Aloria, wasn't it?" he asks, but his challenge doesn't respond and instead continues to stare at Kyro. "The name of your mother?" He asks as he lazily points to one of the pictures on the table.

She nods her head, immediately responding with a question of her own. "How did you know my mother?"

For the first time in years, Kyro is taken aback.

Her voice was silky smooth, sweet, as if each spoken word dripped honey out of her tongue and onto her full lips. Innocence like none other, but with shocking strength and steadiness behind each uttered word.

Silence.

Then, "I used to be close to her."

"Really?" his challenge questions, incredulous.

"What's your name, again?"

"Kyro."

"Kyro...?" She leaves the words hanging in the air, hoping he would fill them. Instead, he continues to stare at her. She subtly reaches for her cup of coffee that she was waiting on to cool down and readies herself in case she has to throw the piping hot drink at him and run. Subtlety, though, is something Kyro notices from a mile away. He follows the movement of her hand as she grabs the drink, allows her to take hold of it when he could have easily gotten to it before her if he wanted to; a false sense of security.

"Just Kyro," he finally responds. His challenge tilts her head in suspicion. The man in front of her, Kyro as he claims, makes her feel uneasy. His smirk, his aura, those eyes... everything about him screams of danger, and she wants nothing to do with him. But he mentioned her mother, and whenever her mother is involved, she knows she has to listen. Anything he says could be a lead, and the possibility of finding her mother is not something she's going to let go of just because he makes her uncomfortable.

Kyro starts talking once again: "And you're..." He brings his hand to his chin, looking up and down at every inch of his challenge while slightly smiling before looking back up into her eyes and saying her name: "Sofia."

Sofia grips her coffee cup tighter. "Who are you? Really?"

He can hear her panic, the shaking of her voice, her fear, and he lives for it. It fills him with power, with confidence, that addicting feeling of knowing someone is at your mercy.

Still smiling, Kyro leans in closer, their faces now mere inches away, and puts his hand over hers while slowly taking the cup of coffee away from her, slowly taking away the only thing that made her feel safe. Now, she's powerless, vulnerable, unable to do anything. Her safety line was stripped away from her that easily, and now she's stuck face to face with a man who claims to know her, stuck so close to him that she could hear every inhale and exhale of his breath.

"Sofia, I don't like repeating myself. So listen carefully for me, will you?"

She's forced to stare into his eyes, knowing that looking away will instantly show a lack of strength, defeat. So they both stare into each other's eyes, and with dead eyes and a slight smirk, the man continues: "I am Kyro, someone who was close to your mother. I know everything about her. Her family... her secrets..." Kyro's face was now past her, his mouth at her ears as he whispers his next words: "Her death."

That word, death. It makes Sofia's breath hitch, her eyes water. And no matter how much she tries to bat away the tears and appear unfazed, Kyro notices everything. He continues, "Judging by the numerous piles of paper you have here, I'm assuming I have information you don't. If you want to know about her death, I'll tell you about her death, but I need something in return."

Kryo moves back from her face and leans his back against the chair comfortably. Then, he sticks out his hand.

"So, what's it going to be, darlin'? Do we have a deal?"