A Better World (Record of Ragnarok x Reader)

Chapter 5 - We meet once again, old friend

She didn't sleep for long, but it was the usual nowadays. Her sleeping patterns hadn't exactly been the best since she was at the mercy of Maeve. In spite of that, she had hoped that the unfamiliarity of everything would tire her body, which it did, but apparently not enough to improve her sleeping habits.

These days ... she didn't know what more she needed. What she wanted. If she felt like admitting it, she actually didn't have the faintest clue who the hell she was anymore. All she knew was that whatever and whoever climbed out of that abyss of despair and grief would not be the same person who had plummeted in. And maybe that was a good thing.

Slowly, her eyes turned to the ticking clock on her nightstand. The golden hour hand was minutes away from pointing directly at three. Four hours. She had slept for four consecutive hours. Good. This time she hadn't been tossing and turning in her sleep. This time nightmares had not haunted her dreamland. This time she had not woken up in the middle of the night with a cold sweat on her brow. She was content.

Today. Today she would research ways to regain the full extent of her fire, but in truth, she had no idea where to start. The library would deem to be a good option, but she wasn't even sure if there was a library at this place. Perhaps the books she brought with her about wyrdmarks, an ancient runic language used to perform magic and cast spells - usually in blood - would be of use. The origin of the wyrdmarks is vastly unknown, other than that they are an incredibly old form of magic, more powerful than the wyrdkeys.

She was currently on the balcony, allowing the chilly air to touch her exposed arms and legs, as it lightly blew her hair. Recollections from the past began filling her mind as the wind's pace quickened, leaving her at the mercy of something beyond her, her only defense being the arms that wrapped around her torso for warmth.

Everything she knew about the wyrdmarks – she had learned from Nehemia. The Princess of Eyllwe. And her friend.

[Name] leaned against the thick stone balustrade of the balcony, her eyes gazing up at the sky as small streaks of orange and yellow began fighting away the darkness of the night with each passing second, indicating a new day, a new beginning. A vivid memory played in her mind at the sight of a black bird in the sky, wounded, but still flapping its wings. It would have plummeted to its death if it were not for the white bird beneath it, carrying her friend's entire weight at times when her wings failed her.

But she was dead now.

She grimaced as she watched the black bird increasingly leaning on her friend, relying solely on the white bird to save both of their lives. She subconsciously touched her brow, almost feeling the lines and contrasts of the invisible mark that had decided her entire life. The same wyrdmark she had inherited from her ancestor, the Fae King Brannon, the man who had founded Terrasen.

The king was originally a bastard born in Wendlyn, hence why the wyrdmark displayed the words 'nameless' in the forgotten runic language. Because he was born as a nobody.

Her eyes remained on the birds, not widening when the white bird, in a last attempt to save her friend, dove down, and then came flying back up, crashing into her friend, giving her enough momentum to soar the skies while she fell to her doom. She watched as their already determined fates played out, her expression remaining passive.

Nehemia had died because of her.

[Name] stared at the pool of blood colouring the stone pavement of the gardens. A bloodied white feather landed on the balustrade, just next to her. She took it, staring intensely at the red, thick liquid running down her hand while small droplets hit the floor beneath her.