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━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━
WHEN Octavian's assassins turned sixteen, they were either deemed good enough or punished harshly for not being good enough. As was told, it was not worth burning trees that had already grown, but there was pruning to do. Araminta had not been one of those trees, instead she had blossomed and passed the graduation tests in flying colours, with a pat on the back and Octavian's heavy hand on her shoulder, leading her off through doors to seal her fate.
The Octavian brand was attached to a metal rod, seared onto the same shoulder as everyone in the fleet, something that united them.
It was to be an honour. Vestor Octavian only branded those he deemed worthy to represent him and wear his name amongst the galaxy, carrying out missions, maintaining relations and inciting the fear he thrived off of. Araminta had been honoured, because she had been the best, because it meant she was strong.
In the quiet hours of the night after the newest fleet of assassins were birthed and welcomed with burning arms and a heavy crown, Araminta had migrated from the main ward of the facility and to the roof, staring up at the sky. She had no idea what planet she was on, always transported in darkness if she was required to move, sometimes sedated if needed by Octavian himself.
The graduation took all the sixteen-year-olds to one place, where Octavian judged them, bringing up old mistakes and successes, digging into wounds and deciding what to do with the weapons he had moulded. And then the test– if one could draw blood from him, they had passed. If not, then try, try, try again.
A weapon that could not draw blood was a useless one.
Araminta's ears perked up, hearing someone approach, glancing over her shoulder to see someone joining her on the roof. A red Twi'lek girl looked down at her where Araminta was sitting alone. She had seen her a few times over the years, haphazardly and scattered in training, but had never once had a conversation with her.
"What's with the puppy dog eyes?" she asked coyly. Araminta hardened her face immediately, sneering. The Twi'lek's lips split into a smirk. "Calm down, you look far better when you look like you're plotting something."
"Yeah, I'm plotting to escape this shithole and hide the body." It was said so dryly there was no question it was a joke.
"Cool, I'll join you." The Twi'lek sat beside her, laughing. "Daesha, sorry. We've never met," she continued, leaning back on her hands, legs stretched out in front of her.
"Araminta," she replied.
"Oh, I know who you are," Daesha dismissed. "You ready to be assigned squads?"
"I'm more concerned about actually being allowed out in the field after so long," Araminta responded.
Daesha watched her curiously. "If what I've heard is true, you'll be fine."
