↳ ❝ 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐒 ... 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐁𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐒. ❞
The caverns of her dark soul were built from shards of shattered glass; each a testament to the labyrinth of trauma she has truly...
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"𝐊𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐇 𝐒𝐓𝐘𝐗!"
The hearty voice of her trainer resounded through the thick walls of the training center, barreling and bouncing on the surfaces until his tone reached Khairiah's ears in a whirlwind.
"You're up, " he said with a stoic expression that did not waiver from doubt or hesitation. His deep eyes scanned the younger girl's face, which remained as it always was – completely devoid of emotion. 13-year-old Khairiah Styx slowly nodded her head at the taller man before her, who held the small entrance of the sparring arena open. He watched as the prodigy briefly walked through the opening and proceeded to stand her ground beneath the fluorescent lights of the center.
She stood there, a delicate silhouette against the cold, unfeeling horizon, where deep gray concrete walls met with one another to form a callous box of tutelage. Her frame – though it showed her meager age, somehow seemed to bore the weight of battles not yet fought but already inscribed within the marrow of her bones; there was no tremor in her limbs, no rise and fall of anxious breath, only the familiar stillness that dawned before the storm.
Her youth was a fragile veil, like a layer of skin that would later be forcibly peeled back to reveal a girl forged from steel. Now, she was not a product of shredded humanity – No, she was but a warrior in the making forged in silence, standing on the precipice of something far larger than her youth would suggest.
"On guard!" The trainer yelled as she maintained eye contact with the boy before her. He twitched his head and Khairiah briefly noticed the way in which his grasp tightened around the katana he wielded.
