𝕓𝕖 𝕞𝕪 𝕝𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 | 𝔽𝕣𝕖𝕖 𝕕.𝕝.𝕙.

Voice-Chapter nine

"You have to find your bey's voice, and learn to channel it through your own."

That had been what the blader on TV had said all those years ago. Ravlynne still remembered sitting in one of the straight-backed chairs at the long dining table carved out of a slab of gleaming black marble, cutting her steak carefully. Theodore was seated at one end of the table, twirling his knife on its point absent-mindedly.

The WBBA channel came on, and a famous trainer was being interviewed. He stressed on the importance of something called "voice", said you couldn't blade without finding your unique voice. 

Theodore abruptly turned off the television then and as Ravlynne went back to studying her plate and the silverware in her hands when he cleared his throat.

"Absolute nonsense, what that quack of a trainer was saying. Beys are powerful assets, yes, but there's no spiritual link or "voice" whatsoever involved. You train hard and the numbers will guarantee you win. For every hour of hard work everyone else puts in, you put in ten more. For every special move another bey has, you make sure your bey has ten more to counter them."

Ravlynne's fork and knife stopped in mid-air. She raised her eyes to meet her father's.

"Yes, father."

Satisfied, Theodore nodded and smiled.

"How's your training coming along? Jack says you're very skilled at aerial launches. With your bey's abilities, it'll increase the chances of you surprising your opponents and gaining a head start when you step onto the world stage. Not many have such a launch style."

Ravlynne set down her cutlery. That was her father, talking all numbers and analysing data before she had even started her blading career. 

"Training's alright. Jack told me about aerial launches, but I haven't quite gotten around to naming my launch yet. I understand the names are important at first to build up my reputation."

Theodore sighed and laced his fingers together, elbows resting on the smooth obsidian surface of the table.

"Names. Such a bother. Useless, but as you said, necessary. Well, what do you have in mind?"

Ravlynne focused her gaze on a patch of empty space somewhere to the left of the televison screen.

"I was thinking of something that would fit with Karaginn's overall abilities. Something simple. Maybe Winged Launch, or Flight Launch...

Her voice trailed off and she glanced at her father. He waved a hand dismissively in the air, knife still in hand.

"Good enough. I must say, I don't see any need for things like naming your moves. When you've reached a certain level, you don't need to tell your opponents what move you're going to make."

"That was what Jack told me yesterday, something about a silent strategy and an edge over my opponents. Those bladers on TV, they're always yelling out their special moves, theatrics and all. But he said if I could figure out how to control Karaginn using my mind only, I could go down in history."

His eyebrows arched, Theodore considered his daughter's words for a moment.

"That would set you apart from those jokes of bladers, huh? Yes, I think you should work on silent commands like Jack said. It'll benefit you greatly in the future. I'm not sure about you going down in history, but it'll benefit you."

Ravlynne exhaled. That was the most words she had exchanged with her father in a single evening, and she couldn't say she despised it. It was......interesting, talking to him, at least when he was in a more agreeable mood. He was intelligent, and no matter how unscrupulous he was, he had built the Raging Bulls out of nothing. 

They said it was impossible, him becoming a millionaire overnight, but nothing was impossible to Theodore Glass. Nothing was impossible with his razor-sharp mind and unflagging, dogged determination. That was what scared the others, those men in their fancy suits and posh airs he called cowards. Theodore Glass couldn't be stopped, not by money or by connections. They said if the devil had come down to Earth in the form of a businessman, it would be like him.

Some days Ravlynne was scared too, of who she called father. But now, looking at the young man at the head of the table, a lazy smirk on his handsomely chiseled features and a glint in his blue eyes that mirrored her own, she wasn't so sure anymore. 

"Find his voice, Ravlynne. They all have a voice in your head, so which is his?"

The raven bey whispered in her blader's mind, then was gone with a swish of her sable feathers. Ravlynne risked a hurried glance at Theodore, who was spinning his knife, flicking and catching it again and again. A slight smile was still on his lips.

"I miss Starlynne."

Suddenly, a smooth, slightly bittersweet voice echoed in Ravlynne's mind. It was there, and then it was gone, swept away like the twisted ribbons of memory Theodore was untangling.