Enchanted Shadows

Chapter 3 - The Breaking Point

POV: Maya

---

The training room was colder than usual, its silence heavy and foreboding. Today was different-everyone could feel it. The instructors had gathered us for a special session. As we lined up, the head instructor, Ivanov, looked at each of us with his cold, calculating gaze before his eyes settled on Natasha and me.

"This session," he began, his voice echoing in the room, "will test your readiness. You will face your greatest opponent."

I glanced at Natasha, a pit forming in my stomach. She didn't look at me; her eyes were fixed ahead, her expression unreadable.

"You will fight each other," Ivanov announced.

My heart sank. Fight Natasha? My sister, my only ally? I wasn't sure if I could do it-no, I knew I couldn't. But Ivanov's voice left no room for argument. "You will use every skill you have learned. Failure is not an option."

Natasha finally turned to me, her face impassive. "We have to do this, Maya."

"Do we?" I whispered, hoping she would say something to change this.

Her expression softened for just a moment. "Yes, we do. Now, focus."

---

We stood on the mat, circling each other. My hands shook slightly, but Natasha's movements were smooth, calculated. She was already in fight mode, her body language screaming of an impending attack. I took a deep breath, trying to mirror her stance, trying to convince myself that this was just another drill.

Ivanov's voice cut through the tension. "Begin!"

Natasha moved first. She lunged at me with a series of rapid punches. I blocked the first few, feeling the impact in my bones, but her speed was overwhelming. I stumbled back, trying to regain my footing. She didn't give me time to breathe, pressing her attack with a fluidity I couldn't match.

"Come on, Maya," she hissed, ducking under my wild swing. "Fight me!"

"I am!" I shot back, but it was a lie. I wasn't fighting; I was surviving.

She grabbed my wrist, twisting it just enough to make me wince, and swept my legs out from under me. I hit the mat hard, gasping for air.

"Get up," she ordered, her voice cold.

I pushed myself up, anger bubbling up inside me. Why was she doing this? Why did she always have to be so perfect, so relentless? I lunged at her, letting my frustration guide my movements. For a brief second, I caught her off guard, my fist grazing her cheek.

A flash of surprise crossed her eyes, and then it was gone, replaced by the calculating look of a predator. She retaliated with a force that took my breath away. Within moments, I was back on the mat, struggling to breathe as she pinned me down.

"Is that all you've got?" she whispered harshly, her face inches from mine. "You have to be stronger, Maya."

"Why?" I gasped, struggling beneath her. "So I can be more like you?"

Her grip tightened. "No, so you can survive."

---

She released me and stood up, leaving me lying there, staring at the ceiling. Ivanov's voice echoed around us, but his words blurred together in my dazed mind. I didn't need to hear them to know I had failed. I had failed again.

Natasha offered me a hand, her expression a mixture of disappointment and something I couldn't quite place-pity, maybe. I slapped her hand away and forced myself to stand, my legs shaking.

"Don't touch me," I spat.

"Maya-"

"No!" I turned away from her, refusing to let her see the tears that burned at the corners of my eyes. "You did what you were supposed to do. You were perfect, as always."

Her face fell, but I couldn't care about her feelings right now. Not when mine were a tangled mess of anger, shame, and hurt.

"Maya, I-"

"You what?" I rounded on her, my voice rising. "You pity me? You want to help me? Don't you get it, Natasha? I'll never be like you. I'll always be the shadow you leave behind."

For a moment, the room was silent. The other trainees and instructors watched us, but it was as if they weren't there, as if it was just the two of us in this cold, empty space.

"You did well," she said softly, ignoring my outburst. "You have to believe that."

"Don't lie to me," I replied, my voice breaking. "I see it in your eyes. I know."

She opened her mouth to say something, but Ivanov cut in. "Enough. This exercise is over. Romanoff, you performed adequately."

My heart sank further at his words. Natasha Romanoff. Not Maya. Never Maya.

---

I left the training room without looking back, ignoring Natasha's calls for me to wait. My head was pounding, my body aching from the fight. But it was the pain in my chest that hurt the most. It was the realization that no matter how hard I fought, I would never be enough.

Why did I even try? Every time I stepped onto that mat, every time I faced her, I knew how it would end. With me on the floor, gasping for breath, while Natasha stood tall, the perfect weapon they had molded her to be.

"You'll never be more than a shadow," I whispered to myself as I walked down the dimly lit corridor. "You'll never be her."

I reached the dormitory and sank onto my bed, burying my face in my hands. I could still feel the weight of her eyes on me, the disappointment in them. How could she ever understand what it felt like to always be the one who wasn't enough? To be the one they tolerated because she was related to their golden child?

"Maybe if I had just fought harder," I thought, but the thought felt hollow. No amount of fighting would change the fact that I wasn't Natasha. I was Maya, the lesser Romanoff.

I wanted to be angry at her, to hate her for always being the best. But deep down, I knew it wasn't her fault. It was mine. I wasn't strong enough, fast enough, skilled enough. I was the weak link, the one they all saw as the failure.

I felt the tears slip down my cheeks, hot and angry. I wasn't sure if I was crying because of the pain or because I knew that this was my reality. I would always be chasing after her, trying to catch up, trying to prove that I was worth something. And every time, I would fall short.

"Why can't I just be enough?" I whispered into the darkness of the room.

But the darkness had no answers, only silence. And in that silence, I heard the echo of Ivanov's words: "Romanoff, you performed adequately."

Not me. Never me.