The Secrets We Keep

Episode 17: Burden

The barracks were quiet now, something I hadn't had in a while. It was strange, really, lying there in the dim light, hearing nothing but the soft whistle of birds outside. It would have been peaceful under different circumstances. I shifted on my cot, the frame creaking beneath me. The room, usually filled with the sounds of Mongrels moving about, was empty now. Only Cyrus remained, his steady breathing filling the silence as he slept in the cot beside mine.

I reached down to the bag next to me and fumbled for the small mirror I'd found, half-buried in the dirt during one of our training sessions. It was scratched, but clear enough to see what I needed to. It had been a while since I looked at my own reflection.

Cyrus would never be honest about how bad I looked, so I had to see the damage for myself.

I held the mirror up and my breath caught in my throat at the sight. It was worse than I thought. Cy had been using his ability to heal me faster, but I could still see where damage had been done.

There was a bruise on my left cheek from where the King slapped me, my right cheek was still red and throbbing from the burn of the brand– and there was a gash on my forehead, presumably from when I smacked my head against the King's marble floor.

I looked like hell.

I stared at my reflection for a long time, my eyes tracing the lines of the demonic brand under my red eye. The contrast between it and the angelic brand on my left cheek, beneath my silver eye, felt like a cruel joke.

The brands felt heavier than just scars– they were reminders, burning marks that set me apart. It reflected the chaos within me, the battle between not just angel and demon blood– but my thoughts and Kako's. I was trapped between two different worlds that I didn't want to be a part of. While the King never knew about my possession, he certainly gave me something that reminded me of it. And, just like I'd never be rid of these brands, I'd never escape the King.

I didn't want to keep looking, but I couldn't tear my eyes away. The brands, the bruises, the marks– each one a constant reminder that I was nothing more than a pawn in this twisted game. And now, Cy would be tied to me through that same fate. I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of it all settle heavily on my chest. Then, suddenly, the creak of the door interrupted my thoughts.

I quickly put the mirror back in my bag as little Miriam shuffled into the room, her head bowed as she approached, her hands clutching a stack of uniforms. Despite her blindness, she moved with a quiet surety, her steps careful but certain.

"S-spearhead Vermisial," she stammered, her voice small. She didn't look up as she neared the cot, her fingers trembling. "L-lieutenant Vexe has asked me to bring you new uniforms. He said the King ordered these ones to be s-specially made for you."

As she held them up, I noticed why. Unlike the others, the uniforms weren't just black or white. They were both, split straight down the middle– black on the right side, white on the left.

"I didn't realize the King was so into fashion," I sarcastically muttered as I reached for the clothes.

Miriam handed them to me, her hands shaking slightly. "S-Spearhead Verm-"

"Stop calling me that," I interrupted her. She winced at my tone and I instantly regretted it. "I'm sorry," I said softer. "I only meant that 'Noemi' is fine. None of that 'Spearhead' stuff, okay?"

She nodded quickly, her pale, pupil-less eyes never quite meeting mine. "N-Noemi," she whispered, as if trying it out. "I-I'm really sorry about... about the vision. I didn't mean for them to hurt you. I should have been m-more careful."

I didn't know what to say. I hadn't blamed Miriam– not really. How could I? She was just a child, blind in more ways than one.

"It's not your fault, Miriam," I finally said. "You didn't know. Even so– it's too late for that now."