Heathen

Prologue

Heathen
Prologue

The punch that connected with her face sent Serapha spiraling onto the ground. The blades flew from her hand and thudded against the wooden floor. Her brother Warren still stood, glaring, despite having a wound on his side. He hadn't held back and, despite their father's rules, left deep cuts that would no doubt scar her body.

Of course, why would he? This was the last fight they would ever have.

Another bell was rung.

"Last round!" A voice called and she heard the shouts of the frenzied crowd. This was the first Kartaiste to be invoked in generations. Though, not the first, it was still a rare spectacle to behold. The whole village had come to the clan-house to watch. Many cheered for her brother, the more popular of the Alburn siblings, but there were still those who stood on her side - her father and a handful of clan elders.

With a loud snarl that seemed to reverberate through the hall, she lunged at her brother. Warren dodged to the left to avoid the full blow, but she was quick to recover and changed her stance. Serapha whirled and knocked his feet from under him and he fell with a grunt.

With both their weapons discarded, she struck at her fallen brother and grabbed his throat. He aimed a punch at her head and she reeled when it connected. Warren growled in anger before he pulled her hair to throw her to the side. The pain never registered in her mind as her shoulder broke her fall.

No, this was never how it was supposed to be. She was stronger, faster. How is she scrambling for an opportunity now?

Serapha stood up to face him, head spinning, but determined to finish this quickly. She wouldn't lose this fight. Not this one.

She lunged at him again and they both fell onto the ground. She winced at the weight that bore down on her arm and the cuts that formed from the scratches Warren had given her. He growled. "This is my right, Serapha. The title belongs to me." He threw her off once more but she was quick to retaliate and slammed him into the wall. She held him in place, snarling in anger.

"Being the oldest does not entitle you to everything, Warren!" She punched him and he kneed her hard. He threw her off him and onto the floor. Serapha knew that he was only jealous. He had been since they were young, but it didn't give him the right to have invoked Kartaiste on her. She lunged at him and wrapped her arms around his middle before she threw him onto the ground. "This is my birthright also and I will not have you take it away from me."

Her head spun with the noise of the crowd. Between the jeers and the cheers, she became more furious with every second. Warren growled and shot out his leg to try to push her to the side. "Witch!" he growled.

She dodged his kick and with a snarl, pushed on his chest. "Do not test me. Do not forget that I am stronger. I am more fit to rule as clan leader than you are." Within seconds, Serapha's body began to hum with power as the tendrils of ice crept down her arm. The hiss of the crawling ice was deafened by her brother's screams as the ice traveled from the top of his chest and into his body, seeking its way towards his heart. She could feel his blood, freezing and spreading under her touch.

The power overwhelmed her. Her mind tugged and begged at her to stop, but the ice spread. First to the ground, then to the frightened crowd. It wasn't long until panic ensued. Those that had been lucky enough were able to escape the frozen arms of her magic, but those that hadn't were at the mercy of her control.

There was a touch at her shoulders, a physical tug. Voices bounced in her head, yelling at her, but she disregarded them. Then, she was pulled off of her brother.

The sudden movement brought her back, made her see. Through her daze, Serapha saw the damage she had done, the blackened skin of her brother, the frostbite she had inflicted. Her father was at her side in an instant and she felt something put up against her lips. Liquid flowed down her throat that made her choke and gag. It burned her body, made her feel heavy, but it brought her back.

The ice stopped and suddenly she could see clearly the damage she had caused. The room was frozen. Everything from the stone pillars to the leather chairs were encased in a layer of ice. Those who sat closest to the fight had been stung by the cold, their skins red, while the rest had been caught in the outer part of the storm she had caused, cut with shards of sharp ice.

She turned to her father, looked at his bloodied face and noticed the glint in his eyes. Alain Alburn gripped his daughter's arm and shook her. Despite having raised her for the past nineteen years, he looked at her with the same amount of fear the first time her magic had flared. "See the harm you have caused, Serapha! This is who you are. This is who you should be," he hissed. The same words he spoke to her twelve years ago.

Trembling, Serapha shook off her father's grip and breathed in the cold air. They were right to be afraid of her. She was not an Alburn. She never had been. And despite this victory against her brother, she knew she still lost this fight.

Who would ever accept a witch as their heir?