Present -2024
Ayla tore apart the rusty looking closet, hunting for anything that could even give her a hint of information concerning the words churning in her head. Honestly, her head was pounding so hard there might as well have been an earthquake in there. Still questioning her pain tolerance, Ayla brought her focus back to the closet, and resumed her search for the mystery object, map, magic, she didn't even know. She dropped her head in her hands and moved back towards the bed as a rush of helplessness washed over her. She sat down just as the heel of her foot hit the edge of the bed and wondered what she was doing, she didn't know why she was here, or what she was looking for. The thing could be a person, a place, a spell, it could be a peice of crap someone had mistaken for something special. She had come here to make sense of the hurried random phrases her father had written down on a piece of paper right before he had died. Well actually, she had come to the conclusion that they weren't random, it helped her to think that she was going on a goose chase for a valid reason. She had studied the piece of paper like it could save humanity, oh and she had prayed. Studied and prayed. Mostly prayed though, and in the end all she had gotten from that stupid piece of paper was that whatever she was looking for was at a house, and that the main threat had something to do with a thing named the Damien Ezra Stone. Since she had no idea whatsoever, what a Damien Ezra Stone was, and was pretty sure her father wouldn't have left her random words with no meanings, she had decided to start at the beginning of the clue. So because of that, she had spent hours just scouring this pile of wood and walls that somebody had once, believe it or not, called home. The minute she had stepped through the threshold of the old withered house, she had started questioning the family's taste for living areas. The house was hidden past alleyways, deserted hospitals and whatnot, and it had taken Ayla almost an hour to find the hideous thing! Anyways, it's not like it mattered anymore.
The city of Anaemia had been brought to the ground 12 years ago starting with her mother and sister's death. The same city that had once been a safe haven, a home for people and a refuge for half-bloods, was now a living hell, and that's putting it lightly. The echoing sound of screams and cries pleading for mercy played over and over in Ayla's mind. It never left, no matter what she did, always like a shadow peering over her shoulder reminding her of what she had lost. She would wake up from nightmares, her face shining with tears and clothes drenched with sweat. She shivered as a chill went down her spine at the thought.
A sudden white hot pain got Alya's attention as she turned her left wrist over to see the black swirling mark that had decorated her arm ever since she was born. It kind of looked like an elegant swirly, backwards f and another backwards upside down f connected to it, with a dot smackdab in the middle. It started right under the fold that parted her hand and forearm and and ended right at the edge of her upturned wrist. Ayla was old enough to understand that she was different and not the kind of different that meant prodigies. She was the kind of different that meant deep, dark, buried secrets. She was pulled out of her thoughts when a sudden bang echoed down the hall. She quickly got to her feet and slowly looked around for anything that could be used as a weapon, a beer bottle, fork, anything sharp. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a glinting piece of metal. As she grabbed it, she immediately recognized it as a butter knife from what used to be a cafe, two blocks down Ashford street. Which, as she could remember, used to be owned by a sweet old lady. She saw her hands shaking, and almost doubled over in pain as the memory of her and her father walking down the dark and silent street every morning to the tiny cafe clouded her mind. She reluctantly pulled herself out of her mind and softly padded over to the room door and opened it. Cringing at the creak that echoed down the empty corridor, knife in hand, she tip-toed over to the entrance of the house and peered through the tiny crack for any sign of movement.
That's when she heard the rustle of aluminum, she moved her eyes to the left and saw the shadow of something massive. How do you kill a werewolf again? Was it Silver or Platinum? She faintly remembered her father lecturing her on how to kill different types of creatures. He had made her train and train until her aim was perfect, her swords cut through metal like it was water, and her stamina grew and grew until she could run 20 miles without stopping once. Now that she actually needed the information, it wouldn't surface, it was so frustrating. She just wanted things to go back to the way they used to be. She steered her thoughts away from her long gone family and tried going through her training slowly. Ok, so a pure gold knife to the heart would kill a vampire. Cold Iron burns fairies. To kill a witch or warlock, you have to destroy their source of power. And for a werewolf...got it! To kill a werewolf you had to lace a silver knife with wolfsbane. She searched frantically for wolfsbane and then mentally cursed herself for not being prepared.
It had grown quiet, too quiet, as a matter of fact she noticed as she jerked her head up, only to notice that the shadow had vanished into thin air. She knew she should have been relieved, but for some reason the unknown feeling in the pit of her stomach wouldn't settle. She pocketed the silver knife for later emergencies and made her way back to the room. Ayla stepped into the room but not before taking a once over of the hallway. Just when she was about to turn back around, a hand closed over her mouth preventing her from screaming and smothered it with damp cloth. A strong aroma filled her nose to the brink and Ayla immediately recognized it as Ether. Her father had used it on her when he was trying to train her to resist poisonous chemicals. Unfortunately for her they hadn't gotten very far in their training before he had been murdered. She tried to focus on repelling the smell, she really did, but it became too strong and she felt herself sink into the depths of her consciousness.
