Xylia

Two

Tap tap tap.

Cracking an eye open, I growled at whoever dared to wake me from my slumber.

Tap tap tap.

Maybe if I ignore it it will go away.

Taptaptap

I bet it's Mari...that bitch.

TAPTAPTAPTAP

"Go away Mari," I whined, shifting back onto my side. Perking my ears up, I was met with the beautiful sound of silence.

Finally, now I can slee-

"Eeeek!"

I shrieked as frigid water was dumped on me. Blinking past the rivulets that trickled down my face, I was met with an all too smug Marian. Light spilled around his blonde tendrils and cut sharply through the planes of his cheekbones and highlighting the boyish mirth that danced in his eyes. "Rise and shine," even his voice was laced with a teasing tone.

"Good morning to you too," my lips quirked up. "Marigold.'" His smirk morphed into a chilling scowl at the beloved childhood nickname.

Rolling onto my feet, I pointedly clipped my shoulder against his as I trudged outside of the cell, doing my best to ignore the squish and slosh of my waterlogged shoes. A stack of folded clothes laid on the ground next to a small parchment. Picking up the crumpled paper, I smiled at the scrawled handwriting.

Some clothes for the wilderness. Hope they're the right size.

-R and W

P.S. Do us a solid and not die on day one.

___

Hmmm not bad.

I did a once over of my new outfit, enjoying the soft fabric that had replaced my waterlogged ones. Instead of the rags I had grown accustomed to, I now sported Cyran battle armor. A golden breastplate fitted around my chest and crept up the column of my neck, leaving a sliver of stomach unprotected. As for the rest of my body, thick leggings coiled around my legs, framing the linen cloth that dangled between my hips and flowed to my ankles. The new get up was surprisingly mobile and cozy. I did a few practice kicks, noting how the fabric glided with each movement.

Peering at the mirror once more, I marveled at how strong I looked. No longer was I hidden beneath rotting rags, but I was gleaming in deadly armor.

Bronzed skin shone radiantly in the mirror, shadows playing across the dips and arches of my thighs and biceps. The dark chocolate hues of my hair cascaded down my torso, the top pulled into a loose fitting bun that sprouted wisps of dark hair. Narrowed slits of obsidian rested their heavy gaze on the reflective glassware. I looked deadly, capable, and determined. Eyes shining and lips smirking, I swiveled away from the mirror and strutted out the changing room.

___

Peering into the mess hall, I glazed over the mass people wading around a podium. The endless chatter buzzed chaotically in my ears from the myriad of people who were soon to be exiled. A lone figure stood at the center of the bedlam, soaking in the scene. His expensive suit and tie clashing against the sea of armor and metal, but that was to be expected when placed as the head of the Cyran military. The Commander's military badges glistened in the harsh light acting as a beacon of brightness in the dreary room. His normal relaxed countenance was replaced by one of concern, lips puckered into a pout, thick eyebrows knit together with worry for his people. I almost snorted at the kicked puppy expression that marred his face, but there was a grudging respect that bloomed in my chest. Out of all the banishment ceremonies, he was the only Council member that came to each and everyone of them. The shouts of desperation and cries of anguish all fizzled out as he began to speak.

"Friends," he began," do not weep, we have given you opportunity for redemption."

Interesting choice of words, I noted. The crowd seemed to have a much more...opinionated interpretation. Seeing as they roared in rage, spewing curses and profanities at the Commander who raised his hands up, trying to pacify the crowd.

"For years," he continued, his voice rang confident and clear throughout the large room, "we have always viewed exile as a permanent punishment but," the Commander wrung his hands together, clearing his throat," but this, is not like any of the previous ceremonies."

"Just get to the point already," someone bellowed from the crowd. Scowling at the interruption he deadpanned.

" The Council and I are offering full pardon for anyone who can slay the beast."

Silence washed upon the room. "And," the crowd perked up yet again, soaking in every word like a sponge, "we will give the victor, the honor of living in the City of Gold." Pointing at the crowd in his signature stance he proclaimed, "you will be treated as the hero of our people."

If I thought the crowd was loud before, I was terribly mistaken. A tidal wave of shouts, cries, and bellows crashed upon the room, shaking the cemented walls with vigor. Tuning out the buzz of chatter, I processed this new information.

The beast was a notorious rival to Cyra. Tales of its myriad of victims and treacherous tendencies haunted Cyran youth for decades; as for those who were previously banished, only marred corpses and blood soaked rags were the sole indicator of their fate. Sure, it was a variable that I had taken into consideration when plotting my escape beforehand, but those plans focused on evasive maneuvers and a shitload of luck, not actively seeking the monster out. But now- now, Cyra is arming the banished.

I mulled over my options, weighing each course of action. One, I continue as planned and book it out of here; dodging and evading any confrontation. I would be free from Cyra, and my chances of survival seem almost promising in that strategy. However, there was a wildcard aspect to consider. I had no idea what the terrain would be like or if the forest was survivable, taking into the possibility of other creatures that inhabited the woods.

The second option was that I go all badass into the forest and slay the beast, or die trying. At the slim chance of succeeding came the opportunity of returning to Cyra, not as a slave but as a hero, living in the City of Gold being treated like royalty. I jutted out my chin in satisfaction, lips curling into a coy smirk at the thought of rubbing in my victory to all who wronged me, particularly a blonde headed chief of police. But no matter how much I wanted to see Marian in a maid outfit, I couldn't ignore the drawbacks of the second choice, one being I die, painfully.

For the first time since I arrived at the prison I felt indecisive. My lips pursed distastefully at how torn I was, but I was a creature of greed and self-opportunity, so the Commander's offer was a magnet for people like myself. The pros and cons were meticulously recalculated in my brain like a broken record, each time I relayed the options I became more and more conflicted at what I would do.

I could be Xylia, baddest of all asses. Xylia, slayer of the beast. Xylia, hero of Cyra. If I'm going to be honest with myself, the last title had a nice ring to it. But I could also be Xylia, one of the thousands of people who were slaughtered in the banishment ceremonies. Stamping my foot down in aggravation, I decided to make my decision in the forest.

The crowd hesitantly disperses out of the commune area and life buzzed on yet again within the confines of the jailhouse. The Commander ceremoniously paid his respects to our elders and left back to the City of Gold, the hotspot for the rich and privileged.

I spare a glance at the now vacant podium; then, my eyes trail over to the gates that define the entrance to the Gold. The imposing wrought iron metalwork twisted and curved intricately as to take away its purpose of separating the communities of Cyra. Something shifted inside of me as I stared at those gates. Each bend of the metal and dip of iron called me like a siren would a sailor. Teeth grinding with my resolve, I made a promise to myself.

One day, I thought, one day I'm going to be on the otherside of those gates.