Imagine waking up to find that you are missing your arm. Imagine the loss of a part of you that you require to function each day. Imagine the loss of your value. Imagine how the Enryian people feel when they wake up to find that the abilities they r...
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Calloused skin brushed the chilled glass of the window that overlooked the seaside. Beyond, whitecaps of spray and foam burst from the dark waters that clashed against itself. Steep cliffs of slate dropped down into what could only be described as an abyss. Clouds dark and angry rolled in, and somewhere far off light streaked across the sky. The room was filled with a burst that illuminated every corner and crevice, including the glint of the pistol that lay beside a neatly scripted note.
Mercy.
How long had it been since the second layer of the mark had turned a deep shade of violet? How long had it been since the Kingsguard stood at the door, holding royal summons upon black parchment and a gold seal? How long had it truly been? How long had every labored breath, drop of sweat and streak of blood had been given for the people of the Kingdom they all loved and cherished?
A Mercy lived for them. Should they have to die for them too?
The thought wasn't fleeting. It lingered and clung and twisted at the recesses of the mind and threatened to eat the host alive. A wet brow pressed the pane of glass as a set of lashes fluttered to a close. For a brief, precious moment, nothing but silence and the sound of gentle breathing filled the room.
The peace was temporary. It always was.
For as long as Enyre has been, the Mercy have stood vigil over her people. Born of common blood and rare gift, a Mercy is born only when another dies. They serve as the King's hands- ten vessels for each finger. It is an honor to be branded a Mercy, and they shall spend the remainder of their years embodying that honor, their name forever recorded in history.
Someone once said that you only live once, but you die twice. The first was when you physically left the world, and the second was when no one remembered your name. Before it seemed like an impossibility- especially for a Mercy. But now...
The glass shook with tremendous force, the sound only slightly dampened by the seals that kept the glass firmly in place. It droned on for several seconds, the sound violent and unrelenting as it drowned out the thrum of a steadily beating heart. The rhythm remained the same, save for the brief skip at the abrupt boom of thunder.
With slow movement, the hand pressed against the glass dragged downward, fingertips smearing through the light fog from the heat of steady breathing. Decided steps carried an exhausted frame across the threshold, fingertips gliding along the cool steel of the pistol.
Without Mercy, the Kingdom will know no peace.
The sickness spreading through Enyre was an enigma. Initially, one is unaware. And then only when the absence is realized, the crippling fear and loss set in. It rips the air straight from the lungs and sends the heart into a frenzy. The darkness begins to seep in and consumes until everything is empty. The light in the world begins to fade, until everything is dismal and grey like the brand you once wore as a badge of honor that has suddenly warped into a mark of shame.
Then comes the clarity, the numb feeling of acceptance.
There is no change if no one makes a move. No reward without risk.
The soft click of the safety filled the air as a second flash of lightning snapped through the room. There was no hesitation in the movement- there was nothing to question. It was duty. It was honor. What use was a Mercy without their abilities? What other choice was there?
No one expected it. No one would approve of it. With time, though, someone might just come to understand it.
These are my final words to you. It was an honor to serve my kingdom and kin, and a shame only in the regret that I did not have more time to share it with you. When this is over, I hope you will remember those whom have paved the path to Enyre's redemption. I do not speak of myself or any other Mercy; but of the men, women and children whom have fallen victim to this monster that has stolen our home from us.
When this is over and you have won, celebrate their memory as if they had brandished sword and steel themselves.
Forgive me for not being able to celebrate them with you.
The thunder crashed once more, and rose to a chorus alongside the crack of a gunshot and the resounding thud of dead weight hitting the floor. A stillness overtook the room, not a sound to follow. Within moments, the sound of muffled, racing footsteps and desperate shouts grew louder.
A rush of air as the door was thrown open jostled the waiting note, where it glided down to the pool of blossoming red. Within seconds, the color swallowed the signature of the author, the parchment slowly absorbing the blood.
