Awoken

^-^-^Chapter 1^-^-^

Sweat rolls lazily down my temple as I grit my teeth, the blade in my hand singing in harmonious dismay. The dummy was no match for my sword, as I shredded the wooden and straw thing within minutes. I had long gotten used to the tremors that ran down my arms every time I hit the weak statue, but they still jostled me relentlessly. Straw and pieces of wood flew from where my sword struck and my jaw began to hurt. It felt as if the blade were an extended part of me, striking the dummy, my body dancing in a musicless lilt. I slash the dummy again and again, my anger still boiling. I had approached father about our losses today. Even being an emperor's daughter, our family still went through financial troubles, especially ever since...Frey. The crude silver ring on my finger throbs as if Frey knew I was thinking about him. My eyes begin to burn and I slam and slash and cut with more ferocity. Ever since what happened, my father had become too distant to even come to the table to eat meals anymore. He just stared at the hearth, sometimes with roaring flames, sometimes with simmering embers, but all with an empty, bleak look in his eye, the one not covered in his patch. Some days I think he's forgotten my name. My strength suddenly flees at the thought and I drop my sword to the side, stepping off the raised platform for training and return my sword to the rack. Wiping sweat from my brow and my auburn hair from my face, I walk with my hands on my hips, heaving air into my lungs. My father never really thought of me. As if Freys and my mother's deaths hadn't affected me just the same as him. 

I nod to the head trainer for the Dilaya Clan's armies, a broad, flat man with a pinched face and a mean look in his eye, and he nods back. Picking up the things I had thrown off of me during my anger burn out, I begin walking back towards The Village, thinking of what I could afford to bring home for supper. He hadn't really shared his thoughts though, with me or anyone, and often times only answered my usual onslaught of questions with grunts and slight shakes of his head. I don't even think I've seen his eyes look at anything but the hearth since he had given me Frey's ring, and stalked off to build a fire. I frown at the thought. My worn boots kick up dust as I head into The Village, beginning to hear the laughter of children and the shouting of wears from the Market. The Village was fairly small, with only about two dozen houses, and about half as many streets. I'm still sweating as I entered the Market, the air humid and unforgiving. I suppose my entirely black clothes didn't help much either. I pull my waterskin from my pack and take a long drink, still drinking in my surroundings at the same time. The houses were all rundown little shacks, the people walking the streets covered in varying degrees of rags, and the roads dusty and littered with garbage. Even so, the people I passed by all grinned at me lightly, and despite my foul mood, I grinned back. Walking these streets reminded me of what our clan had lost in the last war, and with my father down and out, there was really no way to get out of it. These people are hard-working though, I remind myself, women washing clothes for those who could spare a coin, men selling their wares and making trades instead of for money, children running the streets, on the hunt for jobs that they could take part in. Everyone worked together to raise each other up; there were no wealthy people here by no means, but those who could spare a coin gave it to those who could not. That alone left a smile on my face. I stop by each and every shop in the Market, looking for things I may or may not need, and made sure to drop at least a coin at each. Once both of my hands were full of two brown paper bags of goods, I begin my long trek home. Slowly, the smile on my face that made my cheeks burn, disappeared as I saw the red glow of our home. Well, my home and a husk by the fireplace.

I had long ago deemed it useless to greet my father anymore. He only grunted in return anyway. Stalking inside, I march up to the kitchen area, setting the brown paper bags on the wooden table there, then proceed to my quarters to throw my supplies onto my worn out bed. Our home was a tent of sorts. A large one; rooms were divided up by hanging layers of red fabric, and old wooden stairs were set up to lead up to higher levels that had been built after the tent was set up. It served as our castle and used to be glowing with light and happiness. Now, it was just...empty. Neither my father or I had the will to go into Frey's quarters, even if it had been over 8 years ago. We didn't feel the need to light up the tent or clean it in any way either. I remember a time when it was happy here. When my father was loud and jovial, and when Frey...was alive. We used to go on family trips to the Denali river nearby when Father wasn't bogged down by the work of the Clan and had free time. Frey would often train me in the plains near the Meeting Spot Tree, a value I still harbour, and when we would often have guests come to our home. These guests were often wealthy bureaucrats that came to talk with my father about matters of our kingdom, but they came nonetheless. We used to throw parties and balls outside, as the weather in Againgra never really dipping below the freezing point, even in the winter time. Now there was none of that left. Contrary to popular beliefs about me when I was a child, I loved those parties. I loved dressing up and acting like the princess I was. Now there's no want for that. There's no joy in my eyes anymore. I've tried to squeeze it out of myself by any means, but it just ends up as a dull smile that doesn't meet my eyes. After working up the nerve and ignorance, I decide to approach my father about what I had found out about Hatuma today; Hatuma was the prince of a neighbouring clan—the Pikti War Clan—who had been deciding in secret to take over ours. It was a great danger for us, and I didn't like the role I was to play in it if father blindly agreed.