The Masked War

Chapter 4

A high ringing sounded as I groan, muttering "Fuck, it's already morning?" beneath my breath.

It continues to sound through the halls, and I could hear others rousing, steps vibrating the floor. Heaving myself up, I glanced through half open eyelids at where Rory slept.

Damn, he can sleep through everything.

Sighing, I get to my feet, running a hand through my knotty hair. Though Rory was not required to go to the training in the mornings, I was.

My eyes find the clothing that Aaron had handed me last night.

"We don't have much clothing," he'd sighed. "Most people bring clothes, or can go back to get it. But, if your house was destroyed, we'll give you some. Was yours?"

"Yes," I responded, glancing away.

"I'll ask around," he'd said softly as the door clicked close.

I grab the clothes, glancing at the door to make sure it's shut, and pull them on. A baggy black T-shirt covers my frame, warm and soft. It falls a bit below my waist, making me wonder just how tall the previous owner had been. The leggings are a perfect fit, almost as though they were tailored just for me.

Yesterday, Aaron had somehow found an empty room on the second floor for Rory and I, quite close to his and Leo's rooms as well.

I quietly slip out the door, letting it click close behind me as I spot Aaron staggering into the hall, his eyes sleepy.

"Aaron!" I call, and he flinches, whipping around to look at me.

"Oh, hey Bryony," he yawns, running a hand through his tousled black hair.

"What's training usually like?" I ask, blinking the sleep from my eyes.

"What, you think I'm awake enough to actually think about the torture Indigo is about to put us through?" he groans, looking as though he was about to fall asleep right there.

I chuckle at his words.

"I want coffee..." he mutters, peeking at me through half-closed lids.

An arm brushes up against my own, and I flinch as I turn my head, surprised by the warm brown eyes I made eye contact with.

"Hey, Bryony," Fox's smooth voice floats to my ears as he smirks down at me.

I give him a smile as I return his welcome.

"So," I continue. "What's training usually like? This dumbass won't tell me."

"I'm sleepy," Aaron groans from beside me. "That should be enough of a reason."

"Did he tell you that it's torture?" Fox questioned, his eyes flicking to Aaron's figure.

"Yes," I responded.

"Well," he continues. "That's pretty accurate."

Rolling my eyes, I say, "That has to be an exaggeration."

"You'll see," he grins.

A beam of light hits my eyes as we step out one of the many back exits of the school. As my eyes adjust to the brightness, I find myself gazing at a lush green forest with a small concrete road just before it. Hurriedly, we cross it, disappearing from the plain sight of the road behind the school and into the darkness of the forest. We follow the crowd, making our way over large roots, and around the trunks of trees.

At last, we step into a large clearing, the size of a soccer field, with dewy grass. The sky is clear above us, without any tree branches blocking out it's bright light.

I lower my head from looking at the sky to the single figure before us; Indigo.

Her long blonde hair is scooped up into a high ponytail, some strands of it falling onto her shoulder. The intricate tattoo on her shoulder is exposed by her black tank top, and I study it. My fingers brush my back, and I think of the inked dragon that covers my entire back; it's head nearly peeking out of the collar of my shirt, and the tail just slips into the top of my leggings. I'd gotten it when I was fifteen, two years ago.

Dad had taken me to get it. Mom had been so mad.

I blink back tears.

The box, Bryony, put them in the box.

As I return my attention to Indigo, I listen intently to her words.

"Split up into pairs," she commands. "One person will guard, the other will attack."

A tap on my shoulder jolts through my body and I whirl around, my eyes landing on Aaron.

"Partners?" he asks.

"Sure," I smile. "Just warning you, though," I continue, my tone playful. "I hit hard."

"Shit, Bry," he mutters, fear in his voice. "Now I'm actually really scared."

I laugh at his tone, saying, "I'll go easy on you."

As we find a small open space in the large clearing, he asks, "How did you learn how to fight?"

He raises his arms, settling into a natural boxer's posture.

"How did you?" I question, planting my feet down.

My arm flies out and hits his forearm as he responds, a slight grimace in the middle of his sentence. "My dad taught me."

"Same," I say, my left arm rushing out once more. Jabs, though not as powerful as a punch, served well to annoy the opponent, and overwhelm them a bit. Punches, done with your dominating arm, were when you needed your strength.

I glance at Aaron's face, and furrow my eyebrows at his sad expression.

"Did he die?" I ask softly, landing a hard punch on his arm.

"Yes," Aaron responded, making eye contact with me. "But, weirdly enough, I didn't feel sad about it."

"Why?" I ask.

"He's always..." Aaron struggled to find the right words. "He's always been disappointed in me, always angry with me. I don't think there was a second in my life where he was actually happy I was born. He'd always voiced his many other opinions about me, but never that. But I could still see it. In the way he always talked to me, the way he looked at me. He never loved me, not once."

"Well," I say, slightly out of breath. "He sounds like a shitty father."

A laugh escaped from Aaron's mouth. "I've never heard a truer statement."

"What..." I say carefully, looking at him with caution. "What were his other opinions about you?"

His eyes look troubled as he gives me a weak smile, saying, "I don't want to think about it."

Silence passes between until I finally speak up.

"Switch?" I ask him, stopping my onslaught on his bruised arms.

"Sure," he responds, a grin on his lips as he tells me, "And there was no way in hell you went easy on me."

is anyone else like having crazy af dreams in quarantine tho - E