321
Lucy
The Crescent Moon Festival’s Opening Ball slid to a tense end. I didn’t see Oren after that. When David announced the start of the Festival Games, I followed the crowd towards the Festival Game grounds. The night echoed with laughter despite the near-brawl between Oren and David. The crisp night air drifted around me as we headed toward the setting of the grounds. I was directed toward the seating area for Blood Moon.
It was then I saw him, a figure perched on a large stone, his face turned towards the moon.
It was Matt. He didn’t seem like he was there on purpose. He was probably just trying to escape the crowd. My steps faltered for a moment. Yet, something in his hunched posture, the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes, held me back from retreating. He looked absolutely lost.
Approaching cautiously, I stopped a few feet away from him. But he didn't turn, didn't make any move to acknowledge my presence. The silence stretched thick and awkward.
“Uhm…” He jumped, and his eyes widened. He hadn’t even noticed I was standing there it seemed.
He looked around nervously.
“I didn’t—”
“I know.”
He hesitated and dropped his gaze.
"Lucy," his voice barely a whisper against the crackling of the fire. "Are you… are you okay?"
The question, simple yet heavy with unspoken guilt, tugged at the knot of anger still festering within me. Was I okay? I thought of David.
Well, I certainly wasn’t bad.
"David's taking care of me," I replied, my voice neutral, neither warm nor hostile.
Hesitantly, he turned, his gaze meeting mine. His eyes were shadowed with regret.
"About the dream," he started, his voice hoarse. "… thank you, and…" his voice dropped to a barely audible murmur. "I'm sorry, Lucy. For everything."
His apology hung between us. Eve's words echoed in my mind. Healing, I was realizing, didn’t mean forgetting. It just meant… accepting and moving forward.
Looking into Matt's eyes, I could see the guilt and remorse in his heart. I couldn’t explain how, but I could, and that made it easier to relax.
"As I told Eve, I'm… healing," I admitted, my voice catching in my throat. "From it all. And, maybe… maybe Selene isn't an excuse, but it… it should be considered."
His eyes widened as he slipped down from the rock and stared at me. The fire crackled from the bonfire on the grounds. I could hear people hurrying to get to where they were supposed to be.
"Have you really spoken to my mom?"
He sounded so young. I nodded, but before I could explain, Trent’s voice cut through the air.
"Ah, there you are!" Trent grinned, his eyes alight. He came over and clapped Matt on the shoulder before looking at me. "The duel between Oren and David is about to kick off! Duke's saved you a prime seat."
I glanced at Matt and nodded. The three of us walked together. I didn’t know if that was on purpose, but soon, I saw Duke and the empty seat beside me. Trent turned and nudged Matt further down the way past the Blood Moon tent. I sat beside Duke, and he took my hand.
“I’ve been on fucking edge since we got here.”
I nodded.
“You looked like a curly-haired little queen, Lucy.” His voice was soft, and he squeezed my hand. “Here’s to hoping all this bullshit ends tonight.”
I squeezed back and nodded. Hito settled into the seat beside Duke. Amos and Blue were on my other side. Their faces were etched with a mixture of anticipation. The air seemed sill around us, then I looked down into the arena.
It was bathed in the crimson glow of torches and the bonfire. The air pulsed with an electric energy. My vision swam. It was like I could see what this place used to be: a circle of stone risers around a pit like a colosseum. I saw onlookers in the rows, their faces devoid of emotion, as if they were mere witnesses to a ritual they had seen countless times. Maybe they knew the outcome and feared it. Maybe they didn't know and feared it all the same.
The air crackled with anticipation, and my heart quickened with a sense of foreboding.
In the center of the challenge ground stood Oren, changed out of his suit and in a simple set of what looked like armor made of leather. On his chest was as swirl of white paint bordered with two crests on either side and a sword on his belt. His eyes were blazing with barely-leashed fury.
“Cocky bastard,” Amos spat.
A knot of apprehension tightened in my stomach. Despite David's earlier display of power, the raw, desperate anger emanating from Oren sent shivers down my spine. The air was thick with the scent of pine and adrenaline.
Then, David stepped into the arena, and the world shifted. He wore armor that also looked like leather, but something told me it was better than Oren’s. Oren looked disgruntled as David walked onto the pitch. The blood-red scrap of cloth around his arm billowed in the wind. His hair was corralled out of his face with a crown that looked to be made out of moonlight and shadows.
Amos chuckled. “They say meet assholes where they are.”
I swallowed as the world continued to flicker to a much older time and place. It was as if I had seen this before. I heard the clash of swords. The arena was silent.
"So, we've made it to this point, Oren," David's voice rang out, echoing through the hushed crowd. "Yield and I'll make your death quick."
Oren flinched, a tremor of fear momentarily flickering across his face. But then, as if shaking off a bad dream, he straightened his shoulders, his voice ringing with defiance. "I’m not going to make the same mistake as before.”
David drew his sword, its silver shimmering like moonlight on water. It glowed in the night. People gasped, and Oren’s gaze followed the sword almost warily.
"And I will not make the same mistake my ancestor did," he vowed, his voice low and steely. "I invoke the whispers of the earth, the silence of the stars, and the very heart of the universe in this oath. For all you have done, the stars will judge my sword fair, and the moon will never deign to shine on the spot where I felled you."
Oren roared. His eyes flashed red, and he lunged forward, raising his sword. David glided like a leaf on the wind, calmly parrying the attack with effortless grace. His blade, a silver blur, danced in the firelight, deflecting Oren's every blow, swift and brutal, pushing Oren back with relentless force.
Blue let out a low sound. “Is he toying with him?”
“No,” Hito said. “He’s… in a trance, I think.”
I shivered as I felt something from beyond me: an unwavering resolve, a righteous fury, and the chilling echo of the ancient spirit urging him to fight. For honor. For blood. The fight was a blur of silver and leather. The past and present bled into each other in my eyes. My stomach twisted as I witnessed the ruthless efficiency of David's attacks and the raw desperation on Oren's face. Each blow, each snarl, seemed to rip open a forgotten wound, echoing through time. Sometimes David was David, and other times, he was older, bigger, like the man I had seen in those visions standing across from me in what felt like a marriage ceremony.
My heart raced. The arena pulsed with the rhythm of the battle, the clash of silver blades and crackling fire. People gasped and started to cheer. Each strike, each snarled curse, resonated within me like an echo through time. Had I been here before? Had we been here before? Oren snarled, rolling when he felt and throwing dirt in David’s face. The wind swirled around him as he moved. It was as if the universe wouldn’t let a speck of it blind him.
Oren’s face blanched. He snarled and attacked again and again, but he got nowhere with them. It was almost… ridiculous to see them. Was this really a duel? Oren lunged, swiping at David with his claws. A dagger appeared in David’s hand, and he cut Oren’s fingers from his hands.
I hissed.
“Shit…” Duke gasped. Oren let out a roaring wail of pain and swung blindly. David severed his sword hand from his wrist. The blade went flying, and Oren crawled back, snarling at him, humiliated and enraged.
Oren gasped for breath, pushing back and away from David as David kept his sword trained on him.
He sneered.
"What would Fenris think of you? Your ancestor had honor enough not to sever a swordman’s hand… Nor kill an unarmed man…”
He extended a hand, seemingly offering submission. I could see him as if I was standing where David was as David paused and lowered his sword for just a moment. I caught the flicker of malice in Oren’s eyes.
Then, a glacial chill settled in David’s voice, deep and reverberating through the whole arena.
"There is no honor in war."
Oren’s face drained of color. His mouth opened, but before he could cry out, David’s arm swept down, a flash of silver and blurred moonlight. The clang of steel on bone was drowned out by the collective gasp of the crowd. Oren's head went flying through the air, spilling blood in the air. His expression twisted in horror and disbelief.
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