[Another creative writing post just dropped, everyone! It was made purely for flavor. Please do not metagame.]
βββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββ‘π₯Έβββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββ
The night before the tournament was suffocating. It was the kind of night where the air felt dense.
Klepsydra was alone in the training hall, lit only by flickering candles that cast shadows dancing across the marble walls. The axe her father had gifted her rested against the wall. It wasn't a weapon suited for her. It was a weapon for a brute, a warrior of unmatched strength, not a slender Azari'cill. Yet it was in her hands as a reminder of all she had to prove. The hall was silent save for the echoes of her heavy breaths as she repeatedly swung the axe, striking the wooden dummy before her. With every blow, splinters erupted into the air, yet despite her efforts the dummy stood resilient She felt the burn in her arms, the strain in her shoulders, the ache in her back. She wasn't built for this. Not physically. Not mentally.
She paused, letting the axe slip from her grip as her trembling fingers grazed her sweat-drenched forehead.
Her lavender eyes drifted toward the full-length mirror propped against the distant wall, the glass fogged from the heat of her body and the coolness of the room. Slowly, she approached it, the reflection staring back at her. She saw herself as she was now. Disheveled, exhausted, vulnerable. But the mirror started to betray her, showing her truths she wished to forget. The first image was of her father, Varyian, presenting her with the axe. His words resonated in her thoughts.
"Prove yourself with this." His voice was cold, sharp, lacking the warmth she craved. She had stared at him then, searching his face for something. Any sign that hinted at pride. She found none.
The mirror shifted. This time, Wilhelm's face loomed in the glass, mocking her, his voice dripping with disdain. "Pretentious little elf.." he had said. "Desperately looking for a scapegoat to blame for her father's uncaring for her." Her fists clenched at the memory, her breathing became uneven as the mirror reflected her shame. She had lost to him before, and tomorrow, the stakes were higher than ever. But was he wrong? And then, the mirror twisted cruelly once more, showing her mother whose presence had always been a shadow, a distant figure whose legacy haunted her. Sy'dra's fingers grazed the glass, as if trying to reach for her mother's distorted reflection, but the image dissolved into shards of her own face again.
"Am I not enough?" she whispered to herself with the words trembling on her lips.
It wasn't some sort of revelation, no. It was a truth she had carried for years. The burden pressed down on her and her reflection seemed to taunt her. The heavy axe stood at her side representing all that she was unable to become. She tightened her grip on the axe with knuckles white from the pressure. Her breath quickened as the anger swelled in her chest in a tide she couldn't stop. The tempest in her veins surged, crackling like lightning and before she realized it, she lifted the axe. The blade gleamed briefly in the candlelight before it came crashing down into the glass.
The mirror shattered with a deafening crash, shards scattering across the floor like tiny stars. She stood there, panting, her chest heaving and the axe still trembling in her grasp. Her reflection was gone now, replaced by jagged fragments that reflected pieces of her. Her eyes, her lips, her trembling hands.. None of it was whole. None of it was her. Sy'dra dropped the axe, allowing it to fall to the ground with a clatter. She sank to her knees, the sound of her own breathing filling the empty hall. Her hands hovered over the broken glass, as if searching for something amidst the shards. But there was nothing there. Just pieces. For a long moment, she stayed like that, her eyes fixed on the shattered pieces of the mirror. Slowly, her breathing steadied, and she wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. She wasn't crying. She wouldn't cry. Not now. Not ever.
The storm outside raged on, with thunder rumbling in the distance. She looked up at the windows, the lightning illuminating her face for a brief moment.
"I'll prove it." she muttered to herself. The shattered mirror didn't respond. Only the storm outside did.
Sy'dra rose to her feet. The weight in her chest still heavy but no longer overwhelming. She picked up the axe firmly. Tomorrow, she would fight. Not just for her father, not just for the crest, but for herself. And if she failed?
She wouldn't.
βββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββ‘π₯Έβββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββ
βββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββ‘π₯Έβββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββ
The night before the tournament was suffocating. It was the kind of night where the air felt dense.
Klepsydra was alone in the training hall, lit only by flickering candles that cast shadows dancing across the marble walls. The axe her father had gifted her rested against the wall. It wasn't a weapon suited for her. It was a weapon for a brute, a warrior of unmatched strength, not a slender Azari'cill. Yet it was in her hands as a reminder of all she had to prove. The hall was silent save for the echoes of her heavy breaths as she repeatedly swung the axe, striking the wooden dummy before her. With every blow, splinters erupted into the air, yet despite her efforts the dummy stood resilient She felt the burn in her arms, the strain in her shoulders, the ache in her back. She wasn't built for this. Not physically. Not mentally.
She paused, letting the axe slip from her grip as her trembling fingers grazed her sweat-drenched forehead.
Her lavender eyes drifted toward the full-length mirror propped against the distant wall, the glass fogged from the heat of her body and the coolness of the room. Slowly, she approached it, the reflection staring back at her. She saw herself as she was now. Disheveled, exhausted, vulnerable. But the mirror started to betray her, showing her truths she wished to forget. The first image was of her father, Varyian, presenting her with the axe. His words resonated in her thoughts.
"Prove yourself with this." His voice was cold, sharp, lacking the warmth she craved. She had stared at him then, searching his face for something. Any sign that hinted at pride. She found none.
The mirror shifted. This time, Wilhelm's face loomed in the glass, mocking her, his voice dripping with disdain. "Pretentious little elf.." he had said. "Desperately looking for a scapegoat to blame for her father's uncaring for her." Her fists clenched at the memory, her breathing became uneven as the mirror reflected her shame. She had lost to him before, and tomorrow, the stakes were higher than ever. But was he wrong? And then, the mirror twisted cruelly once more, showing her mother whose presence had always been a shadow, a distant figure whose legacy haunted her. Sy'dra's fingers grazed the glass, as if trying to reach for her mother's distorted reflection, but the image dissolved into shards of her own face again.
"Am I not enough?" she whispered to herself with the words trembling on her lips.
It wasn't some sort of revelation, no. It was a truth she had carried for years. The burden pressed down on her and her reflection seemed to taunt her. The heavy axe stood at her side representing all that she was unable to become. She tightened her grip on the axe with knuckles white from the pressure. Her breath quickened as the anger swelled in her chest in a tide she couldn't stop. The tempest in her veins surged, crackling like lightning and before she realized it, she lifted the axe. The blade gleamed briefly in the candlelight before it came crashing down into the glass.
The mirror shattered with a deafening crash, shards scattering across the floor like tiny stars. She stood there, panting, her chest heaving and the axe still trembling in her grasp. Her reflection was gone now, replaced by jagged fragments that reflected pieces of her. Her eyes, her lips, her trembling hands.. None of it was whole. None of it was her. Sy'dra dropped the axe, allowing it to fall to the ground with a clatter. She sank to her knees, the sound of her own breathing filling the empty hall. Her hands hovered over the broken glass, as if searching for something amidst the shards. But there was nothing there. Just pieces. For a long moment, she stayed like that, her eyes fixed on the shattered pieces of the mirror. Slowly, her breathing steadied, and she wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. She wasn't crying. She wouldn't cry. Not now. Not ever.
The storm outside raged on, with thunder rumbling in the distance. She looked up at the windows, the lightning illuminating her face for a brief moment.
"I'll prove it." she muttered to herself. The shattered mirror didn't respond. Only the storm outside did.
Sy'dra rose to her feet. The weight in her chest still heavy but no longer overwhelming. She picked up the axe firmly. Tomorrow, she would fight. Not just for her father, not just for the crest, but for herself. And if she failed?
She wouldn't.
βββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββ‘π₯Έβββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββ