Kalena Eirwen
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For four long months she sat in her bed, only moving enough for the most basic of needs. The burns inflicted upon her from the past battle had faded away, and she had long recovered since. Yet she stayed, a husk of her former self, waiting for each day to pass over and over.
She was not yet broken. Her mind still rang true, though she wished it did not, and thoughts of her past, her mistakes, and her situation frequently come to mind, almost always accompanied by visions of where she had done wrong. Was it truly the best to have entered this world? Why had she, despite all her victories in the past, failed to make a single step in her goals? Would it all have been fine if she stayed, where she could continue the govern the continent, where Corvon would not have sacrificed himself for her own foolishness? It was those what-ifs that drove her to the brink of emotional breakdown, exacerbated by the faint snickering that, seemed to ring all around her, yet was so faint that it could have been mistaken as a hallucination. At times she would have prefered herself dead. Only, the knowledge that Corvon died to let her live stopped her from doing so. That small, stubborn part of her who would refuse to throw away something that her closest companion had saw fit to give.
The door creaked.
She did not raise her head. there was no need to; it was clear who it came from. A well built man, with unkempt hair and clothes alongside a dirty cloak. He sat opposite her, unfolding a plastic board that revealed alternating squares of mahogany and ebony, placing plastic pieces on either of their sides.
There was nothing that need to be said by him or her. She slouched forward, bringing her hand over to move a piece. It was the thirtieth session of chess between the two of them, one that had started by the other, and continued by both. She was not well versed in the strategy, but it was too reminiscent of the ages she lived in to pass up, and inwardly, she was grateful for the chance to direct her anguished mine elsewhere.
Twenty turns passed. The pawns have all arranged themselves to a diagonal pattern, covering each other and protecting the main pieces aiming to attack the opposition.
“You are getting good at this.” The man, Jeff, commented. When there was no reply, he continued his turn.
“I can’t say i know how you’ve been feeling all this while, but you can’t just stay like this.”
Five turns passed without a word from her. That was the norm, but he was intent to continue, to force a word from her.
“You had a goal. A mission. What happened to that? Did you really think Corvon saved you so you would lie in bed for months?”
Part of her cracked. There was an urge to retort, but she could not even find enough strength to do so. Instead she continued playing with the same listless expression. That expression flickered briefly, as she found herself caught in a forked attack from his knight.
“This is checkmate.” He said, as he subsequently trapped her king with only two pieces. The only paths of escape were blocked by her own. “You’ve learnt how to play aggressively, but you focus so much on pushing forward you leave everything else behind. Kind of like reality isn’t it?”
He swept the pieces into his palm, and folded the board once more. “But if there’s one big difference, it’s that you’ve never stopped improving in the game, and that’s how it should be. I’ve lost a few things in my life, Kalena, and I know for a fact that no matter what you’ve left behind, you’ve got to keep moving. Think about that, will you?”
He took one last look at her, no, at her arm. A long, drawn out stare with the most complex expression. Vexation, frustration and annoyance. But eventually, he left the room without another word. Before he would talk at great length, and she would retort heavily, but now both were too exhausted to carry on; this was the first time in nearly two months he had spoke for so long. She glanced at her left arm, the same Jeff had set his eyes upon. There was a reason him doing so. Where there was a fading line from where her arm had been reattached, several new scars made their mark. The very scars she carved upon her arm, to retain the only thing that was left of Corvon; his final gift to her.
Hours later, the sound of switches throughout the household brought her to attention that it was close to midnight once more. She had been staring at where the chessboard once was, recalling the moves she had made up until her loss. She thought of the words Jeff had said initially on nothing but a passing whim, perhaps to detract from her normal thoughts, but for some reason this time, his words spurned her want to do something. Anything. Surely she had despaired enough; should she not make Corvon’s sacrifice worthwhile, to live where he could not?
You are worth little; why do you struggle, than to deceive yourself of this fact?
That niggling, almost foreign sentence passed through her mind, but she had long pushed the bed sheets aside.
For the first time in four months, she bore the urge to leave the house.
The night was quiet, There was nothing but trees and grass for as far as the eye could see. Perfect conditions, Jeff had once mentioned, without the pollution, noise and air, from traffic and other people. For once, she felt inclined to agree. She lived her life in solitude; her relationships being those forged out of common interests or necessity, save perhaps for Corvon. The lack of people, the silence, and the darkness all bore a familiarity that calmed her spirit. The same as it had been in her room, perhaps, but the freedom of movement and fresh air made it doubly so
She trudged along the beaten path, observing the many fruit bearing plants that Jeff had seen fit to grow over the years around the house, with clustered trees bearing peaches and apples amongst them. There was no real reason to have left the house; she only felt she had to break this cycle of brooding. In doing so, she realised just for how long she had neglected her body. It was sore in a way it never had been, growing restless from the lack of exertion. Yet it did not spurn her to do more. Like everything else, she merely noticed its presence, and but lacked any energy or motivation to act upon it. It simply felt pointless to her.
She froze abruptly, picking up on the rustle of grass ahead of her. No one from the house should be awake, so who was it? She ceased to move, awaiting this apparent visitor to make his presence known. Vaguely it occurred to her that she was completely defenseless, but what did it matter to her?
“Kalena, is it? I’ve heard a good deal about you.”
Those words rang through the darkness, but she could not see the source of it.
“...Yes.” One word. That was all she gave.
Eventually the visitor appeared before her. A man, whose appearance could be no better described than that of a tribesman, his bare torso revealing tattoos etched upon each shoulder, and beads that were slung across them. He was muscular; not those that were fashioned for appearance, but that which pointed to some time of practical training. His expression was that of a confident smile, but his eyes seem to betray a different emotion. What it was, mattered not to her no more than the way he presented himself and what it meant.
“I’ve come to witness the system’s stronger warriors.”
When there was no immediate reply, he continued.
“The name’s Leoncio. What I’m saying is that I’m challenging you.”
She looked at him, a brief look of distaste flashing across her face as her one fear was realised. Another one. What spurned them to come? What in all of the world did her worthless self had that they saw fit to seek her out?
“Why?” She merely uttered, barely audible even to her.
“Why?” He grinned, “well, it’s training. Both for my body and mind. Plus...I’m sort of interested in how strong you are. They made you out to be a superhuman, you know. I want to see that for myself.”
So he needed a punching bag. She would have been inclined to voice out her thoughts, but even that was too much effort for her. She could not convince him otherwise, nor concede defeat. The only option, was, as it had always been, to fight.
Almost instinctively her hand was brought to her hips. At first she assumed she had left her sword by her bedside, but the cold touch of the hilt sent her to a mild relief. Of course. Even in her most troubled state, she never neglected to bring it. More than just a habit, it was part of her.
“There’s no need to be all up tight like that,” he laughed nervously, “I’m not here to kill you or anything. Just a fair fight, a spar or something. That’s fine by you, right?”
She watched him with expressionless eyes, studying him. He seemed to have no deeper intent than his words, but his hesitant words and forced smile made it quite clear he was unnerved by her lack of emotion. Something just didn’t seem right with her, he thought, and she would have agreed with him had she been able to read his mind.
She did not want to fight. It was a meaningless battle to her, but there was no other option. inwardly she told herself she would at least better the skills of this stranger. But that only fired off more questions against herself. what good is there to better a participant of the system, who knowingly partakes in violence for the amusement of others? In the end she discarded her thoughts, and simply unsheathed her blade. Without reason, she would have to fight, and she would accept any outcome that arose.
“Not one for chit chat huh? But I guess there isn’t much else to say.”
He settled into a half crouched stance, arms bent and at his side, as if eschewing all defense. She herself did not feel pressed to settle into any stance. instead her sword was raised at an angle and her body straight, though not rigid. A careless stance.
Leoncio struck first. Like a spring his bent legs snapped straight to propel him forward, swinging his right hand in a swiping motion. But as if on clockwork she mimicked his footwork, stepping or kicking back just the right distance as he had advanced, fluidly making way for his hands. He kicked off to her left, swiping down with his right at the same time to catch her off guard, but then she simply shifted her left and back foot to the right of her other leg, enabling her to turn and swing her sword against his arm, catching it just before his nails reached her. He cried as a sharp pain coursed through his arm, only to see her blade tilt horizontal, and driving through through his neck in one swift motion.
He stumbled back, clutching at his neck whilst coughing violently. It felt as if an iron bar had drove against his windpipe, knocking the air from his lungs. Then he stopped. Surely he should have been dead? A blade to the neck was as good as execution, so why?
He broke free from his train of thought just in time to kick away to the side from a stab. “You…! Are you even using a sword? That thing doesn’t cut, does it!?”
“You have lost,” Kalena said plainly. “There is no further need to continue.”
“What do you mean?” Leoncio blurted. It ended too quickly, and her curt words only served to confuse and frustrate him.
“If my blade could cut, you would have lost your life. This is a spar; do you intend to go back on those words?”
He froze. She was, by all accounts, right. But how could he have this all end on such a sudden and unsatisfying note? What happened to understanding his opponents, those whom he felt most strongly with?
“I can’t accept that, not when you’re not even standing properly. Give it your all; I won’t be losing this time!”
She did not reply, but once again she returned to her loose stance, waiting for his action. He lashed out, closing the distance with a single lunge with the intent of catching her off guard, but it was a simple task for her to step back and sideways. When he twisted his foot to face her, her blade was already swinging down at full force.
Instinctively, he swung his hand, using his ki to fabricate claws that caught and locked the blade in place. He twisted his body, pulling the sword back and by extension his opponent. At the same time he bent his leg slightly, intending to kick her feet off the ground. But she was quicker than him, and kicked away the same leg he bent. Undaunted, he yanked the blade towards him once more with the intention of pulling his opponent forward into a side kick to the head. What he did not expect was for her to calmly raise her left arm to block it, and when she fell, brought both arms together to bring down his leg, sending both crashing into the ground. It took a well placed strike with his extended claws to force her to back off, yet failing to keep his grip on the blade in doing so.
In that very moment where Leoncio recovered from the ground, he realised that her expression had not changed from its blank stare, even as she picked her sword from the ground, it appeared as if their tussle seconds ago had not happened. It seemed inexplicable that someone in battle would look so...disinterested. Detached from reality, as if this battle meant nothing to her. Was she looking down on him? The blunt sword, the careless stance, and even her expression that seemed completely invested in this fight, they all added up, and it was distressing. What set them so far apart in strength? He relied on brute force, perhaps, but he gave it his all. And yet he was kept at bay by someone who appeared to have no conviction. It wasn’t fair.
He reengaged, but this time he took advantage of her pacing, using his ki to increase his range further than she would anticipate. he tore though her clothes and skin, drawing huge gashes at her stomach. Briefly her eyes flickered with surprise, but the satisfaction from him was short lived; as he proceeded lunge at her with nails bared, Kalena stepped away just enough to bring down her blade between his fingers. Though blunt the impact was enough to cut through some flesh and almost crush his bones. He cried out, staggering back as the sheer agony almost forced him to blackout, but his opponent did not relent. It took only his instinct to kick away from a stab to the head, and even then he could not maintain his balance before crashing to the ground.
The sword of truth returned to her side with a flourish, and with it, a piece of cloth fell to the ground with the barely audible crunch of grass. Leoncio struggled to stand, running his uninjured hand through his hair with undisguised horror. He looked to his opponent, looking for the same horrified, hateful expression that he’d seen so many times on others.
Nothing.
Her expression was as dead as it had been. He should have been relieved, but it only served to disturb him more. Did she really not mind these ears of his, or did she simply not hold him in any regard worth caring about?
“Give up.” She said simply. Two words. Nothing else.
“Do you not see me as an opponent at all?” He growled, nursing his injured hand, all the while looking for some form of reaction from the other. Noone could possibly be this emotionless. Surely.
“I was not the one who asked to fight.”
Leoncio grimaced. She was right, yet her response irked him for reasons he himself could not understand. “Then I won’t give up until you take me seriously!”
She only raised her sword up in response, and the exchange continued. But as he swung at her, it seemed as though touching her was a near insurmountable feat. She quickly understood and adapted to his variable range, acting as if every attack would land and simply dodge on that assumption. She would back away up to two metres at a time, and when he attempted to reach her, closed that distance