Chapter Twenty-Eight - Infuriation

“Fuck this!” Arette spat a glob of blood to the floor as if that could get her some release, but it didn’t. Nothing did. Nothing could make the fact that she had seemingly forgotten how to fight sting less.

“Again!” she called and stared at her opponent, whose expression was a mixture of sympathy and pity, neither of which were things she wanted directed at her.

He looked at her for a moment, probably wondering what to say this time to get her to finally stop, but she only flashed her teeth at him in anger.

“Again,” she repeated and he finally caved in and motioned for one of his students to take his place.

Arette shifted her sword in her hands and tightened her grip, even though her hand was sweaty and she didn’t feel confident at all. To be honest, she knew she would lose the second she looked into her opponent’s eyes, steady and calm in contrast to her flaming orbs.

He didn’t give her any warnings. He charged and darted from right to left, using the ring they fought in to its fullest.

She steadied herself, her head telling her she could take this and she could - she knew that she could - but once again, as so often until now, her feet wouldn’t move when she told them to.

She knew his attack would come from the left. She needed to dodge around him and could use an opening between his ribs afterwards.

But the moment she saw his blade descend onto her, the fear in her guts flared up, a snake lying in wait and she couldn’t move.

Her breath hitched as she remembered the bullet speeding at her, hitting her and a sword impaling her and pure, unadulterated fear coursed through her. She couldn’t lose. She didn’t want to die. She had to do something.

She didn’t think further than that - and so she didn’t dodge as she should have.

Instead, she charged.

With a shrill cry, she ran into his sword and raised her own to meet his, needing to be proactive, to fight instead of darting around her opponent, to save her life in any way possible.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t.

The blade pressed against hers and easily overpowered hers, flung her sword away and not even seconds after the fight started, a sword was pressed against her throat, leaving a thin red line on her tan skin.

The fear faded as she calmed down and realized that her opponent wouldn’t kill her and replacing it was hot, white shame and anger at herself.

Arette growled, but she couldn’t deny it. She was useless. She had become useless.

Her opponent stepped back, looked down on her with silent pity and she could only snarl at him and at herself for her own uselessness.

After her loss, the bullet and Liz’s goodbye, everything had taken a turn for the worst.

At first, she’d been optimistic. Being alone gave her more freedom and she looked forwards to enjoying it, and she did, at least until her first fight.

She’d been hunting some low-class burglar, an easy hunt for her, but when she had cornered him and was about to fight, suddenly her heart overpowered all the instincts she had learned over the years.

Even though it should’ve been an easy fight, in her mind, she found herself in that place again, surrounded, helpless, weak. And she didn’t want to be weak, wasn’t weak and couldn’t ever be and something inside her snapped at the very thought of her life being in danger again.

That feeling, that irrational fear of dying, made her reckless. It made her ignore all she had learned, ignore all of her own thoughts of rationality and ever since then, she hadn’t won a single fight.

Sometimes, even her ability to control fire spiraled out of her control, the one thing that she had always been perfect at.

Six weeks had passed ever since Liz had left and Arette had never felt worse.

Fighting was her talent. She loved it, loved the thrill, but she didn’t feel any thrill nowadays. Instead, she felt fear, fear of loss and defeat, of being overpowered and dying.

She had hoped to cure her problem by fighting as much as possible, but it didn’t work.

For four weeks, she’d stayed at the Bear’s Den, a Clan whose members had all a connection to bears and were known for their great combat strength. She’d helped them out six years ago and called in her debt by demanding fights against their strongest warriors, but by now, they only looked down on her.

Heck, she could understand them. She was little more than a joke.

She didn’t know why it happened. She’d lost before - against Nex, who had taught her how to fight. Ever since then, she’d always won, but honestly, how could one loss affect her so much?

She should just train more and use her mind instead of her heart to fight, it wasn’t as if she lost her instincts or her experience.

She’d told herself that over and over again, but it didn’t help. Her confidence had been smashed to pieces and she couldn’t seem to rebuild it.

“Arette, you should stop this,” Ulric, Clan Leader of the Bear’s Den, stepped towards her, trying to be kind, but Arette was too frustrated to reply similarly.

“Stop what? Fighting? Fighting is what I am,” she growled back.

“Maybe it’s that kind of thinking that stops you from being at your best. Take a break. Meditate. Sort your thoughts.”

“That’s bullshit. I’m not a meditating person and I’m not going to stop trying just because I’ve developed some weird fear of death that I definitely shouldn’t have!”

He opened his mouth to argue, but she cut him off.

“We’ll continue later,” she growled and stalked away from their fighting ring and out into the woods. The Bear’s Den headquarters were deep in the mountains, giving her plenty of room to run and hunt as she did before she even learned to fight, but that didn’t make her happy.

She didn’t want to hunt or to run.

She wanted to feel that thrill again, the one she only got when she was fighting.

“Shit,” she cursed to no one, herself, the woods, whatever. Frustration bubbled inside of her like it never had before.

She shouldn’t be like this. She was a fighter, it was in her blood, she couldn’t just not fight!

Her foot hit some tree or other and sent it swinging with the force behind her kick, but strength meant nothing if it couldn’t be used.

Fire burned under her skin, like ants crawling through her veins and together with the ever-constant pressure of uselessness that wrung her guts out, she felt more miserable than the one time she got poisoned a couple of years ago.

The flames licked over her arms without her command and even now, she had difficulties getting them to move as she told them to. They were one with her heart and they reacted to the turmoil inside of her instead of dancing to what her mind told them to be.

It was infuriating.

She stalked through the woods, needing to move, kicked stones and trees and everything in reach, anything to reduce the pressure that was weighing down on her.

But she couldn’t get rid of it - the voice, inside of her heart that hissed darkly.

You’re useless.

And she was - compared to the person she’d been before those dunces almost killed her, the current her was basically trash. A Firakha who couldn’t control her fire, she must be the first.

A snort escaped her and the flames danced, devouring bits of her clothes and the trees around her, dangerously close to getting out of control and spreading beyond what Arette could tame.

Just when she was about to snap at some inanimate object again, a voice rang out next to her.

“What is it you’re trying to accomplish?”

She snapped around, the fire around her hissing loudly as if to emphasize her surprise.

Next to her stood a man, physically not much older than her, but even she wasn’t stupid enough to judge a person’s age by their appearance.

His skin was several shades darker than hers and coupled with longer black hair, a pair of glasses on his nose and a slender frame, a less sensible person would’ve thought him harmless.

But he wasn’t.

The moment Arette saw him, every hair on her skin stood on end. She had felt the pressure of power before - her own, Zenon’s in many of their squabbles, her enemies’, some of which were stronger than her - but she had never felt anything like this.

It was as if the air got somehow heavier, pressing down on her, surrounding her skin with tension that made her want to fall to her knees and bow instinctively. And he didn’t look like he was even trying.

She blinked as she stared at him and fought against the pressure, not even really registering the question he had asked her.

All of her was focused on trying not to prostrate herself in front of him like he was some sort of omniscient being she ought to worship.

He looked onto her with a slight smile that she would’ve sincerely liked to scratch of his face.

Her eyes wandered from his face over his body - and another shock seeped into her.

From the moment she had been born she’d been able to see flames - souls, of living beings. No matter whether they were weaker than her or stronger, she’d always, without fail, been able to see them.

Until now.

Whoever this man was - she couldn’t see his soul.

She gaped at him, her mouth hanging open and in her surprise almost gave in to the pressure weighing down on her. She caught herself before she fell to the ground and steadied herself by holding onto one of the trees she’d kicked earlier on.

Slowly, her shock morphed into apprehension.

She didn’t dare to openly snarl at him, not with the power he possessed over her body by just looking at her, but her gaze was scalding.

Somehow, this seemed to amuse him quite a bit, as he started to chuckle.

“Not bad,” he said, more to himself than to her it seemed, but a gleam appeared in his eyes.

Then, all of a sudden the pressure was gone.

Arette let go of a breath of relief and sagged, tension leaving her as she stood straight again.

“Who the heck are you?” she half snarled, voice still strained.

He smiled at her and rubbed at his neck as if he was the one feeling awkward and misplaced.

“My name is Unos. I’ve been looking forwards to meeting you, child of the stars.”