Grudges are for those who insist that they are owed something; forgiveness, however, is for those who are substantial enough to move on. - Criss Jami, Salome (In Every Inch In Every Mile)

* * * *

Ashenridge. Nightfall.

The wind is cold again.

They say there are only two kinds of people left in this world—the Gifted, and everyone else.

No one really knows where the Gifts came from. Not in any scientific, provable way, at least. The textbooks pretend to offer explanations—mutations, evolution, stress responses to historical trauma, but none of that ever felt right.

Not to me.

There's an older story, one whispered in the shadows of temples and family lore. It says the Gifts were passed down from the Ancient Ones—the gods of a time long before Eldario carved borders into the land and called itself sovereign. The story goes that these gods, or maybe just what people believed to be gods, touched certain bloodlines. Marked them. Chose them. And from those bloodlines came us—the Gifted.

We didn't ask for it. We didn't steal it. It was never some prize. It was just…there. In our bones. Inherited like the shape of our hands or the way our eyes see the world when we're angry. A birthright, maybe. Or a burden.

But somewhere along the twisted timeline of Eldario's history, probably after one war too many, the Gifted stopped being revered and started being hunted. People grew afraid. Maybe it was jealousy. Maybe it was grief. Maybe they couldn't stomach the idea that someone born different could wield something they'd never understand.

I used to think fear was the root of everything. Now I think fear is just the match, and hatred is the fire it lights.

Eldario used us. We were weapons, not citizens. Drafted into their wars, conscripted to wipe out their enemies, held up as symbols of strength in times of chaos, and then discarded the moment peace returned.

They called us heroes when it suited them. Monsters when it didn't.

That's how the fear spread, like rot through the walls of a house too long neglected.

Neighbours whispered. Schools expelled. Landlords evicted. Families fractured. Some of us tried to comply, to be 'good citizens' and register our abilities with the Hunter Council and the ESA—the so-called protectors of law and order. It was supposed to be safe. Transparent. Just a formality.

But the moment our names hit their lists, everything was taken from us.

No jobs. No homes. No protection.

Some families turned their own children in. Some stood by and watched as their siblings, partners, or friends were dragged away or disappeared. Some simply looked away, and that was almost worse.

And so we scattered. The Gifted who could, ran. Some went underground, literally. Tunnels, basements, and hidden cities beneath the bones of old ruins. Others banded together, forming quiet communities at the edges of the map, hoping to survive long enough to maybe find some kind of future.

We didn't choose to be hunted. But now, we are.

Sometimes, when it's quiet, like it is tonight, when the wind moans through the trees like it's mourning something lost, I wonder if any of this could have been different. If our ancestors had made better choices. If Eldario hadn't fed its own fear. If one person, somewhere back then, had said "enough" and meant it.

Maybe we wouldn't be here. Hiding. Bleeding. Fighting to keep a hold on the last threads of who we are.

Maybe I wouldn't have blood on my hands. Maybe I wouldn't have learned how to lie without blinking. Maybe we would've lived in a world where I could have just been Laura—not a threat, not a label. Just me.

But that world never came.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

And now, we carry the weight of all their choices. All of them.

I don't know if I'm angry or just tired. Maybe both.

~Extract from Diary of Laura O'Boyle

* * * *

~Elvryn; November 230~

"I said, let go of me!"

A girl no older than fifteen, with long raven-black hair and eerie pearl-white eyes, kicked and twisted against the grip of the older man restraining her. Her voice cracked with panic, but she fought like a cornered cat.

Just ahead, another teen—almost identical in appearance, save for being a boy, was forced to the gravel, his face scraping against the stones as two men pinned him down hard.

"Silence, freak!"

A slap rang out, sharp and final. Kailey O'Fearghail whimpered.

"You're Gifted, aren't you?" sneered one of the men holding down the boy, spitting the word like a curse. "Abominations."

"Get off me!" The boy growled, struggling despite being half-suffocated by the weight pinning him.

"Shut it!" barked the man restraining Kailey. Losing patience, he pulled a thin blade from his back pocket and pressed it against her neck. The cold metal made her flinch. She stopped moving. Stopped breathing. "One word," The man hissed. "Just one. And I'll slit your little throat."

"Kailey—!" The boy began to shout, but he didn't finish.

The knife was ripped clean from the man's hand—yanked away by a force no one could see, and it clattered down the alley. A second later, he was hurled into a wall with a sickening crack and slammed flat, as if held there by invisible hands.

Kailey dropped to her knees, gasping. Her eyes were wide in shock, flickering toward the pinned man who had threatened her just seconds ago. She hadn't moved.

No one had touched him. It made no sense.

"What… What just happened?" Kailey whispered.

The men holding down her brother froze mid-reach for their weapons. Their bodies jerked and then stiffened like marionettes on cut strings.

"I can't move!"

"What the hell is going on?!"

Another Gifted.

Kailey's heart jumped. That had to be it.

From the far end of the alley, a figure stepped into view, her boots barely making a sound on the gritty road. She looked like she'd been carved from the shadows themselves—hood pulled low, and her black coat rippling around her like fog. Her hands were deep in her coat pockets, her gait unhurried and casual.

"You're not going anywhere," she said, her voice low and calm, as if discussing the weather. "So don't waste your breath trying."

Kailey's breath caught as the girl's head tilted slightly in her direction. Beneath the hood, she could just make out silky black hair and pale skin, but her eyes were still hidden. A chill crept down Kailey's spine.

"You do realise," The girl continued lazily, "that attacking Gifted in Elvryn could get you executed? The gangs here don't tolerate this kind of trash."

Kailey scrambled back, tugging her brother with her until they were crouched behind an overturned trash bin. Neil's expression was taut and wary, but his shoulders had eased.

They weren't alone anymore.

Elvryn might've been a lawless zone, but that lawlessness worked both ways. Here, underground factions ruled the streets. Chief among them was Blade. Or…what remained of it.

"Blade's dead!" One of the attackers spat. It was the same man who'd held Kailey. "Your kind should be chained, not coddled! You're nothing but weapons—monsters pretending to be human!"

A terrible cracking noise filled the alley.

Kailey's breath caught. She watched, horrified, as the man's limbs twisted unnaturally, bones buckling under invisible pressure. She slapped her hands over her ears, but she couldn't look away.

The shadows behind the girl shifted, and suddenly, another man lunged, raising a metal baton high.

"Behind you!" Neil shouted.

The girl spun just in time, but the strike landed. The baton crashed into her ribs and sent her flying, skidding across the gravel.

"Boss!" The others cried out.

The man who'd struck her—bigger, broader, and older, grinned cruelly. "This is what held you idiots up? A brat?"

"Hey!" Kailey called, breathless. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," The girl muttered hoarsely, coughing as she rose to her feet. The hood had been knocked back, revealing her face at last.

She looked about their age. But her eyes…

Everyone stopped. Even the boss took a step back.

One eye was a sharp amber. The other was green with a crimson iris that seemed to glow faintly in the dark.

"What in the hell…?" The man whispered. "What are those eyes?!"

Sera Kroix wiped a trickle of blood from her cheek. "If you're going to kill me," she said flatly, "You'll have to try harder."

The man lunged for his gun, but he didn't make it. His entire body froze mid-motion, just like the others.

"She's telepathic," Neil said under his breath. His voice was hushed and awed. "She's the real deal."

Click. Click. Click. Click.

Four guns floated up into the air—each trained on a different man's forehead.

Kailey gasped.

"No… Please…" One of the attackers begged. "We were wrong! Let us go! Please!"

Sera's voice was ice. "How many Gifted begged like that before you pulled the trigger?" There was silence. "And you mentioned Blade," she added, her eyes narrowing. "You're right. Blade's gone. But their rules? Their ideals? This town? They didn't die with them."

The boss's eyes widened in horror. "You… You're a Blade survivor."

Sera didn't answer. Instead, she whispered, "Send my regards to the Goddess."

Kailey turned away. Four gunshots echoed around the alleyway before there were loud thuds. When she looked again, the alley was littered with bodies.

Sera stood in the center, still and composed, as if nothing had happened.

Kailey forced herself to stand. Her legs were shaking. Neil came up beside her, more guarded than ever.

"Thank you," Kailey said, her voice trembling but clear.

"Why did you help us?" Neil asked. "No one else did."

Sera's eyes softened, just for a second. "Because I couldn't save the last people who trusted me," she murmured. "So this time, I will."

There was a long pause.

"Was it true?" Neil asked carefully. "About Blade?"

Sera offered a faint, unreadable smile. "Maybe."

Kailey bit her lip. Neil and she have made the trip to Elvryn, because they've heard that it is one of the few towns in Eldario that is safe for the Gifted. But by the time they arrived, they found out that the infamous street gang Blade was destroyed two months prior.

There were also stories, old ones, that said Gifted with rare features held ancient power. Looking at Sera, Kailey believed it.

"What will you do now?" she asked suddenly.

Sera blinked, surprised. "Leave Elvryn," she said. "Too many ghosts here. I'll lie low, travel. Figure things out."

"Can we come?" Neil blurted. Even Kailey did a double take. her brother doesn't tend to trust easily. And then again, this girl was the first Gifted that they'd met. As a rule, most of the Gifted tend to hide their true selves, even amongst those of their kind.

Sera looked between them. "You shouldn't," she said after a moment. "I'm cursed. Everyone close to me ends up dead."

"But Eldario's hell for people like us either way," Kailey said quietly. "If we're going to survive, maybe we're better off together."

Sera hesitated. Then sighed. "I'll probably regret this," she muttered. "But fine. I have a boat at the docks. We leave tonight."

"Thank you!" Kailey beamed. "I'm Kailey O'Fearghail. This is Neil, my brother."

"Neil O'Fearghail," Neil introduced himself, falling in pace.

"Pleasure," Sera replied, tugging her hood back over her face as she walked ahead. "Sera Kroix. Nice to meet you."

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.