Swordsmaster Orson dove to the floor, narrowly missing the knife by the hair of his instincts. 

Rolling into the dive, he dashed over to his sword by his desk and unsheathed it. It clunked to the floor, but no other sound was made, neither from the occupants of the room, or the assailants outside the window. He had blown out the candle on the desk, the only source of light in the room, filling it with the faint glow of the moon.

Asura instinctively reached for a sword by her waist, her hand grasping air. Reminded again of where she was, she pounded her fist on her leg, cursing her small body for what felt like the twentieth time. Without taking her eyes off the open window, she attempted to uncurl herself from her mother’s grasp, but Leila only held onto Asura tighter. 

Foolish! I’m a fool for thinking I could save them! 

She grasped the folds of her mother’s nightgown, grinding her teeth. 

Wait…

Save? Hadn’t the Goddess Piatys told her she could save the ones she loves with this power that she was supposedly given?

Asura flexed her fingers, her toes, expanding her chest with deep breaths as she tried to pinpoint what was different about herself. She felt around her neckline, dug in her nightgown pockets and even ran her fingers through her hair. Concentrating, she mentally checked anyplace that felt different, but was unaware of anything that stood out. 

Being a Swordsmaster like her father, she had keen senses, but never possessed any Talents in her previous life. Parry and counterattack? She was a professional. Quoting magic theory and its practices? She had no idea. Why learn about something that she would never use? 

She vowed to alter that tendency in this life.

This is frustrating.

It felt like she was wading through a dark room without walls. No direction in a completely dark space is disorienting.

She stopped her searching and shifted her eyes to the open frame of the window. 

The stillness of the room made it noisier somehow, like a forest of cicadas, the silence rung in her ears incessantly. Neither wind nor breath brushed the aperture, only anticipation. The smell of melted snow and earthy riverbanks rode on the chilly spring air through it, lapping at their noses. With each passing second, Asura’s hair began to stand on end in anxious expectation.

What are they waiting for?

As if in answer, the sword in the poised hand of her father fell to the floor.

Thunk!

He looked at his hand in disbelief, and shifted his shoulder to look where the blade had grazed. He scoffed at the small slice on the side of his bicep.

Poison!

Asura’s eyes widened at the swift entry of two figures, dressed in black. Swooping in on silent feet, they effectively split Asura and Leila from Orson, who’s legs were trembling with the effort of keeping him upright whilst the paralyzing poison flowed through his veins.

Lunging forward, Orson launched his body in the air, using the soles of his feet to topple one of the assassins into the other, but instead his target deflected his attack. Orson thudded on the floor with a grunt, but quickly got back up, his arms tucked inside to his chest, as good as vestigial. He then barreled straight ahead, yelling wordlessly, and the figures avoided the collision easily. Orson’s legs gave out underneath him, but he landed before Asura and Leila on the bed, his mission halfway accomplished. 

Exchanging a glance, the dark figures advanced with leisure toward their targets. Asura could have sworn she saw the side of one mask shift with a smile. 

As she watched her father, a sense of dread and pity overtook her at his feeble attempts to block them from his family with what little use he had left of his limbs. As one of the assassins brought out black restraints, it finally dawned on her who was behind her mother’s murder in her last life. 

Duke Pontius loved to use those ghastly things. Seemingly sucking up the light around them, just like Duke Pontius himself, they dangled in the grasp of their attacker loosely. 

Desperately looking around for a weapon, Asura wrenched herself from Leila’s grasp and ran for the sword that Orson had dropped on the floor.

“No!” Leila screamed, reaching blindly for her swift daughter. 

Asura made it two steps before the empty handed figure grabbed her by her hair, wrenching the air out of her in a yelp. She dangled in his hands, close enough to see the burly face with hair peeking out of the mask. 

Struggling, she was lifted off her feet, all her weight now supported by the strands growing on her head.

This is why I don’t like long hair!

She opened her watery eyes to see that her father had been shackled, now almost completely paralyzed. The struggle on his face was apparent  as he tried to move his limbs in their defense. They then stepped over Orson and approached her mother, still worriedly calling out for her. Asura caught the glimpse of a blade in their hand. 

“Mother! Stop!” She cried out, and reached out her hand, desperate to stop her mother’s murder. 

A warm trickle traveled down her hand from her chest, like a comforting swell of a song, and a translucent orb fluttered in front of her mother before disappearing. The assailant screamed in pain and a wet thud hit the bedpost before toppling to the floor, the dagger spinning away from it. The assassin jolted backwards, tripping over Orson and fell ass first into the floorboards, grunting in pain. 

“Asura!” Leila cried out, afraid that it was Asura who had fell.

In the chaos, the man holding Asura dropped her to the floor in surprise, and she stumbled on the hardwood floor toward the dagger.

“Papa!” she cried out, grabbing and running to the man bound except for his face.

She tripped on her nightgown, ripping the hem and falling. The dagger slid until it collided with Orson’s cheek, out of Asura’s reach. 

Orson took the blade handle in his mouth, and rolled his body as quickly as he could, sinking the dagger into the neck of the assassin that held his wrist in pain. The man shoved Orson away, but his strength left him as he bled out onto the floor. The action left Orson panting with effort, and Asura knew he didn’t have much left in him before he lost all mobility, if he hadn’t already.

One left.

She would have to figure out how to kill the man assessing them with a cold gaze. Asura and the man looked at each other, one with knees bent in an evasive stance, and the other towering over them with bloodlust. The fallen assassin gurgled his last breath, and Leila’s stressed panting were the only sounds in the silence surrounding them. 

Asura broke the tension first, dashing for the dagger in the neck of the deceased, but was again swept up in the arms of her oppressor. 

Dammit!

She seethed at the lack of agility her small body had as her arms were forced behind her roughly and was slammed into the floor stomach first. She winced with pain as her head collided with the grain of the wood. 

She heard him unsheathe a blade and a panic filled her. She closed her eyes and frantically tried to remember what it felt like to summon the same warmth that aided her mother.

I don’t want to die!

And with a surge of that warmth, her desperate plea echoing through her mind, she imagined herself shoving that power out of her.

The weight that she felt kneeling into her back was thrown off, and she opened her eyes to see herself surrounded by what looked like a soap bubble Nan conjured when she did the laundry. Pearlescent purple and shiny, the orb had thrown off the enemy with such force, he thudded on the ground behind her. 

Sitting up, she swiveled her head to locate him as the bubble dissipated too quickly for her liking. She crawled toward the dagger again, her father’s eyes contorted in a special sort of helpless pain as she was drug by her ankle back toward the man. Her mother Leila was silent on the bed, but her hand covered her mouth, stifling any sound she made. 

Gritting her teeth, she flipped over on her back with all her might and shoved her palms at him, willing the bubble to push him away. 

“That’s enough!” She yelled, her girlish scream loud in the room of scuffles. 

“Kegh!” The man made a sound like he was crushed, the bubble protruding from his chest, only half visible but completely formed. The man spat out blood through his mask, falling away from her, on his side. Silence again filled the room as the blood continued down his face. 

Asura was confused at the dark contents of the bubble and made to release the warmth. The dark matter thudded on the floor with a splash, just like the other assassin who had dropped his weapon. 

Pulling herself upright, her hair messily tangled around her head, she slowly turned the man over to see his chest.

Nausea made her stomach wobble in her throat at the sight. It was dark in the room, but she could still see the gaping crater in his chest, the perfect match to the large chunk of flesh on the floor at her feet. 

What in Goddess’s name?

She looked at her hands incredulously, and turned around to look at her father. Despite drool coming out of his mouth and his body unmoving, his eyes were on her, eyes widened.

Only then did she hear the small gasps of her Mother, still in a state of panic.

“It’s over, Mother. We’re safe.” She said, walking over to the other assassin by her father to make sure no breath still lingered in his lungs. She may have seen death everyday on the battlefield, but that didn’t make it any less gruesome to witness.

As she stepped over to her mother, her feet touched something cold and wet on the floor, and Asura was disgusted, as it felt like…

Fingers. The hand of the first slain assassin lay on the ground, half curled and cleanly cut. 

Asura again looked at her palms, both confused and in awe. 

I could definitely use this.

She clenched her fists in triumph, letting out a breath of air she didn’t know she was holding.