Scars and Burns (No Light Without the Dark #1)

3. Aeron

3

Aeron

I can’t even recall how many raids I have been on. My Father, King Perseus, ruler of the Shadowlands forces me to attend every raid he makes now. They are all the same. Peasants caught off guard when blue flames envelop them. Burning their homes, crops, and what few possessions they have. They never stand a chance against us. Our black shadow magic feeds on their fears. As it infests their minds. Piercing the depths of their souls. Twisting their unconscious into the very image of fear and dread.

Even for those in our realm that do not have magic, when we fight we are merciless. Intent on killing, not just wounding to get what we want. Those that do survive the raids at the end are taken back for training. To either be killed during practice or hone our torturing skills. Precision is key to inflict the most pain and not accidentally hit a major vessel. Ensuring they are alive until we deem otherwise.

I may be nine but my skills are already quite fatal. Trained to kill since birth. Seeing the color of crimson everyday since I can remember. And once I discovered I had magic my training intensified. Death and I are old friends. Not a day has gone by since I was five years of age that I have not witnessed someone being killed or done the killing myself. My heart and mind were hardened into stone. Consumed with the fire inside of me. An inferno that never rests.

This raid is no different. Plundering and murdering.

Just another day.

Until I saw her.

The woman’s white hair caught my eye as I looked up from the kill I just made.

A random peasant was wounded by another soldier and I am left with the task to finish the job. That’s my current role on the raids. My Father, not wanting to risk his heir in the heat of a battle has me stay with him, until it is time for me to start killing. As the other soldiers of our army make the initial assault. I follow behind. Killing anyone who is already going to die from their wounds.

They are fleeing from a burning home. The woman is dragging her along into the woods. They are covered in blood though neither of them seem to be wounded. I suppose it could be a sibling’s or the Father’s. But it’s not the blood that stops me. It’s the girl. Her hair is as black as night. Why would someone from the Celestial Realm have black hair? How does someone from the Celestial Realm have black hair?

Unless she’s mixed blooded. That would explain her copper coloring.

Interesting.

Mixed blooded Faes are rare. Looked down upon in every realm. Usually discarded before birth. The result of a man’s pleasure and lack of restraint.

And yet, this one has lived and is being saved.

But it’s not just her hair that’s intriguing. Her eyes are the most beautiful ones I’ve ever looked into. Countless kills and I’ve looked into the eyes of every single one of them. They all always look the same. Fearful, vengeful, and in disbelief that one so young could steal the light from their soul.

Her eyes though. They are the most extraordinary color of purple. The shade matching a species of flower to flourish in the Shadowlands. The black dahlia. And just for a moment I see the spark of blue. A blue as pure as the river that flows through the mountains and I’m sure up close just as cold.

I let them flee. It would have been easy to catch them. But for some reason I can’t explain. I chose not to take their souls as my own.