Chapter Three: From Orphan to Businessman

From Damien’s Perspective:

I sit at my desk reading a book about medicinal ingredients. I usually have a hard time sleeping so this is how I get myself to relax. It’s not especially interesting, per say, however my entire business is built off the topic, and I prefer to keep myself well-educated on the matters involved. I switch focus between what I’m reading to getting lost in my thoughts about an upcoming organized event being hosted that I must attend. I despise these aspects of the business world. I dislike the arrogant attitudes of the highborns, nobles, and high-class citizens that somehow have the impression they are better than everyone else because they were born inheriting these things. It’s annoying because I worked myself to the bone to earn the place where I am now; I was not born into it.

As I’m getting lost in thought, I hear the smallest creak from my doorway. I’m not especially suspicious of the sound at first since I only have a few guards that were suggested by a potential business partner and it’s much too late for any guests to be here, not that I have guests at any time. As I look towards the sound, I see the faintest pass of a dark shadow and feel a pricking sensation on the back of my neck. I suddenly feel like I am in danger and about to die. I throw and arm up to defend myself even though I can’t tell where the shadow is anymore. As I begin to put weight on my feet to stand up and fight, I’m suddenly tipping backwards in my chair, arms flailing to the side instinctively to break my fall, but I land softly. I’m so disoriented and confused as to what’s happening and before I can even try to get up, someone is on top of me and pinning me down with something cold pressed to my throat that I can only assume is a blade.

I look up at my captor, assessing them. They are slender and curvy with the frame of a woman. Their eyes are a piercing green and make me feel like my every move and expression are under scrutiny and being assessed. I don’t feel afraid for some reason, I know I should, but all I can think about was the way my parents were murdered, and I feel angry and indignant. I am NOT going to die this way. Dying this way, of all ways… That’s bullshit! I narrow my gray eyes, continuing to meet this woman assassin’s green ones. I don’t know why she hasn’t killed me yet; she is clearly fast enough and capable enough. Before I think any better of it, the words are already falling out of my mouth in a deadpan tone, “are you here to kill me? Or are you here to fuck me?”

I immediately berate myself internally for saying such a sarcastic thing when this woman can literally kill me with one swipe of her hand, but my mental self-depreciation is forgotten when I see her eyes widen. They widen subtly, the corners wrinkle slightly, and there’s a glint of… amusement? She looks incredulous but I think she’s SMILING under that mask. I’m about to say some other sarcastic quip along the lines of, “I’m not into role play” but before the words our out, her weight is just GONE. Vanished. I didn’t even see, hear, or feel her get off me. I prop myself up to a sitting position, my eyes scan my room but… it’s empty. She just disappeared. Why didn’t she kill me? Who even sent her after me? Maybe a business competitor? As I rack my brain in the silence of my room, my mind drifts back to my childhood.

I grew up in a modest household, born to a farmer father and a seamstress mother. We weren’t too poor, but we were far from rich. Most days we had food on the table except the occasional harsh summers that did not provide enough crops to make it through winter. I learned work ethics at a young age, always doing my part for the family by helping on the farm and helping with chores around the house. It was a happy life, even if it was a struggle at times, I was happy and my parents were happy. That changed in the blink of an eye when I was twelve years old for a reason I still don’t understand to this day. It happened on a warm summer’s night. An assassin had broken in and murdered my parents. I was awoken by the sound of a lantern smashing to the floor from my parents’ bedroom. As I approach, I see the shape of a tall muscular man with a dark cloak pulling up his hood as he made his retreat. I don’t make a sound, lest he turn his attention to me, as I slowly and silently pad to my parents’ room. The sight I saw is what already has, and what will haunt my slumbering hours for the rest of my life.

The first thing I noticed were the dark pools of color across the sheets, illuminated by the moonlight trickling in from the window. Blood. There was blood EVERYWHERE. I withdrew the sheets with trembling hands and fell to my knees in despair when my father’s severed head rolls from the bed with the disruption of the sheets, making a loud thud. My hands hover over his cheeks, shaking with waves of tears and hiccupped sobs. My eyes trace over his features as if there was any possible hope, this wasn’t real. He looked peaceful at least, murdered without even waking up I suspect. His neck is severed cleanly as if by the sharp edge of a sword swung with great force. The sliced ends of tendons, muscles, and spine are expertly cut as if they were nothing more than butter. I got up from my knees to see my mother. Maybe she hadn’t been harmed? Oh, but she had… By the looks of her expression, eyes wide and mouth locked in a permanent scream, frozen in place by the kiss of death, she was awake and had seen what happened to my father.

I didn’t know what I needed to do but I knew I couldn’t stay there for another moment, so I left. I wandered aimlessly down the road for the rest of the night and well into the next day in a state of shock and disbelief. Most horsedrawn carriages bypassed me without caring but one with a friendly looking couple steering stopped to ask if I was okay. I just shook my head wordlessly to say that, no, I most certainly was not okay. They asked if I needed a ride into town, so I just got in their wagon, not really sure what I should do. I didn’t speak at all the entire ride despite the couple’s best efforts to find out who my parents were and where they were so they could take me home. Instead, they dropped me off at an orphanage, assuming the worst from what I hadn’t said. They went in with me and explained that I wasn’t speaking and how they had found me. The orphanage agreed to take me.

Life in the orphanage wasn’t horrible, but I wasn’t interested on playing with the other kids. By the middle of my teenage years, I was exceptionally curious about everything around me in the world. I enjoyed mechanical concepts, nature, and the most exciting for me was different reactions between elements. By the age of twenty, I had developed a formula for a medication that was considered a “cure-all” purely by coincidence. That is what initially brought me to fame and fortune. I continued to refine and develop more formulas which supported my rise and became the foundation of my business.

I brush my hand through my hair with frustration. What am I supposed to do now when there’s an assassin who knows where I am and could have most certainly killed me? But… she HADN’T killed me. Why was that? Will she come back to finish the job later? I have so many unanswered questions about this mysterious assassin.

I spent the next week preparing for the formal event while also gathering what I could about assassins that were known. None of the information told me anything. I got a few well-known female assassin names. The number one was Phantom Reaper, second was Blade of Bracken (named after this city, Bracken’s Rock), and third was simply Death. Not very original, that one. By evening, it’s time for me to attend this despicable gala to network and attempt to secure funding for my next research project. I dress sharply in a black tuxedo, my white dress shirt is crisp, and I wear a neatly knotted black tie. My hair is usually always a little messy and I’m not about to change that now. I look ridiculous when it’s all combed up. I immediately make my way to the bar, resolute to get tipsy enough to deal with the pompous, arrogant, high-class asshats. I lean against the counter at the bar, flag down the bartender, order a whiskey, then wait with my hands stuffed in my pockets while my eyes scan the crowd. I do a double take when my eyes catch on the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.

She wears a gorgeous yet modest red dress that hugs her curves just right. Her hair is as white as the winter’s snow with milky, pale skin that looks as soft as Vicuña wool and as smooth as ice on steel. Her smile hits me like sunlight through stained-glass, warm and impossibly radiant against the dull chatter and cold elegance of the room. I turn away shyly when she faces my direction, the backs of my ears feeling a little warm. The bartender hands me my whiskey and I take a sip to work up the courage to approach that goddess. I’m not usually one to go flirt around with women, they usually flock to me but I’ve never seen someone so stunning. I finally approached her, steeling my will to make it all the way despite feeling like I want to run instead. I extend my hand to her in greeting as I introduce myself. “Hello. My name is Damien. Damien Englewood.” I meet her piercing green eyes that seem to suck me in. There’s something that feels almost familiar about them. “Tessa. Just Tessa.” She responds, flashing me a sweet, straight, white, dimpled smile that takes the breath right out of my lungs.