“Your grip is loose.”“Straighten your hips.”“Power comes from the legs.”“Stop slouching.”“Higher.”“Faster.”“Harder—”River’s face flushes with the strain of exercise after yielding and unyielding her sword repeatedly for the past several hours; her arms shudder with exhaustion, her muscles tensing like overplucked bow strings. The sun rests behind a thick layer of darkened clouds, autumn’s final breeze wallowing past her sweat-slick face, stirring stray strands of hair that slip from her loose ponytail.Hadrius watches her, his gaze sharper than the blade she wields. His countenance is a blank slate despite her numerous failures, offering no reaction each time she regurgitates a mistake - only humming in disapproval when she nearly twists her ankle while racing from one end to another.“Your feet, human,&rdqu

Fear.Hadrius knew that word well for it had always been something that creatures would live, swallow, breathe from one of his glances alone.Fear.He had cast it in people’s hearts, as a hot iron blade branded skin, so the warlord marked his presence with it. Scarcely had he ever felt such an emotion, and the mere thought of it felt foreign, distant- almost nonexistent.He thought he would never have to feel such a way again.But here. Now. Staring at his human, poised at the table with her fingertip sliced clean- the warlord finally feels the unfamiliar emotion surge through his veins like ice cold fire.“Human-” Hadrius’ voice cracks like chords tearing. His throat constricts with sound. There is blood. Bright blood spilling like a secret on the table, trickling down the cupboard, dripping onto the floor in puddles of poppy petals.Yet she does not notice the inflicted wound, her own incredulous eye

The warlord feels his body ache defiantly from the insistent and abrupt shifting. His bones feel like lead, muscles pulled taut like strings on a bow. Yet he cannot bring himself to relax, the rising anger in him only spewing magma through his veins and down his spine, out into the universe.He turns to the new mortal now hunched over in the corner, trembling like a leaf in the wind. Her nut-brown skin glows with beaded perspiration, smudges of bright blood from a group of people he did not remember slaughtering to find her, now blemishing her ruddy cheeks. Her wide, frightened eyes grow fixated on the warlord, then Cain, and finally River.Conflicting emotions braid her dark green eyes, perhaps calculating the distance of escape- or wondering if River is friend or foe.Hadrius grits his jaw harshly and crouches low to grab the discarded knapsack. He rips the flimsy material open and its contents fall and scatter onto the floor. “This is everything you nee

Hadrius was annoyed.Or hurt.River could not tell the difference as the warlord had spent the remainder of their final day together away from her. He could have been avoiding her and the mere thought of it sparks anger, if only dull, within. It does not linger for long, however, for she knows Hadrius has every right to react negatively.He had been expecting a different answer from her and the moment she denied him of it, his whole demeanour seemed to click airtight, shutting her out. He left with Cain to prepare the hellhounds and draw up the final plans as well as ensure the house was secure enough from the outside.River had wanted to leave as well, if not to wander, at least to help, but Hadrius had shot her one final pinning glance that ultimately had her slinking back to the kitchen with a scowl, lips puckering as though she had just sucked a sour berry.“How is your finger?” River glances up at the foreign sound - a raw, husky w

“Can you fight?”River glances up at the familiar voice, hoarse from endless weeping. Sumaya stands by the living room’s doorway, her hands wrenching tight by the front of her stained dress, face downcast, two paths of dried salt on either cheek. She peers at River apprehensively from beneath long dark lashes.River’s attention returns to the sword in her hand. To take her mind off things, she had placed a sharpening stone in the living room and began to sharpen her blade’s edges- back and forth, up and forth- the scraping sounds filling an unnerving silence in her mind and hollow chest.She smiles warily, “I don’t know,” Hadrius had trained her but not as much. Within ten or so sessions she could wield a sword yet she had neither killed nor battled with anyone beside the warlord.In comparison to her past, there is a sliver of confidence in her capabilities, however, as of now she would never truly know the