ASH POV
We climbed onto our horses, the leather creaking softly under our weight, the animals shifting restlessly, sensing the change in the air. Nyxara's expression grew distant, her gaze drifting towards the darkening sky, a veil of memories descending upon her.
"They say the wind carries whispers of the past," Nyxara began, her voice low, barely audible above the rhythmic clip-clop of the horses' hooves. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting long, distorted shadows that danced among the trees, turning the familiar forest into a realm of shifting phantoms. "And mine… mine are carried on a storm of broken memories, a tempest of what was, and what could have been."
"I don't know who my parents were," she continued, her silver eyes fixed on the path ahead, her voice tinged with a faint, almost imperceptible sadness.
"I was found, a babe, abandoned in the heart of the Whispering Woods, swaddled in rags, left to the mercy of the wild. No name, no lineage, no history, just… me. A blank slate. The forest was my cradle, the wind my lullaby, the rustling leaves my first teachers.
"I was taken in by the elves, a hidden community deep within the ancient trees, a sanctuary of light and shadow, of ancient wisdom and quiet strength. They saw something in me, a spark of resilience, a flicker of shadow, a potential they believed worth nurturing. They raised me as one of their own, taught me their ways, their language, their magic, their intricate dance with the natural world.
"The elves were guardians of the forest, weavers of light and shadow, keepers of ancient secrets, protectors of the delicate balance that sustained all life. They lived in harmony with nature, their lives intertwined with the rhythm of the seasons, their hearts attuned to the whispers of the wind, the murmur of the streams, the silent language of the trees. They taught me to respect the balance of the world, to find strength in the whispers of the wind, to see beauty in the darkness, to understand the interconnectedness of all living things.
"They also taught me to fight, not with the brutal efficiency of a soldier, but with the fluid grace of the forest, the swiftness of the wind, the precision of the hunter. They honed my instincts, sharpened my senses, transformed me into a warrior of the wilds, a shadow that moved unseen, a blade that struck true. From a very young age, I was trained in the arts of stealth, archery, and the manipulation of shadows, learning to weave darkness into a weapon, to become a whisper in the night. I was their shadow child, their hidden protector, their silent guardian. They loved me despite my strange ability, despite the darkness that flickered within me, a darkness they saw as a potential strength, a tool to be wielded in the defense of their home.
"I was happy with them, I was home. Even without knowing where I came from, I had a family, a community, a sense of belonging. I was loved, cherished, accepted. Then, the darkness came. An army, clad in black armor, their faces hidden behind cruel masks, their eyes burning with a cold, merciless light, descended upon our hidden village, shattering our peace, extinguishing our light. They were ruthless, efficient, their swords stained with the blood of innocents, their hearts filled with a dark, insatiable hunger. I fought alongside my elven kin, but we were outnumbered, outmatched, our magic no match for their brute force. They were soldiers of Zaroth, their eyes filled with a cold, malevolent light, their movements driven by a dark, unwavering purpose.
"I watched as my home was destroyed, my family slaughtered, their cries of anguish echoing through the burning forest. The screams of the dying, the crackling of flames, the stench of blood… it's all etched into my memory, a nightmare that replays every night, a haunting reminder of my failure, my helplessness. I was just a child, barely fourteen, yet I witnessed the horrors of war, the brutality of evil, the utter destruction of everything I held dear.
"I was the only survivor, a shadow left behind in the ashes of my home, a ghost haunting the ruins of my past. I was lost, adrift, consumed by grief and rage, my heart a burning ember of vengeance. I vowed to avenge my elven kin, to make those responsible pay for their crimes, to bring Zaroth to his knees.
"I wandered for days, my body weak, my spirit broken, my soul a wasteland of despair, until I stumbled upon Zaroth's fortress, a dark monolith rising from the desolate landscape, a symbol of his power, a beacon of my hatred. He saw my pain, my anger, my thirst for vengeance, and he saw an opportunity, a weapon to be forged in the fires of my grief. He offered me a chance to channel my rage, to become his instrument of retribution, his blade in the shadows.
"He told me stories of injustice, of the corruption that plagued the land, of the need for a new order, a world cleansed by fire and steel. He painted himself as a savior, a liberator, a force for change, a beacon of hope in a world consumed by darkness. I was young, naive, desperate for purpose, eager to believe in something, anything, that could give meaning to my pain. I believed his lies, his seductive promises of power and control, his twisted vision of a better world.
"He trained me, honed my skills, transformed me into a deadly weapon, a shadow that moved unseen, a blade that struck without warning. I became his assassin, his shadow, his instrument of death, a tool to be used and discarded. I carried out his orders, eliminating his enemies, silencing his opposition, becoming a ghost in the night, a whisper of fear. I was ruthless, efficient, driven by a burning desire for revenge, a thirst for blood that consumed me from the inside out.
"I killed for him, believing that I was serving a greater purpose, that I was avenging my elven family, that I was bringing justice to a world consumed by darkness. I was a puppet, dancing to his tune, blinded by my rage, deafened by my grief, a pawn in his game of power.
"Then, I learned the truth. A captured soldier, his eyes filled with fear, his voice trembling with terror, whispered a name: Zaroth. He spoke of the orders, the massacre, the destruction of the elven village, the burning of my home. Zaroth had orchestrated it all, the destruction of my home, the murder of my family, the betrayal of my trust. He had used me, manipulated me, turned me into a weapon against my own people, a tool to extinguish the very light I had sworn to protect.
"The realization hit me like a physical blow, a crushing weight that stole my breath, a searing pain that ripped through my soul. I had become the very thing I swore to destroy, a tool of the man who had murdered my family, a weapon in the hands of the very darkness I sought to vanquish. The rage that had fueled me for so long turned into a cold, burning hatred, a desire for vengeance that consumed my every thought, a thirst for retribution that would not be quenched.
"And now, Ash," she said, turning her gaze towards me, her silver eyes filled with a quiet intensity, a flicker of hope amidst the shadows.
"Now, I stand beside you, not as a puppet of Zaroth, but as a companion, a friend, an ally. I fight for the balance, for the freedom of all beings, for a future where the shadows no longer hold sway, where the darkness is banished, where the light prevails. Because I know what it is to have everything taken from you, to lose everything you hold dear. And I will not allow anyone else to suffer that fate, to endure the pain I have known."
The silence that followed was heavy, filled with the weight of Nyxara's confession, the echoes of her pain, the whispers of her resolve. The sun had disappeared below the horizon, and the moon cast an ethereal glow over the forest, turning the trees into silver sentinels, the shadows into dancing specters. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying the echoes of her story, a tale of loss and vengeance, of betrayal and redemption, a testament to the enduring power of the human spirit.
"Thank you, Nyxara," I said, my voice soft, filled with a newfound respect, a deep understanding that transcended words. "For sharing your story. I understand now."
Nyxara nodded, her expression softening slightly, a flicker of warmth in her silver eyes. "We all have our scars, Ash. What matters is how we heal them, how we learn from them, how we use them to become stronger, to become better. Ash, i think it is time you read the letter your master gave you".
"Yes. I guess"
I placed my hand into the bag and read out loud.