Shadow of the Abyss

Chapter 2: Den of Lions

The Reverd Mother

Altair had heard the name before but hadn't understood its importance. Nor did he particularly care to. Outside of spding time with his mother, the only thing that brought him some semblance of joy was fiddling with the sword his mother had gifted him on his fourth birthday. A gift he'd cared for and maintained each night. There had not be a single moon.

Altair hadn't greased, oiled, cleaned, and waxed his blade until it shimmered perfection like the day his mother gifted it.

"Let us begin. Awakers!" The Master of Swords, Veltos Aberis, shouted. "Remain where you are. Unawakers fifty laps a the courtyard and one hundred vertical strokes! Get moving."

Hearing the command for the Unawaked, Altair, alongside those less than t years, broke formation. To be an Awaker required one to be at the tder age of T, where they'd unlock a unique skill that would grant supernatural power. It was a skill that decided their tire future. Those that couldn't awak would forever remain unawaked, falling to the ranks of slaves if they were so lucky.

"Pick up the pace!" Veltos barked commandingly, reaching for the whipped stashed beath the scarlet half-cloak. He unhooked it from its harness, allowing its slder jet-black tail to fall.

Sweat gathered over the young childr's slder bodies that slowly began laboring beath the sun's glare. They ran for fear that jogging would not suffice. A the square, they hurried along, their faces flushed red as they pushed, over and over and over... and over. None dared to stop or slow.

At the forefront, Altair's breath seemed smooth, carrying an elongated rhythm as the lead, his worn body squealing for rest with each step. Heat scorched his lungs as he proceeded forth, slowly beginning to lap the others.

A gesture that did not fit too favorably with many of the unawaked. But Altair didn't mind, nor did he care. Everyone hated him anyway. He did not carry the name Aros, nor was he a servant, much less a slave, that carried their crest. At least slaves held the faint hope of being free beath the booth of their masters one day, becoming servants should they play their cards right.

But Altair, as a guest, held no such fate.

"Come on, Sky." Terance, a young serving boy shouted, glancing back at a girl, a short, stocky thing littered with freckles. Her auburn hair was wet against her sun-kissed skin, desperately gasping for air. "We've got to catch up. We can't lose to an outsider."

Skylar, or Sky as many of her frids called her, nodded, wanting to push past the agonizing heat gathering in her chest. She could feel the scorching flames of the sun's kiss, the pangs of heat stretching from her calve running up her thigh to the throbbing pulse swelling within her skull. She groaned.

"I can't."

"You can!" Terrance shouted, pulling at her hand as if to help. "Last time, we laid in bed for an tire week because of the Master of Swords whip. A week, Sky! If we want to awak the sword proficicy skill, we can't miss a single day! We can't fall behind. If we want to gain this skill by fifte, we must push!

Come On!"

Through the corner of his eyes, Altair glanced at them siltly, wanting to offer some... words of couragemt. But... he held himself back, having learned the consequce of words earlier this year with a young slave girl he'd tak a liking to. Pain... torturous pain tore at his heart as he recalled her fate.

I've se better technique from a bloody whore!"

From a distance, Altair listed. He had always be curious about the Awaked. Some could conjure flames, others lightning, and some could fly or walk on water. Ev if they wer't training their awaked abilities today, he found the Aros Sword Technique: The Scarlet Blade fascinating. It was only a shame he couldn't learn it as an outsider.

Nevertheless, that did little to stop him from gleaming insight ever since the death of the slave girl, Tessa. Altair had begun to study those a him. He never wanted to d up that way. Beat to a point where all that was left was scraps of meat.

'I don't want to die like that,' he promised himself beath his breath for his ears only. Over and over, he said those words as if they were his mantra.

His blade whirled through the air, slowly amassing a greater force with each downward arc. By the thirtieth swing, sweat had drched Altair's uniform, sticking to his skin as though it were a leach. But he didn't stop. Not until—

"Altair!" Shouted the Master of Swords. "To me!"

Surprise caught the young Altair, but it quickly faded.

He approached.

"This is your second ? Punishmt?" Veltos knowingly asked. It was the only explanation as to why he was here.

"Yes, Sir." Answered Altair.

"Th you will pass on conditioning training today. We are sparring."

Altair's large, beady eyes rose. "We, Sir?"

The Master of Swords grinned wolfishly and swung to the young Awakers. "Yes. Today, you'll be sparring with them. Problem?"

He sneered. " None, Sir."

'Th let us see what you can do. In this d of lions. You must be strong, boy.' Veltos thought somewhat hopefully and nodded. "Good. Laros, you're up against Altair. Don't embarrass yourself.

Your oppont is not ev awaked yet. I'll not hear excuses less you and your Father die of shame."