430- Blood and Oath
POV Thalyndra Moonclaw:
I stared at the pool of blood a few feet away and breathed in, flaring my nostrils. His scent was the strongest in the room, but I could detect traces of others mixed into it, along with the one that belonged to my mother. They had fought. They hadn't surrendered without resistance.
At some point, when he sensed the danger coming, he had time to set the clock to the code only I would understand. To anyone else, just an old broken object with no meaning whatsoever — but not to me.
I crawled toward the blood, leaned in, and inhaled, confirming what I already knew. It was theirs. The blood of my parents.
I closed my hands into fists. Claws emerged where my nails had been, and I dragged them across the floor, scoring the wooden boards.
I pressed my fingertips into the cold pool, staining my skin with what remained of those I had loved so deeply.
I threw my face upward and released another cry of pain into the air.
My body shuddered as a wave of rage slammed into me. Pure, throbbing hatred.
"When I am no longer here, pack your things and leave. Blend in with the humans, live a normal life. There is enough money in an account for you to live well for the rest of your days. If you don't want that, you can join the Moonclaws — my brother, your uncle, will be waiting for you with open arms. There is also Edric, my old friend, who won't hesitate to take you in. He is strong, honorable, and carries excellent values — an exemplary leader. But please, don't get involved with these people. Stay off their radar. Never try to avenge anything they may have done to me. Promise me!" His deep voice struck me again, pulling me back through memories of childhood and adolescence — through all the times we had those unbearable conversations about a future in which he would no longer be present.
There had been so many of those conversations over the years, so many that I couldn't even begin to count them or remember everything he had said. But there was one thing I remembered very clearly.
In none of them had I ever promised what I knew I would not be able to keep.
"Promise me, Thalyndra! Please, just promise me!"
He never got an answer. And deep down, he knew I could never promise something I refused to do. That was why he had spent the years that followed trying to steer me toward the Eldorias — to keep me safe.
I rubbed my hands through the blood, crying, screaming, trying to hold back the pain, the reality that struck me harder with every second that passed.
Alone. I was completely alone. My parents were dead. There was no one left for me. No one.
I kept rubbing the blood, as though that small remnant of them could console me — as though I could cover myself in it and feel a little less... alone.
For all the conversations, all the times he had tried to prepare me for this moment, nothing had seemed to be enough. And it wasn't.
I slammed my palms against the floor, sending blood spattering in every direction.
"What about our family dinner?" I screamed, sobbing. "You had no right — you couldn't do this to me..." The tears blended with the scarlet droplets on my face. "You couldn't... you couldn't... you couldn't..." I repeated the words until my voice gave out.
I sat back on my heels, still paralyzed, emptied of all reaction. What would I do? How would I ever move forward?
I ran a hand through my hair, pulling back the strands plastered to my face. I unfolded my legs and lay down on my side on the floor, breathing in the scent of their blood.
I didn't care what plans my parents had made for me. I would follow the path I had chosen. Not to live in peace, free and happy the way they had planned. I would take revenge for them, for myself. Or die trying.
There was no happiness left in my life. Not without them.
They had been perfect. Warm, devoted, loving. Over the years, I had known classmates who also had parents like mine, just as I had known others who suffered with theirs — through indifference, lack of love, or simply because their parents were too consumed by work and had forgotten their children existed.
My mother was somewhat careless at times, but she never stopped being a good mother. My father, though his work was his great love and his research his favorite pastime, never stopped being present in my life. Whether it was some ridiculous school performance or helping me through a difficult subject, taking me to play at the park, teaching me to ride a bike and later to drive a car — in every moment, he wanted to be a memory, to be part of them.
I had known he was getting older and that his time was drawing closer to its end. But I had never truly allowed myself to sit with that possibility. I rejected it with everything I had — after all, he still had a few decades left.
I couldn't say how much time had passed. Seconds, minutes, maybe hours.
Another sob shook my body, and my breath made bubbles in the pool of blood.
"I don't know how to go on without you," I whispered, a single tear sliding from the corner of my eye and dropping to the floor. "Despite everything you taught me, I don't feel ready. We should be getting dressed for dinner right now, or reading one of the books, going over the history of some new object together." My voice was barely a murmur.
I shifted slightly, feeling the dagger I always carried strapped to my back digging into my skin. I let out a sigh, sat up, pulled it free, and held it in my hand.
It was a gift from my father.