Golden

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve
Blake

            The soft wind caresses Blake’s cheeks and ruffles across his blond hair as he makes his way down the shore. The sand that crunches beneath his boots glisten from the endless stars that light it. He breathes a quiet sigh, purses his lips.

            The Unborns continue to train, happily going about their mock battle with exuberance and agility that Blake feels a sense of accomplishment towards. Occasionally, he passes the door to the training room, listening to their shouts of triumph and cries of defeat before starting their individual fights all over again. Only rarely does he slip into the room to observe them carefully, noticing the significant improvements in their stance, balance and sword handling. He will smile, observe them further, and then leave – only to end up here once more.

              What do I do, goddess? He asks, hoping in vain to hear a response; her smooth melody of a whisper that he can never seem to fully grasp the words she speaks.

            The sight of Penella’s statue crumbling and shattering to pieces nearly broke his heart entirely. The one being he had sworn to serve and protect with all his life is dying before his eyes, and there is not a single thing he can do about it.

            However there is not only sadness that lays deep in his chest. The fire of anger brews inside him as well, shouting, cursing the Warrior’s name for her omission. Lysandra had no right to keep such crucial information from him, no authority! She is simply Penella’s Warrior, nothing else.

            How dare she, a broken thought flits through his mind. How dare she do this to me!

            Yet, Blake knows he cannot stand and defy her. No, Lysandra knows this very well, and has decided to use her higher position to act as though she is his goddess and not Penella. Lysandra is no goddess – she is no deity. She is merely human – she is nothing.

            He kicks at the sand, watching it with furious eyes as it falls back down. He had never liked Lysandra. She is always giving orders, always pushing him as well as the other Agents around. She constantly acts as though she is better than the rest, more skilled, more knowledgeable.

            Taking into account her words when she told him the truth about Penella, he notices now that Lysandra had seemed to think that Blake tends to worry – to let his nerves overwhelm him. A short smirk pulls at his lips as he replays her words and expressions in his mind. Perhaps, if need be, he could use it to his advantage.

            Looking over his shoulder at the collapsed ruin that is Penella’s Hall, he ponders whether or not he should return to the Unborns and continue observing them. The show they put on is always an amusement to watch; not because of their lack of skill, but rather how they seem to greatly enjoy their training.

            Despite his immense dislike towards her, Blake has to admit that the Warrior knows exactly how to perform in battle, including training others.

          Making his way across the many fields of grass, Blake trudges through the long, green blades. However his movements slow to a stop when a green glow catches his eye.

            Puzzled, he cautiously moves to the glowing area and then stares quizzically at the bright, green orb that is nestled in the grass. His eyebrows pull together at the unfamiliar sight; noticing the similarity to the white orbs that are used to transport out of Valsea.

            Carefully, he picks it up to examine the strange object. There is a slight crack in the sphere, which peaks his interest. Out of complete, incautious, overwhelming curiosity, Blake traces the cracked line with his finger.