Part 2 ~

"Nathaniel?" I ask, shocked I was alive.

"Hey," he says, setting me down on the pathway. "Be more careful next time, okay?"

Nathaniel is a dwarf, quite literally, and so upon my standing up on shaky legs, I tower over him. Gentle, sweet wind plays with my hair, tossing it about like a plaything. I blow it off and give a small smile.

"Yes, my father," I mock, laughing, met with a blank stare. "Forget that. Why are you here?"

By the sudden dark gloom upon Nathaniel's face, I know it is serious. Deadly, perhaps - which would not be surprising under our current circumstances.

"Have you not heard? Lasvius has ordered the public branding of a Johnson kid," Nathaniel spits in fury. "An innocent child!"

I glance around and drag him by the arms onto the road away from windows. "My grandmother would never permit me to leave for a branding, you know that."

Being a flaming teen with a fountain of determination, my friend stares me hard in the eye and grabs my frail fingers. "Zentra, eres fuego. ¡Deja tus miedos!"

Nathaniel gives his rare smile and drags me on. I process his words, being Zentra, you are fire. Leave your fears! in Spanish, as I have been teaching him, being my second language. He is right, in so many ways, but I am just lost as to where to start. If I could not prevent my family's demise, how can I dare watch another's?

Pushing memories aside, I race after his small form, tripping on my own feet, skirt flapping against my bare legs.

"Nathaniel, hold up!"

He pauses, laughing momentarily before turning serious. "Are you sure you can handle this?"

"I have no choice, I am fuego, remember?" I say, sighing.

"Fires can be put out with water, and the Elites I swear are ninety percent water, Zentra. Just be careful, you have a hard past," Nathaniel says, dark brown eyes saddened.

"We might see Kiralla," I whisper, ignoring him.

Kiralla Zzdrit was a dear friend of mine, a drow shrouded in beauty and mystery. Even after being her friend since my birth, I still have yet to read all her odd expressions. Time will permit, I suppose.

"Possibly. Let's hurry before we miss it," Nathaniel says, grabbing my wrist.

We push through a gathered crowd of Elves, Humans, Dwarves, and mixed races, crying, shouting, and whispering among one another. I bite my lip, trying to avoid the noises to get in my head. Noise, noise... I cannot handle it, a slight spasm shaking through my body as we push closer to the wooden punishment stand.

"Zentra, it will be okay, don't focus on their voices," Nathaniel says, knowing my spasms too well. "Just imagine the rain dripping off of your window pane as you stared out into the starry sky. Do it for me, for you, okay?"

I swallow my fear away and nod, my face contorted into a tight, pained expression.

"Okay..."

"My friends, children, gather around for castigo of a civilian threat to you all!" A younger looking man with pointed ears calls, beckoning to the terrified and agitated crowd with a smile. "I hate to do this, but there is a traitor among you. Miss Chelsea Johnson, step forward to receive the branding of a coward."

A woman, a mere child compared to Elves, steps forward proudly, spinning to face the company. Black hair draped her pale face, making her appear a living vampire. She smiled at a few, then turned to the hated Elite leader, Lasvius.

"I fear nothing," she growled, stepping toward the branding, her fate. "Branding me will only create an uprising, Lasvius. Do not be a fool. Ah wait, you already are!"

The man mutters under his breath, frowning in frustration, his wrinkles standing out further.

"We will see what you say afterward, young one. You had so much potential! To waste it starting a revolt against your guardians. You are the fool, having broken the law. I will have no part in your punishment, it disgusts me to look upon your face, Miss Johnson."

With all spoken, the pure blood turns suddenly and walks off the platform, glancing at his associate to carry out the job.

"Begone!" Lasvius cries before disappearing into the crowd.

I cough, trying to get Nathaniel's attention, but his eyes are on the unfolding, disgusting event. With a sharp stab to his stout ribs, he glances at me, eyes softening with concern.

"We shouldn't be here," I whisper. "We cannot just let her suffer! You know what happens to the branded, Nathaniel."

"Fire, fire, fire, Zentra. Be the fire, then tell me what you think," he says, turning away.

I bring my eyes to the young woman who now sits sane in the branding seat. With head held high, Miss Johnson crackles, fearless.

"You can never stop me!" She cries, stopping suddenly as a man similar in looks steps forward. "Samuel? How dare you come back?"

"How could I miss your banishment, sister?" The sleek black haired man says, side glancing at the crowd with a menicing laugh. "I have decided a different fate for you."

The crowd gasps and multiple people try to break through but are held back by minor Elites. Chelsea, so composed only moments before, breaks, eyes wide and mouth ajar.

"You cannot be serious, brother?" Her voice comes out in a feared whisper. "You... You would never do that, would you?"

"Oh, the pleasure it will bring me! And the honor, Chelsea. Lasvius will be nothing when I finish here. You will be worth not a scrap, I am proud to say."

With a skilled arm, Chelsea jumps forward and tackles her brother - her twin, I assume - and slaps him across the face. With this, a small riot breaks through the minor Elites, including a young girl I recognize from school. A senior with cropped blonde hair and bright green eyes, usually quite an introvert. I am shocked to see her stepping forward, shoving down an Elite and making way to the platform. Nathaniel grabs my arm and backs away with about half the crowd, avoiding the fight.

"We have to get away from here. Now," he harshly says.

Screams break out, and numerous people fall to the ground in fist fights. I look up before Nathaniel drags me out of the polished courtyard gate to catch the ill-disposed Elite, Samuel Johnson, dragging his sister into a van. Within seconds, the crowd upon the platform gets so thick with violence I lose sight of everything as Nathaniel and I rush back to my house. 

~ ~ ~

@Danie, since you said you were okay with your charrie being a guy, I changed the name to Nathaniel since that was similar to Natalie. Is that an okay name?

I hope you guys all like this! 

Excellent so far! :)

I really liked the First Part! 

Also, I know my charrie is an elf Elite, but I think that she'd be the type of charrie to realise what she's doing is wrong and then change, being called a traitor from the other side. I'm not saying you have to do that, I'm just saying that that's what she's like, so if you want her to be like that, it's cool. Okay, anyway, keep writing amazing parts! You're very talented. ^^ 

Heya Ashlee! It looks great so far!

I did want to point out something I said in Lasvius's sheet, though: "Stories of mixed creatures' abuse disgust him, and he has certainly been seen speaking out against that."

Considering that, would he really have ordered a public branding? Or was it not him? Or did you change that bit? (either way it's fine, I just wanted to make sure you hadn't missed it!)

Looking forward to the next part!

(Sorry that it has taken a few days, I have been working to gather my thoughts for the story!)

Part 3

The wind tugs at my long, dark hair as it does my heart to save that young woman from an unbearable fate. What did the Elite mean by a "different fate"? How did a woman so composed and fearless seconds before trembling at the words of her relative?

I am drawn out of my thoughts as Nathaniel holds his hand out to stop me. "Shhh! Your grandma is-"

"Perder Zentra Stein! Ven aquí!" She cries, spitting furious Spanish, trembling hand pointed straight at me.

My face drops, and I bow my head, submitting. "Yes, grandmother?"

Nathaniel glares at the Elvish woman with frustration, ready to step in.

"You went to that branding. The event was all over the T.V, Zentra. You want to end up dying or being kidnapped, be my guest. I am just here to make sure you succeed as a proper woman, Miss Stein. And you," she says, turning to Nathaniel, unmoving. "You are to keep away from my granddaughter if it means she is to be attending foolish brandings. Understood?"

Upon this rant, Nathaniel gives a sly smile, eyebrows scrunched in his usual manner. Then he lets out four years of frustration upon my grandmother, "Who are you to say what I can and cannot do? I have been Zentra's friend for longer than you have been an adequate grandmother! Because look around, you have done nothing for her. She fends for herself, she raises herself, teaches herself, and grows with only the support of her friends. Kiralla and I give her the world, you give her nothing."

I bite my lip, watching the two pairs of dark, intriguing eyes staring one another down. This is something I will always respect about my grandmother and Nathaniel, both have the heart of lions. They will stand to what they believe, even if it means negative consequences. Just like… Just like mother. She had a heart of fire and would do anything to keep us safe. I push the memory away, seeking shelter in the safe sunlight’s rays.

At last, my grandmother’s eyes break contact, and for a millisecond I catch pain in her expression before it is replaced with frustration.

“She needs a family, and I am all Zentra has,” my grandmother musters before turning away. “You and Kiralla may be her friends, but a friendship will end with darkness. I shall always be there. I-I might not be the best, but I love my granddaughter through the darkness.”
With this, she slips into the house once again, and my ears seem to catch a I love you within her hidden voice. I glance at Nathaniel to see he has caught it too. After the mess, I throw myself on the rocky garden bed, hand resting dead upon my limp, cold hands. Nathaniel begins whistling a tune, knowing now is not the time to interrupt.

“She’s right, you know?”

I shoot my head up, looking around frantically. That voice, I know it well - soft like butter, yet sharpened with wisdom - Kiralla.

Short, white pixie-cut hair, dark gray skin tone, and lavender eyes - a drow, and quite a young one at that. Kiralla is the kind of woman who all boys turn their heads and watch, and yet they cannot figure out why. Her voice itself is captivating and mysterious, drawing you in like a siren’s song. While she is precisely 153 years old - or middle aged for an elf - she is one of my closest friends alongside Nathaniel. We met two years ago during a volunteer mission after an awful tornado hit a Kansas community. We live states away, yet I begged my grandmother to let me help, and at least she agreed, saying it would “build character”. It was during this time I continuously saw a drow hidden among the trees, the shade blending with her toned skin perfectly. Always watching, silent. As the weather peaked 110 degrees that day, I finally had gone over and offered the cat-like girl water. Kiralla, at the time, already knew about my entire family. She’d been watching me since I started the volunteer work in Kansas, and even admitted to reading my journals about home while I slept.

It was this awkward, silent moment that we became best friends. I’ve been warned continuously: do not talk or help anyone who stalks you, yet I knew Kiralla was different. It is at this moment, my hands still propping up my head, that I remember our first meeting.

“How long have you been here?” I croak, tired with fighting my sadness.

“Long enough for time to permit me to hear all,” she whispers, sitting down beside me. “Your grandmother is working to insulate you from the fiery war outside, Zentra. How do you not see this?”

Nathaniel mumbles something about being overprotective, but Kiralla continues on.
“She will be the north star in your darkness, while I and that beast,” she says, nodding to the glaring Nathaniel, “will find it implausible that we will be the moon. Saturn, perhaps, but not the moon.”

I nod slowly, staring deep into the hearts of my two friends. My family. At last, Kiralla stands and pulls me to my feet, biting her lip as she knows what I am thinking.

“You were there, weren’t you?” I whisper. “The branding?”

“In body, in mind, yet not in heart,” she says, walking up to Nathaniel who continues to sulk in silence. “Did I offend you?”

He turns, lifting a hand to the sky and slamming it to his knee with such furry, I fear he’d bruise it. With dark, glowering eyes he stares down Kiralla, over double his height, and sighs.

“I’d best be going. Get rest, Zentra, you have had a long day,” Nathaniel says, turning on his heel and storming off.

“I take that as a yes,” a murmur, stepping beside Kiralla.

I am astonished by her beauty, even with somewhat boyish qualities. For a second, I feel a twang of jealousy. She must have received numerous proposals, being an adult by now. Yet I know Kiralla extremely well - she is not one to get married. Still, with an appearance like that, half the boys in our town cannot help but die. I push the thought away, knowing that I will never be as beautiful as Kiralla. She is a drow, and the mysterious factor adds on to that natural appearance.

I hug my friend, and she responds softly, offering a faint smile. “Rest well, Kiralla. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

And with that she nods, waves politely, and is off, humming an unfamiliar and intriguing tune. Warlike, almost.

I push open the door, finding the house silent, and head to my room. With the branding I missed lunch, but I barely notice the small pang in my stomach. I throw myself across the bedsheets and fall into a daze, the sun still dazzling outside my window. If only I could sleep forever I think, hesitating at the thought. Mother sleeps forever. Metri, oh… if she is still alive, how I wish she could sleep alongside mother again, still childish in her small features, a little giggle slipping out as our mother put her to sleep. And father, his rough cheek brushing against my forehead right below my dark hair, his perfect brown eyes of a majority human staring through my soul. Father, how I miss you.

With these thoughts, I curl up, begging to be let free, and slip into an unrestful slumber, sobbing in my heart, spirit clawing at my lungs and flesh, trying to break free. To be home.