'Ridiculous! You're a Tyrant. Why didn't you do something?'

The angry outburst punctured the air and made Eliah start as she approached the small wooden hut on the outskirts of the village, by the edge of the forest, that she called home. Pushing back the furs that covered the entranceway, she found her Clan-appointed guardian, Regis Thearrischild, with an expression as dark and angry as a thundercloud on his face. Fortunately, the look was not directed at her, but at his white-haired, one-eyed, one-armed giant of a father, Thearris Ulfredschild, the Tyrant of Soldiers.

'It is done, Regis,' said Thearris, his low, gravelly voice calm in the wake of his son's fury. 'The claim has been made and cannot be revoked.'

'He's only eighteen!'

'The Teachings state – '

'Oh, spare me. You and I both know that the Teachings are dung. If Taiten really was all that the stories make him out to be, then I doubt he'd ever – '

Thearris sighed. 'Regis...'

'Don't you "Regis" me! Why can't any of you use your heads and see that the words that you worship are going to be the death of our Clan?'

'Regis. Enough!' Thearris's eye darted towards Eliah and Regis's gaze followed.

The girl swallowed, resisting the urge to shrink back under the pressure. 'I'm home,' she whispered. Meek as a mouse, she set her bow and quiver aside and began to remove her rabbit-fur boots.

Regis grimaced. 'Welcome back, Eliah.' He scowled at his father. 'Get out. We'll continue this next time.'

Thearris sighed. 'There is nothing to continue,' he said. 'Aramir is a man now and one of the best warrior-trainees we've seen in a long time. He has the right to make his own choice.' He held up a hand for silence as Regis opened his mouth to argue. 'But, if you insist, you can make a request to the Chamber of Counsel. I take my leave.'

He headed for the exit, his one good eye fixed on Eliah as he walked past. She averted her gaze and stepped out of the way.

As soon as his father was gone, Regis heaved a long, heavy sigh. 'Did you know about this nonsense?' he asked Eliah.

She shook her head vigorously.

Regis raised his brow.

The girl pouted. 'Why are you looking at me like that? I'm not lying. I only found out at the Feast, same as you.'

Regis snorted. 'You know that I don't attend the Feast. But that explains why the good Tyrant decided to drop by and tell me about it personally. No doubt the whole Clan knows of it by now. Gods damn that impulsive boy of mine...' He trailed off with a sigh. After a small shake of his head, he forced himself to smile and tapped Eliah on the nose. 'I'm sorry you had to see that. Go scrub that dirt off you so we can meditate and sleep. You have training in the morning.'

The girl pulled a face at the mention of meditation, but headed off to wash nonetheless. She didn't quite understand why Regis always insisted that she be clean when they meditated – or why he was so insistent that they meditate at all. It wasn't part of the warrior-trainee regimen. But after spending all day out scrounging in the forest and stalking a rabbit through the brush, she welcomed the idea of cleanliness.

Their bathing area – if it could be even called that – was simple, although the rest of the Clan would have claimed its very existence extravagant. Most Seren simply went to the nearby lake or one of the rivers to wash, but unfortunately for Eliah, that was not an option. When she was a child, Regis had simply placed a bucket of water and a stool near the door, but some time over the last year or so, he'd seen fit to place some frames fitted with furs around the bucket and stool to give the girl some privacy.

Stepping behind the screen, Eliah pulled her long hair from its braid and began the tedious process of unwinding the leather thongs that were wrapped around her arms. Shimmering blue rune circles etched into the back of her hands set the small enclosed space aglow. Each layer she peeled off revealed blue lines, swirls and straight-edged runes. The patterns travelled all the way up her arms, branching over her shoulders to join at the base of her neck, lines stretching up to the base of her skull and down between her shoulder blades.

Rolling the leather strips up neatly, she set them aside to be put back on later.

The light intensified as she pulled off her tunic. According to Aramir, the double-ringed rune circle carved into her back was blinding, and the two hour-glass shaped triangles at the centre of the design were the worst offenders. He'd always complained, loudly, about not being able to see when he'd helped her bathe as a child, but there was a good chance he'd been exaggerating the claim to make her stop squirming.

Picking up the washcloth floating in the bucket, Eliah scrubbed herself, doing her best to ignore the sizzles and small clouds of steam that filled the air as the cold water made contact with the warm veins of aeonite embedded in her skin.

Looking at them made her scowl. The glowing blue marks were her blessing and her curse. They were her shield against being made a helot or a menial, yet they were also the biggest reason for the Tyrants to ever make her one – the reason they'd named her "Taitenschild".

Taiten was said to have marks just like hers, made of lines of aeonite burnt into his skin. While the Titans painted themselves in an attempt to mirror his image, Eliah had been born bearing it. The metal had grown just as she had and was as much a part of the girl as her flesh and bones.

If the legendary hero really was her father, then she had some choice words for him about his little "gift".

Tossing the washcloth aside, she upended the remainder of the bucket over her head.

With a shiver, Eliah peeked out from behind her fur curtains and found a neatly folded pile of clean clothes waiting for her. Regis was sitting near the fire, legs crossed and eyes closed, palms resting lightly on his knees as he waited. She hadn't even heard him bring them over.

Regis cracked open an eye as the girl, now fully dressed, tiptoed over and mimicked his posture. Satisfied that she was ready, he closed his eyes again. 'Do you remember the breathing?'

Eliah resisted the urge to roll her eyes. He asked that every night. 'Yes,' she said, 'of course I do.'

'Repeat it for me.'

'In for four, hold for four, out for four.'

'And why do we meditate?'

She sighed and regurgitated the words that had been etched into her memory. 'Because meditation clears the mind and teaches control over emotion.'

'And why is that important?' continued Regis.

'Because if we don't have a clear mind and emotional control we might start an argument with a Tyrant?'

He opened both eyes this time. 'Very funny, Eliah.'

She grinned tiredly in return.

Regis sighed and shook his head. 'Well, you're not wrong. The real reason now?'

'Because a mind that is not clear is prone to panic in battle, and a lack of emotional control may result in...' Eliah yawned. '...unfortunate consequences.'

'Well done, that was very vague.'

The girl groaned. 'I promise I remember it, Regis, but it's late. Can we just start?'

'Alright, alright. Close your eyes.'

She obeyed, and Regis started the count.

'In for one, two, three, four. Hold, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four... Good girl. Repeat.'

Despite all of Eliah's complaints, after seven years of practice, meditation came to her easily. It was calming – cleansing. She emptied her mind as she breathed, tapping her thumbs across the pads of her other fingers with each count, just as she'd been taught. She forgot about the threat of being made menial. Forgot about being "Taitenschild". She let the thought of Aramir and his Rite drift away into calm, practised peace, and on the eighth breath cycle, her fingers stopped tapping and she fell fast asleep.

Regis chuckled to himself as the girl's head bobbed, her eyelids fluttering while her chest rose and fell in a deep, natural rhythm. It reminded him of their first meditation sessions, back when she was six. The girl had dozed off every time, her little blonde head slumping forward until the falling sensation made her jerk awake or her forehead crashed into the floor. He'd gotten a few laughs out of that. Now she could sleep while maintaining perfect posture. If that wasn't an a sign of achievement, then Regis didn't know what was.

Reaching forward, he tapped her gently on the shoulder. Eliah's brow creased, but she didn't wake. She mumbled something under her breath.

He tapped her again, and the mumblings became more lucid.

'Not now, Da... stupid rabbit... gotta... arrow...'

Regis smiled. The only time Eliah ever called him "Da" was when she dreamed.

Giving up soldiery at seventeen to be a father to Aramir had been a hard choice at the time. Children were hardly ever born to partners that age, and the birth had caught the entire Clan by surprise. But the boy's mother had been adamant about not wanting anything to do with him because she wanted to be a shieldmaiden, and Regis couldn't stomach leaving his newborn son with a group of women who were practically strangers. His Tyrant father had been livid, and the other men had ridiculed his choice. Parenting was considered a job for the Clan Mothers – the weaklings amongst the women, who hadn't been able to pass muster as shieldmaidens when they'd turned eighteen.

But he had no regrets. Those who gave their children to the Clan Mothers to raise until they reached warrior-trainee age didn't get to experience these kinds of moments, and Regis wouldn't have traded them for all the strength and fighting prowess in the world.

After a few more attempts to wake her, he gave up, carried the girl to her beddings, and tucked her in. She was so different to the rest of the Clan... small, delicate, vulnerable – innocent. Regis wanted to protect that. But he'd made an oath to Tyrants to ensure that the girl would remain a warrior-trainee, and the trainers would only see those traits as weaknesses.

He glanced over at Aramir's empty bedroll and sighed. 'A Titan, eh?'

If only the boy was capable of seeing the truth.

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Eliah vs the Rabbit 2

An old illustration from Crossroads ft. Eli's tattoos

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All content and illustrations ©Jax L. P. (@JaxCreation) on 𝑾𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒑𝒂𝒅. All rights reserved. Please contact the author if you are reading this on another site or under a different account name.