Wura
The end of class brought a relief more bitter than usual. With brisk steps, Wura was about to leave the school grounds, still brooding over her argument with Ciel. Her jaw had remained tight all day, and her fists clenched every time the memory of their exchange resurfaced. She should have chosen her words better. She should have made her understand… differently.
Her stomach growled loudly, snapping her out of her thoughts. A good meal might help soothe her anger. Or at least distract her from that idiot Vignon.
— Hey!
A harsh voice cracked behind her.
Wura didn't slow down. She knew exactly whose voice it was and had no intention of responding. But the call came again, more insistent this time, and a hand suddenly landed on her shoulder.
In a sharp motion, she spun around and shoved the intrusive hand away.
— What?
She instantly recognized the three boys standing in front of her. All of them were in ninth grade. Two from 9B, the third from 9A, like her. Wura knew their reputation: they spent their time picking fights with students from other schools, as if marking territory were a matter of life and death. It was in one of those brawls that Morio had gotten himself tangled up the day she first met him.
Wura then recalled the first and only time she had fought before her parents died. She hadn't started it. But she had finished it. The broken arm of her opponent had been proof enough. And her mother had never forgiven her for that excess of strength.
You don't fight to hurt. You fight to defend, to protect.
— What, are you deaf? sneered the boy who had touched her. Not very polite to ignore people. And then you wonder why you've got no friends.
Wura arched a brow, her sharp gaze fixed on him. Her expression grew harder when she noticed him coughing awkwardly, clearly unsettled under the weight of her stare.
— Vignon wants to see you, he finally muttered. He's at the library.
Wura folded her arms, skeptical.
— Wants to see me? First off, my name's Wura. Second, if he's got a problem, he can come himself. And seriously? Vignon in the library? Couldn't you come up with a more believable lie?
She turned to leave, but the boy grabbed her arm.
— Wait… Wu-ra… He wants to apologize. He knows he acted wrong and he really wants to make it right…
This time, Wura froze. Vignon? Apologize?
She knew him well. That guy solved everything with his fists, and never—not once—would he lower himself to admit he was wrong. Especially not to her. It stank of a setup. But really, did it matter? She had unfinished business with him anyway.
— Why the library? she asked, her tone wary.
— He doesn't want anyone seeing him apologize, the boy mumbled, eyes shifting away.
Wura kept her gaze locked on him, studying every line of his face. She didn't believe a word. But… all the better. If Vignon wanted to play his little games again, she was ready.
— Take me to him.
She followed them through the hushed corridors, until they reached the library doors. The moment she stepped inside, she came face-to-face with a smile. A twisted, mocking smile.
Vignon.
The trap snapped shut a fraction of a second too late. A brutal blow exploded against her skull.
Pain seared. The world tilted.
She collapsed onto the cold tiles, laughter echoing like a distant taunt.
— Learn your place, Koéan monkey, spat Vignon before striding away with his lackeys.
The noises faded. Her skull throbbed.
Wura didn't move. Not yet.
***
Wura — Four Years Earlier
Wura had hidden herself on the small terrace behind the house, curled up tight, her head resting on her knees. Her breath was ragged, broken by silent sobs. The evening air was cool, tinged with damp fragrances.
Her mother found her there, sitting on the stone steps, and quietly sat beside her.
— Do you know why I punished you? Alya asked in a calm voice.
— Because I broke her arm… Wura whispered between sniffs.
— No. Because you fought when I had forbidden it.
Wura raised her head, her eyes swollen red.
— Does it make any difference? You punished me anyway.
Alya sighed, her gaze locking onto her daughter's.
— Wura… You are not like her. I've trained you since you were little for two reasons. The first, you already know. You must be ready for your Great Rite. That day will mark a turning point. You'll finally understand who you are, and you'll have the tools to defend yourself. Remember: we only fear what we don't understand. Great Rite will free you from that ignorance.
Wura lowered her eyes.
— And the second reason?
Alya's lips curved into a sly smile.
— Release. Fighting helps me clear my mind, quiet what gnaws at me. But it must be done with a trained opponent, not in some schoolyard scuffle.
She gave her a knowing look. Wura tried to resist, but a faint smile tugged at her lips.
***
Present
Wura's skull pounded as she came back to consciousness. A dark haze still veiled her thoughts.
How long was I out?
She pushed herself up with effort and staggered to the library door. The forbidden night… she wasn't supposed to risk going out. But hunger clawed at her stomach with such ferocity she had no choice.
Forcing herself forward, the deserted corridors felt more suffocating than ever. Only the sound of her footsteps echoed on the tiles.
Outside, the wind rustled abandoned paper bags, their whispers like voices. A heavy silence hung over the empty streets, broken only by the mournful song of crickets.
A shiver ran down her spine.
— My daughter…
A raspy voice pierced her like a knife. Wura froze. Slowly, she turned her head.