The battle had raged beyond, yet Felicity was unable to focus. Her gaze was cast to the ground, where the remains of her stomach’s contents was. The bitter cold swirled around both body and mind. Full blown panic caused her to shake as her psyche drifted away from Whitevale.


I almost killed him! My mentor! I couldn’t control it!

As the fight between Shinsou and Drexel went on in the distance, the destruction of buildings and cries of people fell on deaf ears. She was sweating intensely, appendages growing numb.

He’s going to hate me now! I should of done better! He’ll let me go, I know it! I’m useless!

The words of others echoed in her mind. Words of her pitiful state, her woes. Chants of hatred from the faceless crowds of Eiskaltians. Malice and bitter judgment from a woman of pain and frost. They all told her the same thing. She was incapable, she should do better, her efforts were worthless. She was worthless. What good was a half breed, neanderthal scum who could not control her animalistic self?

The mighty dragon fell as Shinsou, powerful he was, brought it down. Felicity did not react. Head lowered, her thoughts were racing with panic and misery. When this was over, how would she be punished? She was always punished, deserving nothing else. She was useless, a forbidden wretch born from tragedy. Her tears started to clear as she noticed the frost coated ground once more. The frigid atmosphere was dry and devoid of comfort. The girl sat there, tangled hair covering her tear streaked face.

Footsteps.

Felicity blinked, noticing brown boots stepping towards her. Boot prints were left in the white, crystalline ground. Heavy and burdened, the walk was of a slight limp. Looking up, she saw the signature white coat. She was unable to look at his face as she winced, trembling. Here he was, to scorn her. Just like the rest.

“Sorry for stepping in too late. I wanted to see what you could do.” Her eyes widened as he stepped past her before bending down. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. The light touch made her shiver. Confusion. What…

“You did well, today…” Was he praising her? What was this?

“… Get yourself checked over, and come to my quarters when the surgeon gives you the all clear.”

He was telling her to get well. Her mind was a strange blank as the man stood up again, walking away. Confliction caused her to blink in confusion, tears still falling. “You’re not mad at me?” Her shadow of a voice was timid and scared, quiet and full of doubt. She was not used to this. She was used to verbal lashes, stones and rotted fruits pelted from the streets of an eternal winter village. She was used to the beratings of a cruel executioner, the heavy slammings of her sword’s pommel on her body. She was used to… anything but this.

She was terrified she was somehow hallucinating this. She had hallucinations before. She was scared too that this was so, so undeserved…