Crimson and Gold

The first thing she saw was a sea of fire.

As far as the eye could see, the raging orange flames devoured everything and everyone.

The houses of her village, where she once chased around with her friends, now turned to ash and ember. Just like them.

She looked into her mother’s eyes. Crimson, just like hers, but still and devoid of the light that always comforted her.

Someone approached her.

A man with a face hidden behind a black mask of a snake and a hood. He knelt before her and reached out his hand.

The memory rippled like water. The vision blurred and dissolved among the dark waves.

Then it settled again.

Another image.

Children in a dark courtyard, training combat in pairs. She was among them, too.

The boy she was paired up with kicked her hard, then flung her over his shoulder and threw her to the ground. It hurt. Tears welled in her eyes, trying to catch a breath through the pain.

He leaned over her. His hair was cut short, making his freckled face even rounder. But his green eyes were warm and full of kindness.

He reached out to her and helped her up.

The man with the mask showed up and hit them both. A punishment for showing weakness.

But it didn’t stop them from becoming friends.

The image quivered once more.

Now, she and her friend were hiding in that old, ruined cottage on the top of the hill. It was their place. Their sanctuary.

This time, they had a big pie with them, which they stole from the kitchen earlier when the cook wasn’t looking. They knew they would get punished for it, but they didn’t care.

It was his birthday. The first since he had made a friend. They wanted to celebrate.

As they split the pie between them, the ruins filled with laughter and joyful moments of two children finding happiness among the despair that surrounded them.

The world swirled, and the visions started shifting faster.

The days spent on training the body and mind.

The nights spent on mischief and laughter.

Seasons changed.

Time passed.

The vision crystallized.

They were older now, but not much.

It was the day they were about to move on to the next phase of their training. The final test before they were deemed worthy of becoming the Instruments of God.

They stood at two opposite ends of the ring. Both were equipped with nothing but a dagger.

A sign was given. The match began.

They traded blow for blow. Strike for strike. Block for block. Their skills were matched evenly, almost mirroring each other.

But she wasn’t the same clumsy child anymore. She learned. Got better, faster, stronger.

She flipped the dagger and hit him with the hilt right in the nose.

That staggered him enough for her to land two more hits to his torso. One hitting at his diaphragm, the other connecting at the height of the liver.

To finish it all, she grabbed his arm and threw him over her shoulder.

He landed on the mats with a thud, unable to move while she was standing victorious over him.

She thought it was over. She won. She proved she was better.

But then she heard the cold words slice the air around her.

“Kill him,” the man in the mask said.

The disbelief, shock, and terror washed over her face. The hand with the dagger trembled.

She looked into the green eyes, once warm and kind, now scared and pleading.

She couldn’t.

She wouldn’t.

She turned around, yelling in protest. The defiance burned in her heart like the Sun.

She froze mid-sentence. Her body moved by an invisible force, driven by an instinct stronger than her will.

The blade in her hand sank deep into his chest, piercing through the heart.

A stray tear fell down his cheek, followed by a clink of his dagger hitting the floor.

The light disappeared from his eyes. They turned still and lifeless, like her mother’s.

His body went limp, leaned on her, then fell to the floor, lifeless.

The dagger in her hand was still coated with his warm blood.

Something broke inside her at that moment. Shattered into pieces as small as sand, leaving her incomplete and hollow.

In that moment, she understood.

There was no friendship, only betrayal.

There was no love, only obedience.

Things blurred and dissolved one more time.

She saw the next vision. This time, many years later.

She was older. Not a child anymore.

She was watching her targets from the roof of a four-story building.

A couple. A man and a woman. Young. In love.

They entered their home, accompanied by hushed words of affection and sweet laughter.

The moment they disappeared inside, Saria moved, lunging from the roof all the way to the street.

This height was nothing for someone like her. Her body shifted and adjusted instinctively to release the force of impact like a cat. In the end, she didn’t even feel anything.

Following the couple, she entered through the door. There was no point in going around. It was dark, late into the night. The streets were empty.

From there, it went fast.

They barely had time to register what happened to them before her blade cut them.

Unshaken. Precise. It found its mark fast and gave them swift, painless death.

She tried not to think about it, not question why they had to die. It was for the cause, for the greater good.

There is no salvation without sacrifice, Father told her. She listened.

But the doubt stayed.

Saria woke up from the vision with a splitting headache.

The tension in her shoulders, neck, and jaw made her migraine flare up even when she tried to blink.

“Take it slow,” Asteria said while supporting her back while she sat up. “Your body needs a moment to readjust.”

Lysandra took a cup with water and gave it to Saria, sitting next to her. “Were you able to see anything?”

“I was… But it was all fragmented and confusing.”

“Your memories weren’t just erased,” the Oracle said, “They were shattered and obliterated. I have never seen such deep-reaching damage.

“Whoever did this to you, they wanted to make sure that you would never remember again. It’s impressive that you were able to still keep your mind intact.”

“Does that mean I won’t ever get them back?” Saria asked.

“Not necessarily. From the fragments that revealed themselves, it seems that not everything is lost. We should still be able to recover some of them. But a full recovery is unlikely,” Asteria admitted.

“Will I be able to remember who did this to me and why?”

“I don’t know. Because of how convoluted the shards are, it’s impossible for us to reach directly for the ones you’re asking about. We have to let the pieces around it to fall into their place first before we can proceed.”

“I understand,” Saria sighed. The soreness in her head and muscles still lingering.

Seeing her wincing in discomfort, Lysandra reached out her hand, instinctively wanting to comfort her, but she hesitated.

“What did you see?” she asked instead, resting her hand back on her own lap.

“My childhood,” Saria answered, “I was taken in by a group of assassins, after my village was destroyed.”

She took a big sip from the cup. As the cool water settled in her stomach, she could feel the headache releasing just barely, but it was a change she gladly welcomed. “They made me one of them.”

“Do you remember the name?”

“Sekaris,” Saria forced through her teeth. Even the name tasted bitter on her tongue.

Lysandra grew quiet.

“Have you heard about them?” Saria asked, noticing the shift in her mood.

“I did hear about them before,” Lysandra said, searching her own memories for the name, “Paid assassins, highly effective, never leaving a trace behind, but that’s about it.”

Saria groaned and slowly got up with the Princess’ help.

“In the next days, you may experience dreams and sudden flashes of memories returning. Give yourself at least two weeks to readjust. Then we can continue searching,” Asteria explained.

Saria and Lysandra thanked the woman and left the Temple.