The Sword of Death- Quest, Runaway and A Lot of Crying

THEY BARGED INTO her house. She knew they were going to. She was now of age. Fifteen was the year people in her family started their voyage to find their true powers. Each person in their family had a different one and now it was time for her to find the true sorcery that lay inside her.

The prophets came every time, with their wrinkled skins and completely black cosmic eyes. They move in herds, as everyone says, but she rather say pairs, taping into the astrological powers and predicting the fates accurately yet in the form of riddles and poems. No word they spoke had a single meaning. You could call them far-sighted but the dead precision of their predictions was not something any far-sighted person could ponder upon. Oracles could be an apt word but they did not need any service in return. They patiently waited for every person of the Radler or Quiblere family to come of age.

All her childhood Lucy had seen all her cousins stripped of their households and that only helped in making her more anxious, awaiting what would come. An impending doom or just or normal fate? She hoped the latter.

“Lucy Radler, we have come today to give you the prophecy before your quest. We have waited a long time for this. Step forward.”

She couldn’t move. She was petrified. They said they were expecting her coming of age. What was that supposed to mean? Lucy wasn’t a Gamy-witch was she?

Evidence of such Gamy-witches are still pretty conjectural. A Gamy-witch is a witch with topnotch powers. She can tap into some powers nobody else can and is the greatest form of sorcery in the world. If her full power is ever channeled, the whole earth can be destroyed at her will.

With trembling limbs she managed to crawl a step further, managing herself well enough to not show the fear boiling inside her. Her heart was trying to break free from her ribs by pounding with such force that she could her it herself. The prophets spoke with their raspy voices, “

The most powerful now comes of age
With the swordsman she shall now voyage
Death is how she will be blessed
A death will end her quest
The sword she will stumble upon
Whatever happens to her the closest shall not con. ”

Everything was silent. The deafening silence just managed to intensify. Her palms were sweaty and she was shivering. Lucy stopped nervously fidgeting with the ring her aunt bequeathed her and closed her fists with enough power that she felt like her knuckles would break. Lucy was going to die after this quest. This quest would be her last voyage. The prophecy just spoken wasn’t just a prophecy. It was a death prediction.

She turned around shakily to look at all her assembled family members. Through her tear welled eyes she managed to figure the look on her mother’s face before it was too much to handle. The look of shock, disappointment, lugubriousness and dismay broke Lucy’s heart. She fled. 

She had foreboded the drama soon to come and didn’t think she could handle it efficiently. Lucy feared she herself would aid in the fueling of the drama and create more of a tantrum herself. She could hear her mother sobbing loudly and uncontrollably and imagined her falling into Lucy’s dad’s arm. She went to my room, which she realized would not be hers anymore, and slammed the door shut.

She hastily grabbed her already packed bag and opened it to add more of the photo frames in her room. If this was her last odyssey, then she needed to take every single memory. She tried to retain the tears building up in her rheumy eyes but the kept on falling down her cheeks like streams of flowing water. 

In desperation and frustration she threw the last of the photos into her bag and zipped it shut. She tried not to focus on the bawling noises coming from the living room. Her legs gave way and she slid down her bed, clawing the carpet to help herself suppress her crying. She was the favored family member of many and she could hear them cry.

Wiping her own tears she stood up and sighed, collecting herself enough to strap the now heavy bag around her waist. She would be leaving this opulent shelter many called “The Witch’s lair” or “Radler mansion”. Everyone in her village had different sorts of powers, or abilities you could say, but they all were not called witches or wizards like the members of the Radler family. Just because each person in the Radler family had more than one. 
She stepped out of her room, looked back one last time to recapture the image of her room one last time, fixed her dress and walked down the stairs.

All the tantrum stopped as everyone glanced at her. For a moment everything became deathly silent and it was almost awkward for Lucy. She looked at her father and nodded, receiving a nod in return. Everyone knew that what Prophets say is fate.

 It always happens one way or another. Before anyone could say anything to her, before her will shattered, or before anyone came embrace her one last time, she slammed open the door and sprinted outside the mansion.

Her eyes brimmed with tears, from sadness of never meeting her family members or from the wind barging into her eyes she doesn’t know. She ran and ran for what felt like hours. The mansion was one of the houses at the border of their city, so nobody was between her or the horizon. 

After what felt like an eternity, she stopped, turning back to find her house lost amidst the clouds, too far away and diminished for her to make out. Instead of breaking down again she thought of where she would go, what destiny awaits her and where she will find it.

In emotional and physical exhaustion she laid down stiffly, yearning for the comfort of her bed, and used a stone as her pillow, thinking about the events that passed today. She didn’t realize when she fell doped off and was only woken up by the sound of metal clattering.

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