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Chapter four - Never Seeing Eye To Eye

My hand holding the goblet drops it. The clatter over the cobbled ground doesn't affect the dragon as it slithers closer. I tilt my head, staring at the intricate scales and the two black horns, which still glimmer even when its broad shoulders block any source of light from the sun. An unnatural urge courses through me as I slowly lift my hand towards the lowered muzzle.

My fingers delicately pause, wary as to what I was doing though I didn't find it foreign. It wanted to be touched, tranquilized, but just as I'm about to reach, a whipping sound of chains wrap around the dragon's snout—a bola weapon.

The dragon thrashes and growls, but more heavy chains come at the legs, arms, and wings, knocking it down onto the ground. I jump back as more dust flies upward and watch speechless as Venators hold it firmly in place, giving each other orders to bring the cage carriage in.

They're not killing it?

Why aren't they—

A female Venator suddenly grips onto my upper arm, shaking me as if trying to get me to focus on her instead. "Are you insane? You could have been killed—"

"Sana." That same rough voice.

The Venator, who I assume is Sana, lets go of my arm and looks up. Her sharp features soften into admiration before I spin, coming face to face with that dark plated armory fitted on a muscular chest. A strong scent of cedar and sweet spices comes through as my eyes trace upward. No doubt it was the Venator from yesterday who also happened to yell at me just minutes ago.

His lips are nothing but a straight line as he beholds me with such power and authority. I don't shy away from him as I look into his forest eyes, the way freckles darken against his ivory skin. For a Venator, I imagined scars to coat his face, perhaps a crooked nose even, but this man seems to defy all of that from how perfectly narrow it is.

He gestures his head towards Sana, and her footsteps sound as she walks away. Sheathing his sword behind him, twin to another blade, I gaze at both hilts wrapped in fine leather while an ornate of a red diamond sits on top. A difference to my run-down daggers. "What's your name?" A keen interest in his voice.

Yet I ignore it, asking, "What are you going to do with it?" My heart thrums at a vicious speed as Venators haul the dragon onto a large prison carriage and the cries of children still loom in the distance. I couldn't understand how not only had I witnessed another dragon nine years later, but I also didn't feel the anger of wanting to end its life when I should have?

"Well, we don't always kill them," he says with intrigue masking his features as he studies me. "Certain dragons we catch; we use them for Venator trials or arena fights."

I don't respond to that. My father never told me much of his life as a Venator, neither did he want us moving to the city even if he had money to do so. But whenever he'd visit us—sometimes months later—we'd always be informed of the tests a Venator faced before they'd swear in as warriors. If they passed, that is.

"Now." The Venator cocks his head, eyes boring into me as wisps of copper hair fall across his face. "Your name?"

I lift my chin, showing no expression except severity. "If I say my name, will I get thrown into the dungeons for helping you Venators?"

He chuckles deep and hoarse, though I don't find anything amusing. "You won't... but in theory, I have to ask how you managed to do that?"

"I—" I look back to where I had stood mere feet away from the dragon, no longer in sight. "I don't know," I say, frowning as my eyes slide to the Venator. He stares at me in thought as if prying any further would accomplish him nothing, especially when I had no answers myself.

"Lorcan," he says after a minute or two, extending a hand out to me. "Halen."

Flicking my brows up, I survey how despite his face holding no scars, his hand was marred in them. He didn't hide it the way I did with mine, nor did he have the current stare I had on his hand as if it was foreign to touch.

Hesitantly I take it in my gloved one and shake a bit too aggressive on his part. The widened eyes give way, but I don't say anything other than, "Naralia, Ambrose."

"Ambrose?" His forehead creases in recognition, letting go. "Was your father... by any chance Nathaniel Ambrose, a Venator?"

That piques my interest as I nod once. "You knew him?" Lorcan looks to be at least in his mid-twenties, but the red band on his arm reminds me of his high status as a Venator.

"I trained at a young age, so I'm fortunate enough to have met him. He was a known legend. Now I can see where you got those Venator instincts from."

I huff a disbelieving laugh. My father may have been phenomenal in his line of work, but never did he once teach me to do anything. Nonetheless, those instincts always came naturally to me.

He doesn't take notice of my incredulity, his eyes focusing on me like nothing else matters. "Have you ever considered becoming one?"

The words take me by shock, and I draw my brows together. Once you turned sixteen, recruitment letters used to come through the winter season, and each time they did, Idris would throw them away.

I'm about to answer when the voice I know as my brothers comes from behind. "Nara!"

I turn as Idris, Illias, and Iker rush towards me. All three of their tunics are covered in soot as Idris's hands latch onto the side of my arms, his eyes searching my entire face.

"Are you hurt?" Illias says wide-eyed, huddling next to Idris.

I try to open my mouth to ask the more important question as to whether they were hurt, considering I came out looking for them, but Idris shakes his head, and a simmer of anger tempers his tone as he says, "We came looking for you at Miss Kiligra's shop, why didn't you stay—"

"She helped us capture a dragon," Lorcan interrupts, and I look back to see his gaze solely on me. "I was asking if she ever considered joining us. Her bravery is what we need as a Venator."

Illas and Iker finally take notice of Lorcan, as does Idris. He stiffens, letting go of me, and I stumble off onto the side as his unwavering glare—no matter if he's staring at a Venator—centers on Lorcan. "My sister is not interested in becoming one."

"I think she can answer that for herself." Lorcan's stare still doesn't stray from me.

Idris shifts his body as if waiting for my response. The many pairs of eyes on me don't make anything easier. Regardless, I puff my chest, exhaling sharply through my nose as I say to Lorcan, "It's been one of my dreams since an early age, actually."

My brothers keep silent. I don't look at them, nor do I want to see the reaction on Idris's face. He already knew how I felt about joining the Venators. I wasn't going to change my opinion to satisfy him.

Another Venator calls out to Lorcan, beckoning him towards the herds of injured people. He glances down at me, an intense brightness in those green eyes, crisper than any of the spring fields in our village. "The rest of us leave here at dawn," he says. "If you want to join—" His gaze cuts to Idris before they land on me again "—You're more than capable of doing so."

I frown, taking a step forward as he starts to leave. "But it's not recruiting season?" I can only imagine how far behind I'd be in training if I joined now.

He half turns. "I know." A humored smile dances on his lips, one I keep from appearing on mine too as my eyes follow him walking away from me.


"No," Idris says, placing a pitcher of water on the table.

I grab it, passing it to Illias as he pours it into a cup and hands it to Iker. Soon after we arrived back at the cottage, I wasted no time in pestering Idris with letting me join the Venators. His answers were the least bit approving per usual.

"Why not?" An impatient scowl.

"You already know why." He sighs, walking towards Iker's rabbit and moving it aside before it can chew on the laid-out boots by the fireplace. I follow around in a desperate attempt to get him to accept as he falls onto the chair, rubbing his forehead tiredly.

"No, Idris, I don't know why. Your answer is always that it's too dangerous." I cross my arms over my chest. "I managed to subdue a dragon. Do you have any idea how hard that is?"

"I wish I could have seen my sister slay a dragon," Iker says, and I look over my shoulder as Illias smacks the back of his head.

"You didn't even know an attack was happening until Idris dragged you out of the tavern half asleep."

"What am I supposed to do when the barmaid is in love with me and hands me drinks—"

"May I remind you of Ivarron?" Idris cuts the two off as I look at him, watching the curve of his brow go up. Ivarron was the last thing on my mind when it should have been the first through everything that had occurred.

"I'll tell him I'll be gone temporarily." I wince at my own lie, as do the three of my brothers, loudly.

"Please, Idris," I drop to my knees, resting my forearms on his, contemplating what I can say to make him agree. I hated begging, yet here I am prepared to tell him he's my favorite while Illias would throw a fit over it. "This could help you all move to the city. We could start a new life away from this village... this tiny cottage of ours. Once I've been sworn in, I could save enough money to pay off my debt with Ivarron—"

"How do you know you'll even become one, Nara?" He snaps. "Just because you got lucky with one dragon today doesn't mean you'll be fortunate to succeed as a Venator."

"Unlike you, I believe in myself," I say, lowering my brows and holding back the coldness in my voice. Still, it fails as I continue, "Father would have believed in me, mother too, why is it my own brother won't do so much as humor me in this? Why is it my brother chooses to give up on me when all I want is this? You may think you could have saved Father all those years ago, and now you fear the same could happen to me, to Illias... Iker, but the difference is you can't change the past, and at least I believe in you for everything. Where's that for me?"

Once more, the cottage falls into quietude. A flicker of hurt shines in Idris's eyes, one where I know I've made it worse.

He slowly rises from the chair, not uttering a word, and, with silent footsteps, walks to the room he shares with Iker and Illias. The wood creaks as he shuts the door, leaving me there with nothing but disappointment and sorrow—sorrow because this is all it's ever been.

I stand, turning to look at both my brothers. I watch Iker take a long sip out of his cup, then Illias picking at his fingernails. "I'll..." He starts softly. "I'll talk to him—"

"No," I say. "Why bother, Illias? It's the same thing all the time. I only wish that for once he would act like our brother instead of fathering us." My bottom lip wobbles, and as Illias takes a step to comfort me, I push past him towards my room and lock it. I hold back every tear that wants to come out, that threatens to slide down each time Idris and I argue.

I tip my head back, closing my eyes, and inhale deeply as I walk over to my wooden chest of drawers. Stars, the sun, and the moon shape the sides while swirls of wood I'd carved fill the other, but the top part had not been touched. Taking out one of my other hunting knives, I begin carving, wanting to forget what happened today. Yet, my hands are unable to as the blade shapes the dragon's wings, the scales, and long swaying tail until nightfall comes.

Until no more ounce of wood is left to carve.

Until the sun borders the horizon and dawn awakens.

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