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"I…" My instinct is to shy away from what he's telling me, to discount it as impossible. Yet, he's standing in front of me right now, wielding a sword of pure Light. It's no magic trick, something conjured like a rabbit in a hat. I can want to disbelieve this reality all I want, but that doesn't make it false.
This is happening, and I'm part of it.
"I've never…I can't wield that."
"It's not the same for us," Rissa says. "Our power is different. It's more complicated. They wield Light, but we are Light. When needed, we can call Light to protect us and those who depend on us, but we don't forge a weapon. We are the weapon."
"Oh," I whisper, swallowing hard as I try to imagine what that looks like. I quickly decide I don't want to know. I'm not a weapon. I wasn't born to kill.
"That's only a small fraction of your power, little Valkyrie," Reaper murmurs as if reading my mind. "The Valkyrie were made for far more than destruction. You are salvation."
I bob my head in a nod, not really sure what to say to that. Thank you? Awesome? Thanks, but no thanks? Nothing really covers the swirl of emotions coursing through me, so I don't try. I force myself back to the original discussion.
Being kidnapped by the Forsaken seems far safer than this.
"There were five of them," I whisper, my voice trembling. A chill crawls down my spine as the memory of that night floods back with terrifying clarity, suffocating me in fear and helplessness. Each word feels like a razorblade sawing at my throat. "They crept into my room while I slept and plucked me from my bed. I remember the feel of their hands on my body. They were so cold. I tried to fight back, but they overpowered me with ease." Their grip on my body was like steel vises, unrelenting and cruel. "And then they blew something in my face. I tried not to breathe it in, but they held me down until I couldn't hold my breath any longer. I had to take a breath."
As soon as the sickly-sweet scent filled my lungs, it felt like I was drowning in a sea of darkness. My body grew heavy and uncoordinated. I couldn't fight back any longer. I couldn't even move. I just floated, unable to do anything to protect myself.
The room is silent, the images painted by my words hanging heavy in the air.
"When they carried me downstairs, I saw my parents," I manage to choke out, the reality of their death crashing down on me all over again. My parents—my world—ripped from existence within a matter of moments. I reach for the thin necklace clasped around my throat, letting the feel of the delicate chain ground me.
I don't think they ever stood a chance. My mother lay motionless on the stairs, her body twisted and broken from the ruthless attack. It was as if they killed her right where she stood. My dad, though? He tried to fight. His blood soaked the living room. The metallic scent filled the air, mingling with the sickly-sweet smell of the powder they forced me to inhale. I'll never forget it. If I live another thousand years, that last image of my parents will haunt my mind every day.
Reaper reaches for my hand again, his fingers wrapping around mine in a comforting grip. I cling to him gratefully, trying desperately to hold it together. I've had days to drown in grief, entire tracts of time in that bathroom when I tortured myself with those images, pretending I could change them. But there is no changing the past. There is no bringing back the dead. The best I can hope to do now is keep myself alive. That's what they would want for me.
"And then?" Malachi asks, concern flickering in his blue eyes.
I bite my lip before forcing myself to continue. "They took me to that house." The one where nightmares became reality. The one where my life stopped making sense. It was my prison, and yet, paradoxically, my sanctuary, too. Because even in the bleakest moments, I wasn't alone. Somehow, inexplicably, Reaper was there, too, nestled deep in my subconscious.
I don't understand how that's possible. I don't understand how any of this is possible. And yet, he was there. I felt him, as surely as I feel his hand wrapped around mine now. In the darkest moments, when I wanted to give up and sink beneath the water, the thought of him kept me fighting.
"They kept me locked in that bathroom for days," I whisper. "I didn't understand it then, but I guess they were trying to figure out my power. Ironic considering that I've never even heard of this power until now."
Reaper's grip tightens around mine before he speaks again, his voice seething with barely concealed rage. "They hurt you."
"T-they pushed me beneath the water and held me there until I thought I was going to die. Over and over again, only to haul me out at the last minute. I thought they were going to kill me so many times." My voice cracks as my gaze falls to the blankets. "I wanted them to kill me and get it over with."
"Enough," Reaper growls.
I glance up to find rage swirling through the depths of his amber eyes. I feel the dark emotion snapping in the air around him as if it's alive. He whips his head in Damrion's direction.
"She's said enough. No more."
"I just have one final question for her," Damrion says.
"One and only one," Reaper says, a note of finality ringing in his tone.
A silent understanding flickers between them before the royal warrior nods. He shifts his gaze back to me. Yet again, I'm struck by the unmistakable sense of authority that surrounds him. It's interesting. He's very much in charge, and yet, when it comes to me, he defers to Reaper without hesitation. Why?
"Did they take your blood, Valkyrie?" he asks me.
I instinctively curl my hands as if to hide the mostly healed cut across my palm. Reaper notices the motion…the same way I'm sure he's already noticed the injury.
He knows.
"Y-yes," I whisper, my heart thudding against my breastbone.
