Chapter II

Dreams came and went, all too lucid, all too vivid. Dagger was trapped in those forlorn nightmares, unable to escape from her own mind. No matter how many times she ran, how many times she hid, she could not escape from the horror that enveloped her. The nightmares lasted all through the night and all through the day. They continued, fused, each one more horrible than the last.

Her dream-self was feeble, without any weapon or skill to defend her. All that Dagger could do was run, yet her legs were mangled and deformed. She never wanted to look back in those dreams, for she knew of the consequences. But somehow, her neck would move on its own, slowly turning her head in the other direction. Behind her, a horde of shadowed, looming figures approached, walking ever so slowly and carefully. None slipped or stumbled, dark eyes fixated on Dagger's pathetic body. She groped for any footing to hoist her up, but the ground was smooth as steel, and her crippled legs could not get her to safety. The figures came closer—closer—closer—

Before Dagger could react, she saw them all. Every single one of them, visible even in the dream-night. They were all faces she knew, yet they now bore a new quality: malice. Blood dripped from their lips, and it was only then that Dagger realized that the scars on her arms had opened up and were bleeding wildly. They were lined up in neat rows and columns, each awaiting their chance to extort revenge. All those faces, all that hatred…she had seen it once before.

She had seen it the second before she killed them—each and every one.

They were on her, all at once. Each had weapons of immeasurable power, brandishing them high. Dagger diffused whatever gall she had left and shut her dream-eyes, awaiting her brutal end. The bodies assailed her, moving as one, inundating. She tried to swim through them, but they were determined to end her existence. They would not stop, forever pummeling, slicing, striking... Dagger lurched her body up from the zombie army, gasping for breath. It felt as if she had been submerged underwater, deprived of any kind of oxygen. She clamored for fresh air, but was soon pulled under again. The hateful faces laughed at her, mocking with bright red eyes and pompous words. Dagger tried to scream, but her own tongue was bound by the horrifying nightmare, and the sound was caught in her throat. Soon, the fighters surmounted her, and Dagger was lost, the smell of rotting flesh seeping into her lungs.

† † †

Dagger awoke with a start, her brow laden with a cold sweat. For a moment, the world spun, lights dancing in Dagger's eyes. She tried to get her head straight, tried to think of where she was and what she was doing. A wet, stony ceiling hung above her head, a dirt floor beneath. She laid on her back in some strange place, silence enveloping her. She blinked absently, trying to make sense of it all. Dagger had not yet gained her peripheral vision; only the ceiling was visible. Her arms moved up to cradle the back of her aching head, but they quickly pulled away as they felt the sticky essence of blood.

She sat up all too quickly, suddenly feeling sick. Dagger inched her way back to lean her body against the cool wall, tilting her head up. The blood was still gummy, yet was slowly starting to dry as she rubbed it in between her fingers. Dagger exhaled slowly, piecing thoughts together.

Gradually, the events of the previous night came back to her. The pain was relived as Dagger remembered how her head snapped back against that tree.

A gasp was barely stifled as Dagger looked around, finally seeing past the wall at the other end of the room. A dim glow came through a small, barred window, morning life beginning to bustle outside. Then, to her right, was the most menacing sight she had ever seen: a row of thick metal rails, caging her.

She was in a cell. For the first time, Dagger, the mightiest assassin in all of Arad'uun, had been Iconvicted./I

Dagger slammed her head back against the wall, generating an eruption of pain. How could she have been so callow? She had eliminated most of the greater politicians, merchants, nobles, and even other killers in all her realm. How could she have been brought down so easily? With only the use of paltry deception and a taste of magic, Dagger had been deceived into her imminent demise. Saint elves were known for their mercy and kindness, yet their punishments for crime were immeasurable. She would not be resuscitated for this act; that she knew.

But often did Dagger ponder death, and it's surreptitious ways. She had come to know it, to embrace it, and even to make deals with it. Dagger knew almost more about death than the Dark Entity itself, after years of trekking alongside it. People had so many quaint concepts of death, but they were nothing more than semblances. Death was a lie to them—a mere story to keep young children from insanity. It was the insanity that Dagger went through, the one that had sculpted her into the 'accomplished' person she knew herself as.

The elf stood for a moment, though her knees instantly buckled under her. She caught herself on the wall, arms stiff, yet soon even those gave way. Dagger slid back down to the straw floor, clutching her knees.

She heard a snigger echo off in the distance, and tilted her head to reply. The jail seemed empty, saved for a few ashen-faced prisoners in other units, mirth instantly dropping from their faces as she shot a glance in their direction. Dagger smirked; even her own kind was afraid of her.

"Is there something funny over there?" Dagger called to a particularly snaggle-toothed gent.

Taken aback, the convict tried to press himself farther against his wall, eyes popping out of his head. "N-No, ma'am! Nuffing funny 'round 'ere!"

A playful smile curved at the corners of Dagger's lips. "You wouldn't lie to a lady, now, would you?"

He shook his head violently, his body now totally compressed against he wall.

It was now Dagger's turn to snigger. "If you're hiding something," She said, trying her best to look innocently teasing, "won't you show me?"

He stuttered something unfathomable, then sighed as his tongue tied itself in knots, knocked for six. Dagger chuckled to herself, at last bringing a tiny fragment of light-hearted humor to her life.

"I'm afraid," Came a voice from the doorway, "you're not one to laugh, my little caged rat."

Dagger snorted. There she was again...Strafe Argerlich, in the flesh. She was wearing a fine satin dress, ornamented with small trinkets and jewelry of all metals and materials. Around her neck, the goshawk insignia of Corona Haven hung proud. Strafe was in a smug mood, a bombastic smirk wide across her face. Her beauty was prominent in the sunlight; her wavy golden hair spilled down her back in billowing waves. Wrapped in sunbeams, Strafe did not look like the same tenuous victim that she had been the previous night. Her arrogant expression and haughty gait could only concur.

"Well, well, well," Dagger groaned, "it seems that the lady of the hour had arrived."

The Matriarch tittered, tossing her head so that flaxen tresses slunk over the front of her shoulder.

"...And it seems that you've decided to dress down for the occasion..." Dagger added acerbically.

Dagger expected the saint elf to become angry, to grimace and reply with a snide remark. She expected her to bark an order to one of the many prison guards around her, to starve Dagger or injure her. ...She expected Strafe to do anything, except what she did.

Strafe laughed.

Now with total control of her legs, Dagger surged to her feet, pressing her face against the cold, iron bars that bound her. Her bronze eyes were set on her foe, deep with hostility. Instinctively, her hand reached for the scabbard in which the Edge of Acrimony usually rested, only to find it completely vacant.

Her hands went to grip the iron bars in front of her, squeezing so tightly that they began to dent. "If I had a knife," She breathed through gritted, fanglike teeth, "I would put it Iright between your ribs!" /I

Strafe ignored the foul remark, instead turning to the nearest sentinel with a face emotionless. "Keep her in solitude, but allow visitations. I want the entire city to be able to revel in our endeavor."

The Matriarch then walked over to Dagger, pressing her face against the assassin's. "We saint elves do exercise patience, understanding, and virtue, yet we are not tender doves. I assure you, your crimes I/will/I not go without punishment. …Enjoy your mirth, my little caged rat…for it will be your very last."

With that final note, Strafe Argerlich stormed out of the prison, a band of soldiers quick to follow.

Dagger sunk back to her knees, burying her face in her hands. It took a second for it all to register in her mind. There she was—a convicted criminal at long last. At any moment, someone could come in to end her meaningless existence and banish her to the deepest depths of oblivion. Unarmed and defenseless, she felt as vulnerable as the game she used to hunt.

IYou are only as vulnerable as you allow yourself to be./I

The words came uninvited into her mind, and Dagger shuddered at the thought of them. She had heard the sagely words many times in the past, and the arrival of them unearthed memories better left forgotten.

…Her mother had always told her to be strong, yet no so strong as to shed morality. Dagger had heeded those words for many of her childhood years, but it was also those words that had driven her onto the brink of insanity. Dagger paused for a moment, trying to conceal the words within the deepness of her mind.

Suddenly, she gasped, heart skipping a beat. She quickly began to rummage through the small caches and pockets of her clothing. Her mind raced, trying to remember where it was. Her hands finally rested upon it, in a pouch close to her heart. The elves had surely emptied Dagger of all her possessions while she had slept; yet, they had, luckily, forgotten the one that was most important. A wave of relief came over her, and the assassin pulled out a small pouch. She caressed the soft velvet bag, worn and drab from so many years. Dagger's eyes shifted around the jail, making sure that no guard would come to remove her tiny treasure. Once clear, she pulled one of the drawstrings slowly, until the contents of the bag spilled out over her palm.

Thirteen glass beads now sat in her hands, catching the morning light that spilled from Dagger's window. They created opalescent rainbows that danced off her skin and lit up her face. She turned the iridescent wonders over in her sweating palms, stroking them, as a mother would caress her daughter's cheek. Dagger had kept the beads close to her ever since she had left Corona Haven, yet never knew of their true purpose. All she knew was that, in the wrong hands, they cold bring about great destruction.

Reluctantly, Dagger put the beads away, burying her face in her hands. Though there were no tears she could give, deep inside, she cried a flood.

† † †

Time slipped by like sand through an hourglass. Dagger spent most of her time restlessly asleep, dreaming lurid nightmares. Sleep was the only place where she could get away from reality—in her dreams, she had better things to think of than how she was going to get out of Corona Haven alive. Dagger didn't have to atone for all the crimes she committed, nor did she have to look upon all the scornful faces that visited her.

She was only woken by an intense, burning prickle coming from the scars on her arms. Each one of them stung with a passion, startling Dagger from a dead sleep. Dagger hissed in pain, massaging her scars. None were split or bleeding, yet each ached immeasurably. Dagger was more than used to those pangs, though each time they came, they were worse. Many times, they came after a new cut was added to the collection, whether the kill was accomplished or not.

…Her Isins,/I she called them. Dagger didn't know how the tradition started, why she spilled her own blood before she spilled another's. It just always seemed like the right thing to do. Yet as accustomed as she was to performing the duty, there was still so little she knew about it. Dagger couldn't even begin to think of the consequences if she was not able to kill Strafe Argerlich. Her knife had never missed a target...until now.

"Strafe, I IswearI that you will be dead by my own hands," Dagger whispered fervidly. Her hands clenched into fists, aching to once gain grasp a knife. Her captors had stolen the Edge, her only sliver of sanity. Would she collapse without it?

There was a sudden clamor, and a guard came from another end of the dungeon with a cart of food. It didn't look in the least bit appetizing, yet Dagger's stomach stung with such pangs of hunger that it looked like a gourmet banquet.

The elf wheeling the cart glared at her, pausing grudgingly for a moment with plate in hand. Dagger found herself licking her chops, yet the woman still glared, face held with contempt.

"You know," She snarled, "if it were all up to me, you would be starved to death and hung on a post for the whole town to see. But the Matriarch wants you to stay well fed and healthy, for reasons I'll never understand. ...And, frankly, reasons I don't even want to understand." The elf dropped the plate of food precariously next to Dagger's cell and began to walk away. "Here's your gruel, you dirty swine."

Instantly, Dagger reached her hand through the bars of her cell, laying a hand on the platter. However, her hand froze as it began to pull the plate back in, heart sinking to the pit of her stomach.

The rails that held her in also held her food, her only chance of survival, out. No matter how much she grasped and grabbed, Dagger could not get a hand on any morsel of food. She stretched her entire arm out, yet it seemed that no sliver of meat would touch her lips anytime soon. She closed her eyes, teeth gritted in frustration, head slipping to rest against the cool metal bar.

She heard someone stoop down next to her, and Dagger opened her eyes. A lily white hand picked up a scrap of meat, handing it to Dagger.

"Here," The figure whispered almost inaudibly, as if it pained them to speak, "you must be hungry."

Dagger grunted, turning away and laying on her side. "I can feed myself. I receive help from no one."

"...Not even me?"

A warm hand touched Dagger's cool shoulder, surprisingly inviting. Dagger knew that hand anywhere.

She veered around swiftly, breath rough, heartbeat scarce. Staring her in the face was a young girl, barely thirteen years, pale as morning light. Her dark, endless eyes stared right through Dagger, sorrow flecked with desire. Her hands clutched the cell bars tight, face pressed through them, as if wishing to join Dagger. Though hardly out of girlhood, the girl wore the clothes of an adult; the six-pointed star of the saint elves marked on her forehead denoted the fact that she was a married woman.

Though she wanted more than anything to avert her gaze, Dagger could not help but gaze at the girl. Memories swam through her mind. They began to surface after so many years and years of being disregarded, jarring the assassin. She tried to forget, taking a bite of the venison given to her.

But the girl remained, still staring into Dagger's soul with that same aggrieved look. Dagger had not seen that face for twelve years.

Dagger stopped mid-chew, taking a deep breath. She regarded the girl with an open grimace, an aura of annoyance washing over her face.

"Why are you still here?" Dagger exclaimed crossly. "You've no doubt have some duty to attend to, am I right?"

The girl bit her lip, seeming to forget the question. "So...I understand that you are going by Dagger now."

Dagger nodded halfheartedly, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "...What else have they told you?"

"That you were a bloodthirsty savage that was never to be let back into Corona Haven."

At that, Dagger smiled faintly. "Well, I suppose that's true..."

The girl shook her head, handing Dagger another piece of food. "I've yet to believe it. Rumors may fly from miles, yet many times they are corrupted along the way. ...You're still the same person to me, Dagger. You haven't changed at all since the last time I saw you. Since..." She trailed off, voice lost in her throat, eyes fogging over.

"Since I first bloodied my hands and began this ghastly, corrupted life." Finished Dagger bitterly. "....It is all my fault. It was my fateful err that put you in such a position."

White curls of hair tumbled across the girls face as she shook her head violently, tears beginning to brim over her eyes. "I…I do not blame you in the slightest." She took Dagger's hands through the bars of the cell. Her warm, smooth ones clasped against the assassin's coarse ones. "It does not matter who you have become, nor the deeds you have done." She drew her head close, so that her forehead touched Dagger's. "What matters is that you are who you are. …Dagger, you are my Isister./I And there is no force in this world that will ever change that."

Dagger stared intently into the eyes of the girl…her sister. They were the color of lackluster obsidian, yet glowed with such a vibrancy that Dagger found herself once again holding back stinging tears. "Kae'lith..." She breathed, leaning her head against the bars, trying her hardest to hold composure.

The girl stroked Dagger's head, running a hand through her older sister's tangled auburn hair. "Oh, it is all my fault. What have I put you through? Gods, I should be ashamed of myself. If it weren't for my selfishness, my damned narcissism, our family would still be together. We would still have a home, a prospect, and you would still be happy." Kae'lith began to protest, but Dagger interrupted her, bawling through gritted teeth. "I still know not of why I did it, but I am mortified. It was beyond any deed I have done to this day."

"I already told you," Her sister sighed, wrapping her scrawny arms around Dagger's neck, "it was not Iyour/I mistake. You are not the one to carry this burden."

Snarling, Dagger tore herself from Kae'lith's embrace, clenching her fists, face twisted in scorn. "How could you say that? It was I that took the knife of my astray father. It was I that cut my arm with the first sin I ever received." Her eyes flickered with rage, breath heavy. "And it was I who killed our mother — one of the only people that ever loved us!!"

Dagger's allegations echoed throughout the prison before it fell into an eerie, unsolicited silence.

Kae'lith closed her eyes to listen to the silence, seeming to die for a second. Painfully, she bit her lip, and replied, "He isn't that adverse, my husband. Artyn gives me a place to sleep at night, and a shoulder to cry on when I need it. I felt saved when we were betrothed. Artyn and his parents were very kind to me when I came. ...I mourned, and they respected that. But soon after, they stopped realizing how I valued you, how I could love you so. And when Artyn and I were wed a year ago, I quickly understood that we shared a bed, yet not much else. I just could not find the heart to bond with him. He was cold and uncaring, only allowing me to sob for him because of our betrothal. He cares nothing of me feelings, and even less of my excuses." She lightly touched a finger to a bruise on her soft, pallid cheek, smiling uncertainly. "I wouldn't say that Artyn is abusive, but I have certainly learned never to defy him."

The young woman paused briefly to brush her hair and the tears from her face. "Nevertheless, it was my mother's wish for her first-born child to be betrothed to another saint elf family. Since the entire city considered you dead, it was I who had to bear that responsibility. I was thirteen...it was just time to face the destiny my mother wanted for me."

Dagger nodded silent empathy, walking back to sit at her initial spot against the wall. She gripped her knees, her chin resting on her arms. "I know my mother's preposterous unwritten laws as well. I am glad that I was not the one that had to live under them, but it hurts me to know that you did, even after her death. I was hoping to give you the freedom of choice, Kae..." She trailed off, voice fading.

Kae'lith sniffled, burying her face in Dagger's shoulder. "So was I, sister...so was I..." She began to weep, chest heaving in heavy wails.

Deep inside, Dagger wished she could cry too.

Without warning, the door swung open, light cascading into the dungeon. "Kae'lith? Kae'lith? ...Are you still in here?"

A teenaged boy stepped in, his face shadowed by the light. He was dressed in a farmer's outfit, yet his hands were clean, face shaven. Artyn had a cold, menacing stare, eyes narrowed with intolerance. Over his shoulder, he had slung a sickle, which only seemed to add to his intimidating façade. His lips were pursed, and he was playing at a coarse lock of dark blonde hair impatiently.

Kae abruptly wiped her eyes, standing up to greet her husband. "A-Artyn..." She stammered, pushing herself closer to him. "What brings you here? I...said I would be out as soon as possible. ...Or, I think I did, at least..." She anxiously bit her lip.

"I heard screams," Artyn replied, crossing his arms. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright." He jerked his head in Dagger's direction.

She shook her head, staring down at her feet. "Dagger wouldn't hurt me. We were glad to see each other, especially after so many years."

Artyn smirked, launching into a fit of cynical laughter. "You mean to tell me that this monster has the sentiments to feel compassion? It's mighty hard to believe that you can even carry on an intelligent conversation with it." He ran his hand through his bristly hair, sighing. "No matter. Say goodbye to your 'sister', my love...it may be the last time you can."

Kae'lith looked back at Dagger, trying her hardest to keep a grave face. "I shall visit you whenever I can..."

Artyn wrapped his free arm around Kae's shoulder, kissing her neck and looking back at Dagger with a wide smile, as if flaunting his prize horse. Kae did nothing to forbear, almost as helpless as Dagger herself.

As the door closed behind them, Dagger took a deep breath, willing herself to keep levelheaded. She had learned long ago that wearing one's heart on their sleeve could prove a dangerous feat in the darker world.

Either from remorse bottled or the nostalgia that seemed to be reconciling inside Dagger's mind, a searing pain erupted on her arm. She grasped it, massaging her sins to try and ebb the throbbing. Trembling from the shear agony, Dagger traced her finger along the longest, deepest of the scars, feeling the burning hatred that dwelled inside. It had been the first time she had ever marked herself, the first time she had ever killed a soul. The smaller, less intense sins that circled it seemed to resonate, obey it; they echoed that same, shocking pain. Dagger groaned despite herself, trying to fight it. The torment had been coming frequently, especially since Dagger had grown nearer to Corona Haven. Remnants and scraps of her past that she had thought long gone were once again surfacing, remnants that should have been kept buried. Slowly, the pain would recede, yet that prickle of remembrance would remain. No matter how many years passed her, Dagger would never forget that ill-starred night when all hell had come crashing down on her. But she could at least try. Dagger watched Kae leave with the beast that had stolen her, then turned away, trying to erase the vision.

"All my fault..."

Dagger knew there was nothing she could do about the past. What was done was set in stone, and no force but the gods themselves could change that. Dagger could not take back the crimes she committed; truthfully, she did not want to rid herself of her reputation. Her 'profession' was all she had left, and it was the only thing that she could hold onto in the world. Without it, she would be nothing. She would be nothing more than same pushover that had left Corona Haven twelve years ago.

Then again, Dagger had not the power to change the future. Despite her furtive tactics and handy maneuverings, the prisons of Corona Haven were always tightly locked and surveyed, the guards ever watchful. Dagger had little chance of getting out, especially without her beloved Edge. She could not see where they had put it, but it was likely out of her reach. They had undeniably tried to melt it in the town's forge; Strafe would be most dissatisfied, she mused, when she found out that normal hearths could not dissolve such an exquisite metal. It was that metal that had first drawn Dagger to it, called from her vanished father's desk drawer. The feel of its sinister chill...it was enough to drive a person mad to get it. But it was a thing of the past, a thing better not to be dwelled on. It would all be over soon enough...