Chapter 10 Restricted
Restricted
ANNA
Three Years Ago
The skies were dark as I stood in the middle of the stone-tiled training grounds, the lanterns lit and swaying above.
Calm.
I took a deep breath, breathing out slowly.
The only way to hide from darkness was to be hidden in the darkness.
Or so I read in my mom’s journal when I was a child.
I never found it again after that.
I’d spent most of my life in isolation because of her and her fear.
Training started out fun when I was a child. I enjoyed the praise she gave me when I learned a new stance. It made her proud of me.
It wasn’t until recently that I realized why.
My mom was scared. A fear so palpable that sometimes my spine would stiffen, rendering me unable to even turn around to prove there was nothing there. Sometimes, I thought what she feared was right there with us.
The sword glowed as if imbued with power as light flickered in the steel.
My training grounds in the forest had become a sanctuary.
Cool wind struck my heated flesh, and relief tingled across my cheeks.
The branches overhead rustled, singing the music of the trees, and caused the lanterns I’d strung to sway.
Shadows moved about like ancient creatures in an unseen realm.
Here, in the dead of night, I was at peace.
Regardless of why she’d put me on this path, I felt relief with a weapon in my hand. Perhaps it was inherited fear creating the need to obtain power. Or perhaps it was natural to want to protect yourself.
I watched the clouds move, revealing the crescent moon and the soft glow of ancient starlight.
Both shadow and light—a dichotomy so challenging to master within oneself, but so easily obtained by nature.
The night’s starry sky, with its dazzling bursts of light scattered across immense darkness, was a sublime reminder that both could coexist in tranquility.
But I guess it was more about perspective. What looked tranquil from here was billions of atomic explosions happening in unfathomable quantities elsewhere.
That was how I felt—still and calm like a starry night to all around me but raging like a dying star before the supernova. I existed alongside the rhythm of the deafening sound of life as it buzzed and creaked around me, like it’d been taught to harmonize.
Deep within me, there was no such harmony, just me trying to contain everything that I was. That was what Mom and Derrick wanted me to do. Control myself. Develop true strength. Do not seek danger, but should danger find you, be prepared.
I sat cross-legged, the blade balanced on my fingertips, still aglow in a surreal myriad of light that could’ve been a mirror to another world.
My forearms rested on my knees, palms up, and I stared at the sword.
My chest rose and fell. Steady, even breaths.
Focus on the blade. Slowly, I lowered my right hand, balancing the blade solely with my left fingertips.
The sword wavered, balanced momentarily, then clattered to the ground in a cacophony of metal striking stone.
I hissed, a line of bright red appearing across my fingers. I winced and grasped the wound.
Balance—it was the most critical element of my training. Without it, you make mistakes. Without it, you die. Or at least that’s what they told me. I’d never been attacked by someone, nor ever had any reason to believe I would be.
I tried to breathe deeply to release my frustration, but it wasn’t working. How could anyone find balance with a mom as insufferable as mine? The training grounds had once been a place where I came to find solace, but lately, even here, the discord within would not abate.
It was my birthday weekend, and I was out here training alone instead of celebrating with Katie and the others, because my mom couldn’t get over her own paranoid delusions. School and home. That was my life.
But that wasn’t all this was about. Even before tonight, I’d been struggling to attain the same level of control I’d had before Derrick stopped coming by as much.
I grabbed the sword’s hilt as I rose, letting the blade drag across the stone hard enough to make sparks.
Whatever was eating at me was doing so thoroughly enough that I couldn’t even hold the blade still.
Being unable to steady my blade was a likely sign of death in a battle.
Calm, control, and focus were necessary; anything more or less was a weakness the enemy would exploit.
To have those qualities, one had to have balance.
That was what Derrick had drilled into me over the years.
He used to visit often, training me and dedicating hours to developing my skills.
He’d been the one to build these training grounds.
Once pristine stone tiles were now cracked and covered with moss.
The lanterns lit the clearing with an orange glow.
As the air grew colder, a shroud of mist began to form.
Its tendrils twisted through the gnarled branches of the forest's towering trees.
I bent my knees, my right foot sliding forward. I held my left hand, palm out, in a defensive position, with the sword's hilt grasped firmly in my right.
Breathe, Anna. Just breathe.
The blood was trickling down my hand, but I didn’t move. Calm, control, focus. Sense everything from your pulse to the direction of the wind.
My pulse slowed to a reasonable pace, but it was nearly impossible to maintain. Something within me was continually stirring—a stinging resentment I could not shake off.
Frustrated, I slashed the blade through the air. I moved through each stance with excessive force, lacking the grace I once had.
Calm. Control. Focus.
No, I didn’t have any of those right now.
Only resentment.
I spun, my movements fast and nearly reckless, swiping the blade as I went.
But my blade was stopped in a startling clash of steel.
My heart jumped as I desperately gasped for breath.
Before me was the man who’d taught me everything I knew. It’d been exactly one year since I’d laid eyes on him.
“Derrick,” I said.
His blade hid most of his face along with his oddly youthful appearance, but his piercing blue eyes watched me intently. His only response was forcefully arcing his blade across mine, driving it downward so fast he was able to thrust his own at me with lightning speed.
I barely blocked it.
Sparks flew, and I barely jumped in time, skidding across the stone tiles. My fingertips burned as they dragged across the gritty surface, trying to steady my retreat. My breathing was erratic, and the very real threat of his blade was flooding me with panic.
“You have gotten slow,” he said, his voice steady and even.
I grunted while tightening my grasp on my blade. His stoic demeanor was somehow like an antidote to my anxiety—I wanted to get some reaction from him, even if I had to draw blood.
I took the sword in both hands and rushed forward, letting out a frustrated growl. Derrick didn’t move, and I faltered, my blade lowering at the last second before he smacked it out of my hands.
My jaw slacked, and I stared up at him. His usual shoulder-length black hair was shorter, above the ears, but still long enough to become tousled in the wind.
It made him look like he was in his late twenties, even though I knew he was older than that, but he had never seemed to look older to me, even after all these years that I knew him.
“Never let your weapon be taken,” he said.
I stood there, trying to catch my breath.
I wanted to yell, cry, hug him, and punch him all at the same time.
“It’s been a year,” I whispered.
I could have sworn I saw the tension in his face, but it was gone before I was sure. I wasn’t even sure what I wanted him to feel. Guilt? Relief that I wasn’t hitting him? Relief that I was happy to see him?
Was I? Was I happy to see him?
My eyes stung as I looked away. I went to retrieve my sword, but Derrick’s voice stopped me.
“Happy birthday, Anna,” he said.
Derrick moved past me, and I spun around, stumbling.
His outstretched hand steadied me, his expression curious.
“Are you leaving already?” I asked.
Silence hung between us, suffocating so much that I wanted to say.
“I think it best that I do,” he said.
“No,” I said. “Come in, even if it’s only a bit. Mom will be glad to see you.” Derrick said nothing, so I added, “It is my birthday.”
He raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “Alright.”
A single candle burned on the small dining table, casting shadows upon the kitchen's walls. It sat atop a small cake positioned beside a neatly wrapped gift. My mom stood beside the table, a smile on her face.
“I was beginning to worry you weren’t coming back! Happy Birthday, Anna,” she said, the candlelight flickering across her gentle features. Long blonde hair, like mine, fell down her back in soft waves.
My anger from earlier became tainted with guilt, my deep and conflicted feelings for my mom swirled through the simmering rage like molten lava not yet cooled.
Derrick came in behind me, his stature out of place in our modest cabin.
My mom’s face fell, and her demeanor tensed when she saw him.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, alarmed.
“My apologies for coming unannounced,” he said. “I only came to wish Anna a happy birthday.”
My mom’s expression relaxed, though her eyes lowered in sadness. Why were they odd around each other? I glanced at Derrick, and he was looking at the floor.
“What is with you two?” I asked. “What happened? You both got along well for so long, and then you stopped coming around. It’s because of mom, isn’t it?”
Derrick only gave me his stoic look that hid everything from me.
“Anna,” Mom said. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” I asked. “You’ve pushed me my entire life to complete this training, insisting it had to be Derrick who trained me, and then, as I was nearly finished, he stopped coming. This is your fault, isn’t it? You’re why he never returned.”