Stalker becomes Hunted

No one goes near her. Not unless they want their arms chopped off (and I assure you it would not be pleasant...). Xyliar only has one family member... her brother. But they lead less than normal lives. Others live in fear of the demonic creatures that haunt the darkness in the night, but then you have the hunters. They turn the stalker into their prey.
She finds it oddly difficult to accept other people, but who needs other people? Who needs anyone? All she needs is the katana at her hip and the murderous hatred of those who prey on the weak and vulnerable.


9. Solitary Punishment

Zenith stirred under the thin blankets covering him. His green eyes fluttered open, both healed completely thanks to his amazing healing speed that was shared through all members of Praelia. A mass of white hair fanned across him.

            “Varian?” He asked sleepily, struggling to sit up with his leg and arm in cast, a sling that held his arm aloft was also quite restricting. Zenith glanced around and found every single one of his daggers on his bedside table, his bow and quiver of arrows leaned next to the bed, ready to be used.

            His black hair swept into his eyes and he brushed it out impatiently.

            “Varian!” He repeated. The man stirred and woke with a murmur and a jolt.

            “Zenny my dear! You’re awake.” He exclaimed and threw his arms around the boy, Zenith patted his back hesitantly.

            “Where’s Xyliar?” At this Varian paused uncomfortably.

            “She killed one of our own… She’s being punished.” He went pale and his face was a mask of regret and misery. “Poor, Xylie… it’s all my fault.” He muttered, then shook his head. “No. She has to learn.” He got to his feet and turned his back to the boy. “I’ll send the doctor through to take care of you. I hope you get better soon.” And with that he left.

            “Wait! Boss!” But Varian was gone. “VARIAN!” Zenith tried to get up, but was stopped by the cast on his leg.




The room was dim and lifeless. The only light came from a small light on the wall. All that lay in the room was a single chair. Xyliar had her wrists tied tightly to the arms and her ankles to the front legs, her clothes gone and replaced with a white night gown, like those worn by Victorian women. Her hair hung loosely over her shoulders and sat delicately on her black lashes. The emerald colours of her eyes were cutting into everything she cast them at. The metal door behind her swung open, breaking the deathly silence.

            “Xyliar? I brought you some food and water.” It was the unmistakeable sound of Caecelius’ voice.

            “Hello, Caecelius.” She said with a cold smile that could chill fire. Even the blind man could see her malice in the very air he breathed. “How are you feeling on the fine day? I killed the one that knocked you out. That stupid child.”

            “Xyliar, I’m sorry but for your crimes you get four weeks of imprisonment, solitary imprisonment. You can only talk to me. I’m sorry.” He repeated. The sound of his footsteps clacked on the floor as he advanced slowly. His steps were not slow because of his blindness, they were hesitant because he didn’t want to hurt the young girl who he had grown so fond of.

            Caecelius stayed only to feed and water her, and then he left, sadness clouding his already cloudy eyes.


Four days later…


“How’s your leg doing?” Asked Iaera, the Praelia doctor.

            “Okay… Nearly completely healed now.” Even for a member of the organisation Zenith had amazing healing speed; his arm was already healed over, only with the odd twinge now and again. He couldn’t wait until he was healed so he could leave his room, he hadn’t seen a lot of his friends for a while, and he wanted to catch up. Unlike his unsociable sister, he had quite a few friends, most of them a bit older than him. Zenith was actually the third youngest in the whole organisation.  After a four year old girl, whose name was not yet chosen, and an eleven year old boy who was called Hilarion. This boy was rather annoying. He followed Zenith around everywhere and never stopped babbling on about the fact that he’d learned how to throw a knife into someone’s eye (something Zenith could do since he was five).

            So the choice of children younger than him was not a great one. He was thirteen, and most of his friends were his sister’s age (fifteen). They were so much more like him, with the same interests, the same hobbies…


Though the person he wanted to see the most was Xyliar.

            “When can I see my sister?” I asked Iaera.

            “Hasn’t the boss told you? She’s in punishment for the next four months… She’s not allowed to see anyone.”

            “What?! Why didn’t anyone tell me?!” The boy demanded. Of course he’d been told she was going to be in punishment for a while, but not solitary punishment, and for so long. “But you know what they do in punishment!”

            “She killed one of our own, and an innocent. You can’t just let that slide, no matter what she did.” The man pulled the hood he wore over his blond hair and scratched his stubbled chin. “Sorry Zeth, there’s nothing anyone can do; it’s the rules, no matter who you are.” He looked at Zenith sadly. “I’ve gotta be off now, I have a job to do.”

            “Wait!” But he was gone. “Why do people keep on doing that!” Zenith exploded in anger. 

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