If your didn’t sign the contract….

Ggggyyyeeeeetttt out🤍

No jk but go sign the contract under the last post and then come back because I love yoiuuuuuu

And for the legal contract abiding citizens, I hope you like itttttttt😌😌😌

This is scary for me, but no skimming I need actual reading of this pleaseee

>:-{<+>}-:<

Chapter one

Oakley Ruby Oriana

Two days before

——

All heroes are born from pain, the same way villains are. 

I didn’t always think things through as if my life depended on just one question. I used to be innocent. Naive in the way I assumed the best of everyone. I never went to sleep, wondering if I would wake up the next day. I never wondered which of my friends I would have to watch die. 

I used to think I had no regrets. I comforted myself with the foolish belief that everything would work out if given time and hope. Only now do I know better. 

(It’s not gonna let me put my page break in there so pretend this is it)

_Run, run, run. _

_He is going to catch you. You can’t let him. _

My chest heaves, gasping for air. A stinging sensation stabs into my lungs with every shallow breath I force myself to take. The feeling surges persistently to the inside of my chest. His footsteps are faster than mine, thumping against the jagged floor of the forest. I quicken my pace, though my legs can hardly handle it. I change course, pushing off a tree to help ease the transition. 

_Dang it, Oakley, go faster!_

The scenery around me becomes undefined, everything turning into only blurs of color as I build up speed.  The wind whips past me, and I can almost hear secrets buried within the wood whisper to me, before being carried away in the cold breeze that bites into my skin. My body aches, screaming at me. It waits for a moment to slow and catch its breath, but that time never comes. It’s angry with my disregard towards its request, and I feel it in every muscle.

I push myself past my limit, winding through the twisted path of the forest. 

I won't break. I won't_ let _myself break_._

_Just long enough to get away. _

I battle between the need to crumble to the floor, and the want to step into the air and walk above the treetops. My senses leave me, and a smile creeps onto my face. 

The boy's footsteps, which had once been heavy and persistent, began to quiet behind me. I don't look back to check, however tempting that may be. 

Have I finally outrun him? For the first time, I might have. It immediately goes to my head, unfortunately. 

An excited giggle tumbles from my lips, and I lock my eyes onto my destination. My mind draws a finish line, painting the checkpoint. 

_50 yards._

Leaning forward, I get the momentum I need. 

_30 yards. _

My eyes brighten, and I almost skip to the wall, exhilarated by the mere thought of victory. 

10 yards.

_This is it! I’m finally going to—_

Arms grab me from behind, jolting me backwards. They snake around my waist, trapping me. I kick my feet and squeal, trying to escape. 

_No!_

I watch victory slip from my fingers. My legs swing pointlessly, and I am aware I look like a tantruming toddler, but I don't stop for a second. 

He turns around, his back facing the wall I was so desperately trying to reach. He walks backwards so he can reach the stone before me. I claw at his arms, kicking harder, run by determination alone. I’ve never been this close to winning, and if I could only—

His back hits the wall, and his arms are gone. I whip around to chastise him, “_Blades,_ Rowan.”

I look up at him, a smirk playing behind his seemingly blank eyes. He lifts an eyebrow, leaning against the wall. He keeps his mouth shut. 

Wise man, I am _absolutely _not done talking. 

“I was this close! You fell behind, I _heard _you fall behind. I pushed _so hard!” _

“Proud of you for that.” He says plainly. I glare at him. However, he doesn’t react, just runs a hand through his sandy blond hair.

“Do not interrupt me,” I sneer, trying not to laugh as I mimic the attitude that most often belongs to him. I roll my eyes, trying to be annoyed with him as I continue, “You don’t deserve me.”

“I know.” He pushes off the wall and walks past me, and I follow hot on his heels.

“I hate you, Rowan. With a passion.” I smile as I say it. I could never mean the words. 

“I know that, too.” Typically, his words would scare me, but the almost smile on his face lets me know he doesn’t believe me. And thank the gods for that. 

Rowan is my best friend. He truly means the world to me, and it's important to me that he knows it. 

He’s a strange boy with complicated emotions I don’t fully understand yet, but it doesn’t affect our friendship. 

Usually, I am good at deciphering expressions. It is difficult with a select few, though. For example, Rowan likes to pretend has no feelings at all. However, his jaw might occasionally tighten, or his eyebrows barely raise. When it's just the two of us, he lets go a little more and puts less effort into suppressing his reactions. 

As aggravating as it is, I wish I could hide my emotions as easily as he does. My state of mind shows on my face like I’m begging people to see what's happening inside my skull. 

Not that it’s hard to guess, a smile usually finds itself plastered on my face. I notice the little things that make me smile, like when there's a cool breeze on a hot day, or in my most recent example, I just lost the same race through the woods I do every week. I’ve never won once, and I’ve had to do it a million times. It seems like the type of thing to get under most people's skin, but I smile. I smile because someone I love did win, and I will always have these memories with that person. And I tried, that counts, and because of it, I’m a little stronger now. 

“Why couldn’t I hear you anymore? It sounded like you fell behind. I could hardly tell where you were,” I try to lace the words with a sour poison, as Rowan often does, but even _I_ could hear the curiosity hidden in my voice. 

“I took a shortcut,” He says. 

“Hey,” I furrow my brows, “That’s cheating.”

“Kiki, we both know there aren’t any rules. We run through the forest, and the first one to the wall wins.”

“I say it's cheating.” I cross my arms, “But I’m done doing anything running-related. Including talking about it.” 

We are both out of breath, and I have a familiar shake in my legs as we walk out of the forest and onto the main street of Candorless. 

Candorless is only a fraction of our island. There is a long list of differences between our portion of the land and the rest of Cardlem. 

The word, “Candor” means honesty, or truth. Truth is simply fact; we don’t have any of those here. Plants might glow, or the sky might light up in bright colors bleeding across the black night. The stars might move in front of your eyes, or gravity might just quit on you. If you are born outside of Candorless, you might never adjust to the animals changing sizes or the trees going through all four seasons in just one day. 

Most never adapt, hence the small population, but to me, it's home. 

Our island is large, and I’ve never seen the end of it. Never tasted the salty air of the cold water, or felt the sand beneath my feet. I’m okay with that. I prefer a tranquil lifestyle that is unperturbed and free. I don’t yearn for more. 

It’s a strange land, but this is home. No matter where I go, I always want to come back. The feeling is indescribable. When the tall trees and confounding land do not surround me, I feel uneven and wrong and the feeling doesn’t leave me until I return here. 

I can always tell when a person is from Candorless, simply by the amount of metal we decorate ourselves with. Armlets cling to our skin, some wrap the metal around their legs or necks,but it is far less common. 

I have a small thin band around my upper arm, the width of a string of yarn, with an inch gap in the circle. On one side of the gap is a small moon, smaller than the nail on my smallest finger. On the other side is a crescent moon about the same size. It serves as a reminder to find the beauty in opposites. 

Rowan’s are much different than mine, bold and dangerous looking. His decorative cuff is an inch wide, and he keeps it on his bicep. I’ve seen it a thousand times, but can’t tell its significance. I can’t see any design or pattern; it’s simple, undecorated. The only connection I can draw is that he chose silver instead of a gold or copper. I tell myself he chose the metal so that it would match his eyes, but he never answers when I ask.

He has a small chain around both his wrists, and five smaller ones that lead to rings on each of his fingers. I assume he wears them to make himself look unaproachable and unkind. I believe, he is the opposite, though he tries to hide it.

As we break through the forest line and step onto the main road, the familiar scent of a Candorless market fills my senses; the smell of the shops lining both sides, a mixture of freshly washed fabrics, the hot iron of the blacksmith's shop, and the aroma of freshly baked bread.  It's comforting to me. 

The smell of the bakery draws my attention, and I feel my mind wander. My eyes find the counter proudly displaying the goods. Baskets of round rolls, bathed in buttery cinnamon and sugar, sit in the front, calling my name. The other twists of dough are far less tempting. 

“We can go tomorrow. If you feel up to it, that is.” As if reading my mind, Rowan's quiet voice breaks through the everyday sounds of our town. His gaze lands on me, patiently waiting for my response. That’s one of his most admirable traits. I’ve never met one as patient as he is. 

I give him my widest smile. His jaw relaxes, and his gaze softens. 

“I would take you today—” He continues—“but I doubt you would want to walk home in the rain.” He tips his head towards the sky, and I follow. I don’t know how I didn’t see it before, but dark clouds are wrapping around the sky—a promise of rain sitting in each shadow.

“Tomorrow then,” I swallow, trying to shake off my worry. I can't seem to tear my eyes from the gloomy clouds occasionally lighting up with colorful yet threatening bursts of light. Drops of color seep through the cracks in the sky, keeping us from being enveloped by complete darkness. 

It’s only minutes before the rain begins to hammer the roads. Dirt turns to mud, and the wind slashes violently as we quicken our pace. My clothes cling to me, and comfort feels like a foreign concept. While the rain has a fresh, earthy scent, and a palette of soft patterns and hazy colors that most would find comforting, I find it miserable.  The rain is so dull compared to the warmth of the sun. On the other hand, Rowan has his head tipped back as we walk, and the raindrops are visible on his skin, sticking as if they belong there. 

“Careful, Rowan, or you might just smile,” I tease, which earns me a playful glare. I smile back at him, unable to stop it. 

“Let's get you home, we can’t have you freezing to death.” He attempts to shield me from the rain, it’s unsuccessful, but the effort warms my heart. 

Rowan makes it his personal goal to walk me home every day, and I have no problem with it.

We say our goodbyes, the same way we always do, before heading our separate ways. He doesn’t leave until I wave and close the door behind me. 

The soft click of the door closing echoes the thud of my drenched boots falling to the floor. I make my way into the main room of my house, following the muffled sound of my mother's voice. To my surprise, a woman roughly my mom's age is sitting beside her. 

The woman’s spine is straight and tall, a strange command radiating from her. Confidence and possible arrogance were potent in her spirit and challenging to ignore. 

I smile, despite wanting to shy away. I greet her, and her sharp eyes lazily make their way to mine. The color is shocking, a shade similar to a honey brown, but it’s more vibrant and demanding, something brighter. 

A fire. The embers of a fire, just beginning to burn. It's unsettling how they capture my attention and hold it hostage. 

She smiles, but it lacks the familiar warmth smiles are usually partnered with. 

Something about her is so captivating that I wanted to mold myself into whatever she wanted me to be. I wanted to ask her every question, and search for every hidden answer. Though quieter, the other part of me told me to keep my distance. I should be careful about what I let come out of my mouth. 

Usually, I wouldn’t listen or even have second thoughts, but this time, I do. 

I don’t let my smile hide, but I only give my mother a small explanation as to why I am promptly leaving for my room. I pretend I have some sort of project I can’t spend another minute procrastinating. 

She believes me, after the many times when it wasn’t a lie. 

The woman holds my gaze and doesn’t break the contact until I turn away. Her eyes burn into my back as I walk down the hallway. 

A shiver runs down my spine when I'm finally out of sight. I close myself in my room, jumping onto my bed. 

Guilt knots in my stomach. I judged her too quickly, and I feel horrible about it. But the unfamiliar fingers of fear seem to be wrapped around my mind, holding me back from changing my actions. 

I don’t sleep much, and my thoughts ensure I never close my eyes. I find myself never fully pulled under into unconsciousness.