Calina
»»----- ♔ -----««

Fainting was the easy part. The real problem came once you woke up, enduring the pain of hitting the ground or whatever ailment had caused you to faint in the first place.

I gradually cracked one eye open, then the other, trying to focus my vision. The pain in my chest had subsided, there was only a dull ache in my head.

Instead of sterile white walls, I was surrounded by the powdery pastel blue and cream walls of my childhood home. Soft blankets and pillows were propped against my back, providing comfort. I glanced down to find an IV taped to my wrist, and a strand of dark hair had fallen against my cheek, carrying the lingering scent of smoke.

The images of the fire assaulted me, and I shifted on the couch, attempting to distance myself from the memories. Dread, in the form of a knot, twisted in my stomach. I focused on my breathing for a moment, trying to block out all other thoughts.

I was safe. I hadn't died. I was at home.

"Why am I not in a hospital?" My throat was scratchy, and speaking burned like the fiery depths of hell.
I reached for the cup my father offered when he entered the living room. Sipping the water through the straw was almost painful as it traveled down my throat and settled in my stomach.

"Raine called us to let us know you were being loaded into an ambulance. We had her stall them and brought you home instead."

My parents lived three hours away from my university. If they came for me that quickly, it meant they had utilized hyperloop travel pods. Traveling anywhere in the world within ten minutes or less came at a considerable cost.

"You didn't need to deplete your savings to come for me. You could have just driven and met me at the hospital."

My violet eyes clashed with my father's pale blue angry gaze as I glared in his direction.

He released a slow, anguished sigh. "There's a reason you've never been to the hospital. Now isn't the time to delve into that story. You need your rest," my father whispered tenderly, pulling me into his arms for a hug and kissing the top of my head.

It was the same mantra I had heard growing up. I snorted, anger lashing away at my insides as I shifted out of his hold.

"It's for your safety, Callie bug," their tone was always so serious, striking fear into the depths of my being. My antics or questions would halt immediately, and I'd fall back into being their obedient little girl. Their perfect little angel.

Biting my bottom lip, I inhaled an unsteady breath. Secrets had been the foundation of my life growing up. I wasn't privy to them. No, they remained guarded between my parents.

I stared at my father, my frustration mounting. "I don't want rest. I want answers. Why did you race to bring me home?" My voice was steady but edged with impatience. I set my glass of water on the low coffee table in front of the couch and grabbed my phone, pulling up the image of the queen from the forbidden country-the woman who looked identical to me. I turned the screen towards him.

Still. My father went so unnaturally still that I wondered if he was even breathing.

He cleared his throat, running a hand through his thick salt-and-pepper hair, and settled into the cushioned chair beside the couch. His thick brows furrowed as he took a deep breath, struggling to find the right words.

"Calina, there are things we've kept from you, things we've tried to shield you from your entire life," he began, his voice low and serious. "We feared for your safety, and that fear has only grown more intense after the fire. It's time you knew the truth."

My heart went still and beat double time all at once. It was hard to breathe. I leaned in closer, my eyes growing wider. "What are you talking about, father? What does the fire have to do with any of this?"

"It's not just a fire, Calina. It's your connection to it. You see, you're not like other people, and neither are we. We have abilities, special abilities that we've kept hidden to keep you safe."

I shot him a dubious look, my eyebrows raising high as he reached into the front pocket of his shirt and pulled out a small, old-fashioned key with an intricate design. He stared at it, twisting it between his fingers before placing it in my hand.

"That emblem on the key represents a secret organization," my father explained. "We're part of a group that has existed for centuries, protecting the world from supernatural threats. We didn't want you to be burdened with this knowledge, but now, after the fire, we believe it's time for you to know the truth."

I blinked at him for several long seconds, unsure that I had heard his words correctly. He could not be serious. Annoyance and amusement washed over me. "Oh my Goddess, Father, you really had me going there for a second. Seriously, what's the actual story behind all of this?" I held up the ancient-looking key between us.

When smothering a smile became too impossible, my father released a soft chuckle. His expression turned more earnest as he grasped the key from my fingers. There was a brief silence before he spoke, all humor vanishing from his tone.

"There is no story. This is just a key your mother wore on a necklace years ago, but she lost it. I found it while cleaning out the closet in the dojo. I haven't had time to give it to her. It's been a hectic day, considering the trouble you found yourself in tonight."

"Alright, seriously though. Can't you let me in a little? There are too many secrets shrouding this family!" I exclaimed, holding up the image of the Queen. "I'm not a little girl anymore. You can't distract me so easily."

"Later. We'll talk about this later," he said, pointing to the woman on my phone. "Right now, I need you to trust me implicitly. I will explain, but I need time." His eyes locked onto mine, a plea for understanding and trust in their cerulean depths.

My heart was heavy, and I could almost hear it thumping in my ears. A deep throbbing sound, like the beating undertones of a sad song.

Instead of demanding the truth, I simply nodded and watched as my father walked out the front door.

༺♔༻

With a heavy sigh, I sank into the softness of the charcoal grey sofa, waiting for my father to return. I wanted answers. I needed them. Hopefully, he wasn't foolish enough to think that I'd let this drop and we would go back to the way things were, with my rose-tinted glasses.

As the minutes ticked by, my resolve hardened. No matter how outlandish his explanation might be, I would get the truth. The toll of my near-death experience had drained me; staying awake was a struggle. I kept drifting in and out of consciousness.

Eventually, I decided to seek solace in the shower. The hot water cascaded over me, washing away the remnants of smoke from my hair and hopefully clearing my mind. I needed to approach my father logically. If I pushed too hard for answers, he might feel cornered and shut down completely. My mother always said to my father, "A hunted fox is at its most cunning," whenever he tried too hard to get me to conform to his ways. I needed to remember that wisdom now.

The steam filled the bathroom, creating a cocoon of warmth that contrasted with the cold tension lingering in the air. As I scrubbed the soot and grime from my skin, my thoughts raced back to the days when I had rebelled against my father as a preteen. He was insistent on me wearing brown eye contacts in public to hide my natural violet eye color. It infuriated me. It made me feel subconscious and different, and I hated him for it.

So, whenever we were about to leave the house, whether it was for a trip to the park or the store, I would remove my contacts and don a purple outfit. My mother had found it endearing, seeing it as a manifestation of my self-discovery, but my father feared drawing undue attention. If he had told me the truth for why I needed to hide them, I would have listened, but he didn't care to explain.

Eventually, my father stopped objecting to my choice of eye color, and I grew tired of seeking attention. Nowadays, I simply told people that I wore purple-colored contact lenses.

Wrapping myself in a towel, I cleared the fog from the mirror and took a steadying breath. "Father, we need to talk," I said, gently but firmly. "I know you're trying to protect me, but keeping me in the dark isn't helping. I need to understand what's going on. Please." I nodded at my reflection. That sounded like a mature adult. I could do this. I could get him to trust me with the truth. I exited the bathroom, heading in the direction of my childhood bedroom for a change of clothes.

A distinct squeak resonated through the house as the front door closed slowly. Curiosity compelled me to pause at the top of the stairs, my ears straining to catch the hushed voices of my parents below.

"I think it's time we talked to her," my mother whispered.

"Not yet," my father responded. I'd never heard him sound so despondent. "Let her finish college first before she bears this weight."

"She was captured on live streaming news. I think it's out of our hands now."

"It was only available for an hour. I made a few calls, and it has been buried deep within the intranet. That was the best my source could do. We can..." My father's voice trailed off, indicating that they had moved to the garden to continue their conversation in privacy.

Bracing my hand on the banister, my mind whirled as I struggled to comprehend the weight of their cryptic conversation. Why would their secret become my burden? If my mother believed I was ready, then perhaps I truly was.

Tomorrow, I would be relentless in seeking answers from my father. The time for secrets was over. I needed to know the truth, no matter how heavy the burden might be.

»»----------««

"You're not guarding your right side, Calina!" my father's voice boomed with authority and encouragement.

With a growl, I ducked just in time as a Bo staff sliced sideways through the air where my head had been moments before. The wind of the missed strike ruffled my ponytail.

I shifted my weight to my left foot, muscles coiled and ready to spring. I saw an opening and prepared to lunge, but my father was already a step ahead. He spun around with the grace and precision of a seasoned warrior, his stick whistling through the air towards me from the opposite direction.

Instinct took over. My own stick flashed up to meet his in a solid, resounding clash. The impact reverberated up my arm, but I held firm.

He aimed a thrust at my midsection, but I twisted my body, letting it slide past me harmlessly. Seizing the moment, I countered with a swift strike towards his shoulder. He blocked it with ease, his grin widening.

"Better," he grunted, his eyes gleaming with pride and challenge. Without missing a beat, he launched into a rapid series of strikes: high, low, to the sides. Each one came faster than the last.

"Good, Calina. Keep your guard up," he encouraged, even as he pressed the attack.

We danced across the training room, the rhythm of our sticks creating a rapid, staccato beat. The world narrowed to just the two of us, the only sounds the clash of wood and our heavy breathing.

In a bold move, I feigned a strike to his left side, then quickly pivoted to aim for his right. He almost fell for it, but recovered just in time to block my attack. Our sticks locked together, and we pushed against each other, testing our strength. I broke the lock and spun around, using the momentum to add force to my next strike. It caught him off guard, and for the first time, he stumbled back a step.

"Nice move!" he admitted, regaining his balance. His eyes shone with approval and a hint of surprise.

We circled each other, both breathing hard, but neither willing to back down. This was more than training-it was a test of will and skill, a bonding moment. He lunged again, and our sticks collided once more, sending a shockwave through my arms. But this time, I didn't falter. I held my ground, meeting his gaze with unwavering determination. I dropped low and swept my leg out, kicking his feet out from under him. Knocking him on his back on the padded floor. I held the tip of my Bo staff to his chest. " I win. Which means you have to talk."

He lay there for a moment, eyes wide with surprise. I've never beaten him in sparring. No matter the weapon or the style of fighting. He had been trained in fighting since before I was born. But I won.

"Did you let me win?"
He frowned then batted my staff aside and kicked up to his feet in one swift motion, a mixture of pride and astonishment flickered across his features. I could see the wheels turning in his mind, processing the fact that his daughter had just bested him in combat.

"Of course not," he replied firmly. "You're much, much faster than you were even a few months ago."

"I worked on my speed," I said, a grin spreading across my face. "Just like you suggested."

I had poured every spare moment into my training, seizing every opportunity to practice and improve. Between classes, after school, even in the dim light of early morning, I had pushed myself to the limit, determined to prove that I was worthy of my father's teachings.

"Get cleaned up and meet your mother and I in the living room," my father said with a heavy sigh. "Congratulations on your win." I could see the genuine pride shining in his eyes.

I nodded, the excitement still coursing through my veins as I turned to head towards the washroom. My father had spent all morning avoiding me. I knew he would. Flash backs at how I had tricked him into a bet flickered through my mind as I washed my arms.

"Father, we need to talk," I said, my voice unsteady and wavering-not nearly as calm as I had practiced.
I took a seat across from him at the breakfast table, meeting his wary gaze. "I know you're trying to protect me, but keeping me in the dark isn't helping. I need to understand what's going on. Please."

He shifted uncomfortably, his eyes flicking away from mine. "Calina, it's complicated. There are things you're better off not knowing."

I leaned forward, my expression earnest. "I can handle it, whatever it is. I'm not a little girl anymore. I found that picture of the queen, the woman who looks just like me. I can't just forget what I've discovered. I deserve answers."

My father stood and left the room. His breakfast hardly touched at all.

Later, I found him in the attic that he turned into a training room. Our dojo. I picked up a Bo staff and tossed it at him. "If I win, I want answers." He caught the stick with a taunting smirk.

"Deal, Callie bug."