W.a.R
Copyright© 2025 by Auronomi
Chapter 5
Winter
Raindrops streaked the glass, while my reflection stared back at me through the blur. Sometimes, when I looked at myself, it felt like something was missing. Outside, the forest swayed in rhythm with the wind, clouds shifting at their own pace. The weather was restless, but my room radiated warmth, its peach tones meant for clear skies.
At the vanity, I scrunched mineral oils into my hair, combing until the strands fell sleek and soft. The fragrance sweetened the air, soothing me. Diamond-blonde hair against pale skin and sunflower-blue eyes — the reflection was intimidating even to me. There was a standard a girl like me was expected to uphold, and worse than that? I wanted to live up to those ideals. I liked wearing heels and dresses, and the softness society tied to femininity. I despised dirt, bugs, or anything slimy.
That was why, when I put on the armor — that girl must die.
A knock cut through the trance. “Come in.” I stiffened, my dress slipping to the floor like shed skin.
A security guard stepped in. “The commander requests your presence on the flat, Mrs. Winter.”
I nodded. “Thank you.”
Closing my eyes, I steadied myself. Something was wrong with me today — a strange sentiment beset me like fog, a pity that didn’t belong to me. Perhaps it was the weather.
I quickly dressed: white capris, a crepe-colored blouse, and Bottega Veneta sparkle pumps. Hair pulled into a bouncy ponytail and lips painted in shimmer pink sands. Pumps echoed down the hall, and the eyes of both men and women alike stripped me.
Wanted me.
The commander waited in the entrance hall, her back to me, staring at our sigil. Torchlight rendered her beauty sharp and unyielding. Moonlight etched the lines of the dagger in silver, alive in the dark.
“Did you know,” she said, voice firm but distant, “this sigil was placed here so that, at the same cycle every month, the full moon would light up the iris?”
I glanced at her. “No, I didn’t. It’s ... beautiful.”
“To remind us every so often, of our oath.”
Ic willeth scildan be lif of tho nary begotten of wickedness. His hells begat from his wickedness nu execrated by thy’s swift graces.
(I will protect the life of those not birthed of wickedness. His hells born from his wickedness now condemned by my swift graces)
We recited the words together in prayer to our ancestors, for their sacrifices and to the sacrifices we had made and had yet to make. To slay the creatures that were too dangerous to be told in fairy tales or bedtime stories — to wipe out what goes bump in the night.
She turned, her skin darker than I recalled, her smirk unreadable. “Weeks ago I promised you a mission, didn’t I?”
My pulse quickened. “Yes ... yes, you did.”
Her arm hooked mine, but her warmth felt wrong — like heat from a dying fire.
“Winter, it’s time for your first assignment.”
A smile flickered before I could stop it. The thrill surged through me, radiant, impossible to hide.
I can finally leave this place!
We descended into the darkness. Into what was ... unknown.
The air was too cold for the season, seeping into my bones. Torches passed like watchful eyes. But down here, the torches didn’t feel like guardians of the castle. They felt like warnings. We kept flames for light as to preserve the castle’s old bones, and because electricity could betray us to satellites. Not even our government knew where we were.
Deeper still.
Passageways I never knew existed opened up before us, their stone walls veined with cobwebs, air stale with things long undisturbed. The commander said nothing, only the eerie company of her silence. Each stairwell dragged us farther from the world above. Shadows twitched along the walls, slipping just out of sight. My blouse was too expensive for this side quest, dirt rubbing on sleek silk. Dirt on the walls looked strangely disturbed, clawed aside in places — as if someone other than us, had been here, brushing close.
Who ... or what, has been down here?
I broke the silence, my voice tight. “Commander ... if I may ask ... how much farther?”
Her reply was bitter. “Still impatient, I see. Just around this corner,” she gestured.
Her torch flared against the bend ahead. Beyond it, the unknown that had been accompanying me from the start. I was scared, not of the darkness; I’d been trained to kill with my eyes closed. I was scared of what I might have to do.
What she would make me do.
Bright lights flooded the passage as the commander pushed the door open. The fluorescence stung my eyes, a stark contrast from the damped stone above. I was told electricity was impossible here — forbidden — yet here it hummed, alive. The walls were painted in a clinical white glow, as if this place wasn’t underground, hidden. The corridor was lined with offices, cluttered desks holding filing cabinets and outdated laptops.
It looks so ... normal...
To the left was a room, with a metal surgical table that gleamed under the light, surrounded by tools laid out in neat, predatory rows. The air smelt of antiseptics, that metal table looked cold, like it was waiting for its next victim. It unsettled me more than any amount of guts ever had. I couldn’t get my eyes off those tools.
At the far end of the hall, a steel door waited, its bolts sinking deep into the frame.
The commander’s voice hardened as she approached it. “This is a part of your training, but it’s also a mission.” Her hand rested on the lever, hesitation transcribed in the tautness of her shoulders. An unnatural, possibly emotional, stance for the commander. “What waits behind this door is unlike the beasts you’ve fought before. This one...” she exhaled, “wears humanity as a mask. It will smile at you. Speak like you. Tempt you.”
Her words weighed heavy as the bolts screeched and the door whined open.
Inside, the lights were harsher. Instruments lined the walls: a taser, a whip, clippers, a bone-crusher — cruel implements gleaming with purpose. A metal pail sat beneath the tools, mute and dreadful.
Then I seen the cell.
The space was small, yet its presence swallowed the room. Chains bit into the walls, and a figure slumped against the make-shift bed.
A girl.
She looked no older than sixteen. Tan skinned, short framed, clothes soaked and clinging. One wrist was cuffed, one ankle chained, like she was some feral beast dragged from the forest.
Her wet hair veiled her face until she lifted it — Hazel eyes.
They struck me harder than the tools, the chains, harder than this place itself. Not glowing, not monstrous, but alive in a way that unsettled me more than any beast ever had. Flecks of green caught the fluorescent light, shifting to gold, to sky, and then to something deeper I couldn’t name. It was like looking into the wild—familiar, endless and fascinatingly dangerous.
My chest tightened, my body begging to recoil, but I forced myself to stand straighter. Still, I couldn’t look away. Those eyes didn’t plead. They didn’t break. They only held me. For a second, it felt like she was seeing through me, peeling me apart with nothing but a glance.
The commander’s voice snapped the moment in half, cold and edged with loathing.
“That is your mission, Winter.”
Rowan
My parents embraced me the moment I stepped into the house. Victoria’s arms wrapped around me like a heavy blanket, squeezing until it hurt, while Richard’s face folded into quiet grief. Their intensity put a knot in my stomach, did something happen?
I’d spent the last night in a hotel, still reeling from my encounter with Elna. Just the thought of her made my temples ache. Yesterday, I attempted to mend things with Brent, but that ended in shambles. I couldn’t fix us, and I was wrong to try when I didn’t even know how to fix myself. I just missed him. I needed to hear his voice, to feel ... safe.
The news murmured from the living room, a background hum.
Victoria finally pulled back, her hands trembling as they cupped my face. “Richard, he’s speechless. Oh, my poor boy.” Her black eyes glinted with the reflection of my own green ones.