Chapter 4

Words : 1079 Updated : Oct 27th, 2020

Brielle's stomach twisted. He was in one of those guessing moods. A horn blew from somewhere in the distance. It echoed only once, but the sound was stretched, thunderous, and boasting. The announcement. The master took quick strides to Brielle and grabbed her hand. There, on her palm, he laid the soft, silk ribbon. "Don't lose it." Eight men stood on guard outside the tent, four on each side of the entry. They were armed with rifles that have green energy at the core of the weapon. Only the military were allowed to bring them. If they caught you with one, you'd be thrown in prison or worse. Fighting or crimes rarely occurred in the New World. Not since the war. Not since The Offering. If possible, the crowd had grown more on the square. The initial panic was gone, controlled by the military who was out there, silent, observant, and blending with the mass. The animals had also quieted down, and their owners, the guests, were standing near the podium, waiting like everyone for the speech of the president. The master directed Brielle to the seats reserved for them. He let her sit beside him like always, anticipation on his face. In a short while, a woman with white trimmed tresses that fell just above her collar, strode to the center of the stage. The guards that surrounded her were bigger in number than Master Vincent's, more impressive, though that was understandable because she was the president. She wore a matching navy blue blouse and skirt, the same color of her son's clothes. "Welcome guests and countrymen," she addressed, opening her arms wide. Her voice amplified to the square by hidden speakers. Everyone who attended, no matter how many, would hear. The responding clap from below roared. "Thank you for taking the time to participate in this glorious event. This is a celebration, a party, but also a commemoration. I'd like for all of you to raise your candles, and remember our fallen brothers and sisters who offered their lives for the greater good." One by one the candles were lifted to the sky. It was so silent that Brielle could hear her own heartbeat rushing in her ears. By the time the candles were down, the president had walked the length of the podium. She was closer to Brielle, and at that distance, she could see her frailty, her oldness. The president had been in position for decades. Leaders from other countries had come and gone, but here she was, still impactful. It was a matter of time before she. . . "The Offering was made after the war, to stop all future wars," the president said. "We don't train defenders because we crave bloodlust. We're not cruel like our ancestors. The Offering is for order, rulership without genocide." She started walking again, chin up, brows together, back squared. Beside Brielle, Master Vincent was crossing and uncrossing his legs. "For eight generations, our country has won The Offering, making us the leader of the 22 nations. This year, I promise to you that we will triumph again, with the help of our chosen champion." The president stretched her hand towards the stairs. Brielle held her breath like the thousands who attended. It was the moment they'd all been waiting for. Their defender, the first half of the partnership who will fight for their country, was going to be introduced. Nobody has seen her before. They'd only heard the stories. It was said that one hundred kids, all potential candidates, were brought to the training ground years ago. They were scouted throughout the country, and would have the chance to be trained for The Offering when the time came. Only one defender was needed for the job. This one, the woman they'd be introduced to, killed the remaining ninety-nine children to get the spot. She didn't need to. The kids were free to walk away. But still, she slaughtered them mercilessly as the story went, making sure that a single competition wouldn't make it out. Brielle wondered what kind of monstrosity would grace them tonight. The defender was probably an evil troll like the myths in her father's books. She was probably painful on the eyes with a cocky personality to seal the package. The woman who came to the podium were none of those. She was slender and tall, but didn't look like a troll, not even close. Her face was perfection, symmetrical, and good-looking. Her wine-colored hair was unruffled by the gust of wind that blew on the stage with her appearance. She was at ease on her black leather corset and pants as she moved closer to the president. Brielle sucked in a deep breath. Did they expect her to believe that this was their warrior? The woman's silver forehead band complement her, or the term Goddess, not the killer moniker, and certainly not slaughterer. The president stepped back and said, "Let me present to you our defender, Talin!" The crowd was hushed, gaping. None of them clapped. The rumors didn't rival the face behind it. They were baffled. "She's our generation's champion," the president continued. "Through her and her sodales, we can ensure our spot as the ruling country for another hundred years. Be honored by her presence. Never again." "Never again," the people murmured. Never again, Brielle thought. Never again for the useless war over oil, food, and gold. Never again for conflicts over which country was best. Never again because defenders from each place were willing to kill other defenders so the winning country would be number one, and could take control over them all. Never again for the bloodshed, unless it was between the 44 who were participating. The Offering, a surefire way to save people by sacrificing a select few. The world had come to this. It could be her imagination; she wasn't so sure. For the briefest instance, a split-second perhaps, she thought she saw Talin's eyes flicker to her. Small hairs raised on her arms. It wasn't a glance of interest or fondness that you'd expect from a stranger. It was full of anger, disgust, and loathing, all directed to her. Brielle gulped and shifted on her seat. She didn't notice that the blood-red ribbon that master has given had fallen to the floor.

Chapter 4

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