SANCTUM | Avengers

1

- ONE -

I barely feel the blisters on my feet anymore as I quickly slide off the pointed ballet slippers. I don't look at the bruises on my hands, either. Peeling off my leotard, I stand to remove my skirt, slipping into darker pair of pants. Tucking my blonde hair behind my ears, I tie the rest of it into a low ponytail.

When I'm done, I gently and quietly walk out of the small, dark changing room with only one thing on my mind: training.

Teacher had said that the time for my ceremony would be soon, but the training was only getting harder. I splash cold water on to my face, and for a second, I hold my breath. My mind wanders, replaying the day's training again and again. I let out the breath, leaning back up from the sink.

At this point, I'm not even sure I will make it far enough to have a ceremony. Failure isn't an option here, but each step feels as though it's in the wrong direction.

Walking in to the hands-on combat room, I am greeted by the humid, dusty air. The walls are the colour of the depths of the ocean with long, wooden pillars running through them. I've never seen the ocean, but somewhere in the back of my mind... I could picture it's dark waters. Harsh lights hang from the ceiling, casting strange shadows across my cheeks.  The far wall is lined with beat-up punching bags, but I stopped using them almost ten years ago. Now, my feet find the familiar cushion of the mat and I clear my mind with a deep breath.

A bell rings, signalling the change of classes for the younger girls, and the doors in the hallways across from me open. Girls file out of them, not saying a word, their eyes trained on the ground.

Almost distracted, I feel someone behind me. Reacting without looking, I grab them by their shoulder and use my body weight to kick their legs out from underneath them and flip them on to the ground in front of me.

Landing in a low position with one hand on the ground, I steady my breathing and glare at the man who is now laying beneath me on the floor.

A voice from the back door calls to me.

"Too slow, Blahov, " she states, her tone harsh and firm.

I turn and fix my posture, training my gaze on the far wall and not daring to look into the small woman's grey eyes. The top of her head barely meets my chin, but she is like a whip cracking through the dusty air. Her sharp eyes bore into me even though I refuse to meet them.

"Feel their weight. Feel the movement in the air around you and sense the breaths they take out of the space. Do you think you are the only one who knows how to walk quietly? Do better".

She hovers around me like a wild dog around wounded prey- trying to find a weakness.

"Yes,'" I mutter, lifting my chin.

A simple word sparks adrenaline through my whole body:

"Again."

-------

Every night for as long as I can remember, curfew was a blessed time. In the summer, the sun would be just falling below the horizon when the classes ended. Some sessions pushed later, running long in to the night, but in those hours the security became tighter and the moonlight always cast long beams down the halls.

Quickly, I walk to the showers. They turn them on for a few hours each night; the frigid water always clears my mind. We don't have time to think most days. I pace my steps towards the bathing-room, letting my thoughts once again take over my brain in a mad swirl of calculations and techniques. I sigh- this moment of reprieve delicate and fleeting.

A voice booms over the announcement system, interrupting my train of thought. Fleeting.

"All girls over eighteen, report for patrol immediately in the large combat room."

Confused, I turn off the shower. I slip on some clothes, barely dry, and make my way to the hallway.

Usually, patrol was not something any of the trainees needed to do: but something must be wrong.

Leaving the bathroom, I see a small group of girls walking silently down the wooden staircase that lines the front entrance. Not even a board creaks as all ten of us walk down the mahogany steps. I had trained with these girls for years.

There used to be thirty girls my age.

The large combat room, although still used for combat, is without padding on the ground. The tall walls, lined with gigantic panes of fogged glass, force you to look up to see the ceiling. Dark wood, like the stair cases, cover the large flo making the room look even more vast and eerie than anything else.

An expressionless man closes the large doors after all the girls have stepped into the room. Loudly she woman walks in, her graying blonde hair tied back tightly against her head in a bun. She commands everybody's eyes by just walking into the room.

"Teacher," all of us say graciously.

Not daring to look at the other girls' posture, I know that they're all standing perfectly- backs straight and chins high.

"Girls," she replies as softly as I've ever heard her speak, "you will not be performing night routes."

My heart beats fiercely in my chest. Something is wrong.

Something is wrong.

I almost want to squeeze my eyes closed to shut this all out. I want to plug my ear to keep her voice from scratching down my spine.

Nobody moves. We all knew what she brought us down here for. We'd all trained for this. We'd all killed for this.

The stern, thick voice is back as she says to us all,

"It's time to finish your training."

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This is the fist book on this account and I've got so much planned :)

Any votes, comments, and feedback is much appreciated!

Thanks!

Brynn x