Chapter Text
“So…” Layla questioned, eyes observing the purple-haired girl in front of her, noticing - not for the first time - the various cuts and bruises scattered across her body, the scars lacing the top half of her back in perfect succession; one straight after the other, as if she had been flogged endlessly. Punished beyond belief. “When are you finally going to introduce yourself by telling me your name?”
“My name,” the purple-haired girl hissed, turning around, “is not what’s important right now. Shut yer trap and keep moving .” her voice was seething as she tightened the death-grip she had on the younger’s forearm. Layla pulled away, hard. She looked down at her arm, at the throbbing red mess left of it and almost considered yelling at the girl to just give her a damn break, already. Almost .
She beamed at the red skin, at the way it would matte down into a purple hue days from now and hideously mark her skin in a shape exactly identical to the girl’s fingers.
A handprint.
Forensic evidence.
The bruise, itself, was sufficient enough to call a person into questioning, to get their citizen identification number to run some background checks using the smart technology Layla was pretty sure she had seen lying around somewhere in her father’s lair before. He’d invented a gadget that was both compact and simultaneously intricate enough to analyse and identify a single person just by the imprint of their fingers.
“Of course it is!” She countered, “How else am I supposed to refer to you, then?”
The girl blinked, looking back in her direction as if Layla had told her that the sand was green. “Whaddya mean by that?”
“Look…” Layla sighed, trying to keep up with the girl. She had a slight skip to her step, as if she was excited, but her face betrayed no emotion whatsoever. Completely neutral. “I understand that you want to keep this air of anonymity around you - to impress me and appear cooler , or whatever.” she lengthened her stride to surpass the girl, turning around to fully face her now. She straightened up at the disapproving look she was being casted, but didn’t miss the way the girl’s eyes narrowed in on her, looking her up and down. “because,” she leaned forward, batting her eyelashes. “I get it. I'm hot . irresistible. but you really should know that i’m not even into purple -haired-”
The girl walked right past her, dragging her along by the ponytail.
She nodded towards the shattered window of the cavern in front, hastily climbing the structure to crawl through the window four stories above.
Layla marvelled at her, eyes widened in wonder.
She was good at this.
The girl coughed once, clearing her throat.
Layla looked up at her, meeting her pink eyes head on. A single wisp of hair fell from the crown of her head to rest on top of the defined curve of her brows, curling at the ends just before reaching the piercing adorning her left brow bone. The glare from the sun reflected off the metal, glinting in the light; so perfectly placed that it drew together the top half of her face. She was so ethereally perfect; beautiful in every aspect - The high rise of her cheekbones, the straight bridge of her nose, curving up ever so slightly at the end. the soft plumpness of her cheeks, the neat braids and bush of hair tucked away, the defining curves of her lips, so plump, so pink - like her eyes - and god , layla was staring too much. She swallowed, hard.
The girl didn’t look a day over 18 yet the way her brows furrowed, creating a wrinkle on her forehead as she watched Layla with barely-restrained contempt and visible frustration - it made her seem even younger than Layla was. A child.
A ghost of a smirk tugged the corners of the elder’s lips upwards. She looked down at Layla, pink eyes sparking in challenge, rope extended and hands outstretched as if Layla wasn’t a complete stranger she happened to stroll upon and rescue just two days ago, before roping into a not-so-epic burglary attempt through an already-shattered window.
“Well? Are ya gonna come up here or not?”
Logically, Layla knew it was best to take the rope to climb her way through the window and avoid chafing her knees or something else entirely in the process. Rationally, she could also use the girl’s hand to properly climb through, using her to steady herself. She knew all this. But the way the girl was looking at her; with a smug sense of knowing, as if someone born and raised in Eruditio couldn’t climb a fucking window to break into an office, of some sorts - that Layla wouldn’t and couldn’t break a couple of the laws she shoved down her throat for breakfast, lunch and dinner just like every other law-abiding citizen in the place where they were both studied and written - as if she hadn’t broken the biggest one, leaving without a permit to even be stuck in this situation in the first place - it switched on her competitive side. Made her want to point an accusatory finger in her direction and tell her to eat shit with that huge grin of hers.
Instead, Layla flashed her the finger because she was a lovely young erudition woman with elegant poise and manners.
The elder leaned back against the window frame, propping her chin on her palms for added effect as she tracked Layla’s every movement, eyes flashing with a hint of amusement at her incredible dismay.
There were a few loose bricks sticking out of the structure, like forgotten pieces of a jenga set abandoned for years before someone finally decided to finish the game and let everything fall apart. In theory, if she stepped on the ones that were only slightly ajar, there would be a less of a chance that she would fall straight to her doom. Testing, she shifted her weight onto the small platform, tiptoeing on the brick, breath hitching as she wobbled slightly. Her fingers caught in the moss overhead, using it as a handrest before digging her nails into the cement and bending her knees, she jumped ever so slightly, using the momentum of her body to throw herself upwards a little more - grabbing hold of another brick to steady herself. She was really close; could see the frame of the window just ahead and hauled her body so that she was dangling off the window cill. Her palms were sweaty, loosening her grip, but then - just when she thought of letting go and bracing herself to minimise the damage, she felt another pair of hands hold onto her arms, pulling her upwards.
Layla landed on the sandy tiles with a groan, body fully pressed against the girl on the floor, who looked at her as if she wanted nothing more than to burn her to a crisp.
She straightened out her clothes, blowing the strands of hair stuck to her mouth out of her way, arms lifting in celebration, fists pumping. A win was still a win.
She looked towards the purple head to gauge her reaction, satisfied at the way she seemed to suddenly be more interested in the glass shards scattered around the place. “Don’t ever underestimate me again.”
Silence.
“Puh-lease,” the other scoffed, “ya couldn’t actually haul yourself up here without my help, princess .”
“Don’t call me that!”
“I’ll call ya whatever I want.” The girl countered, brushing off the sand and shattered glass from her palms. She got to her feet, surveying the room before dropping back down to her knees in an instant, head snapping towards Layla. “Ya hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“ Uh-oh .”
Layla blinked, watching the girl intently as her eyes darted across the room, assessing. she knew that look of desperation rather personally, had seen her father with a similar level of helpless concentration countless of times before, back when he was working hard on the malefic guns he had designed for her to wield, when he had worked on the gadgets for the newer cohort of the lightborn heroes, when her mother had told her father that she had followed the erudition rangers around the city, copying their every move - willing him to try and convince their sole daughter to give up the likes of her dreams and become a scientist like them instead - that her love for literature was not a means for her to become a hero, in their likes, but to create the world, itself. To become the narrator. So out of touch.
Layla sighed, noticing not for the first time that they seemed to be in an office, of some sort. There was a dark wooden table across from them, in total contrast with the white walls, strangely making this eerily seem way too out of place. Who would build an office in the middle of the sandy dunes? And how did the wooden furniture get there? Who transported it?
The girl made her way to the table, knocking it over before dragging it to cover the pair of them from the stampede of what Layla assumed were soldiers shuffling around on the other side of the closed door.
“Get ready to fight. They might be armed.”
“ Fight ?” Layla sputtered, in disbelief. “Why’d we need to do that ?”
The girl sighed, bringing her fingers up to the bridge of her nose. Great, just great .
She eyed her warily, lowering her voice to a sing-song tune, mocking. “How many times do I have to tell you, princess ? Kill or be killed.”
“And there’s, like, no other way around it?”
The girl hummed, giving it thought. Her eyes caught on the window, and she pressed her lips into a tight line. “That, or we jump.”
Layla’s eyes widened, she shot the girl an incredulous look. “You have a death wish.”
“Well, I got nothin’. Maybe ya could actually make yourself useful and think-”
“I don’t know what to do!”
“You’re from the city of fucking scholars! Your kind does nothing but think all day ‘round!”
The sound of steps seemed to be getting closer and closer. Layla closed her eyes, breathing out. The girl grabbed onto the hem of her dress at the same time the door slammed open, and Layla all but curled in on herself. She clasped her hand to her mouth, surprised to feel another, more warmer hand already there. A bullet ripped past just overtop their heads, barely grazing Layla’s ponytail. She looked towards the purple-haired girl in horror, face pale and eyes wide open.
She was going to scream.
Layla had been a kid when she had first learned of the ways of the world. She knew that the Eruditians were gifted. That she was special because she was born as one of them. That she was to be raised as an academic, just like her parents and her parent’s parents and their parents and -
She had been born in a cradle of gold, had literature coursing through every vein in her body. She bled words, cried sonnets. She had heard of the outlaws, in passing. Very briefly, very hushedly. They weren’t supposed to be talked about, were just made up to scare people into behaving and for so long, no one really believed in them. They were just folklore. The kind of stories you’d tell a misbehaving kid if they got too greedy and ate one too many sweets than they were supposed to. Myths that she could never place a name or face to because she could never have imagined someone would ever want to go against the laws of the nation, everything she had ever learned and believed and abided by. And despite her best interests to become an emissary of the land of dawn, she had always felt at heart in Eruditio. Her parents had always been loving, but refused to allow her to even mention the difficult career. They were quite keen of Layla learning their ways, to be one of the scholars roaming around the streets, with books in their hands and their brains and their hearts.
She had been forced to live the life of literature. To study and learn and become the best student in Eruditio. To top her classes and work oh , so hard to just please and please and please-
And yet, here she was. Hiding in the midst of barren sand mines, with the leader of bad souls right beside her, telling her to fight . Layla had always known how to fire a gun. She was good at it. Great, even. She had always scored the highest in target practice.
She had never once spared thought to levelling the end of a gun at anybody’s heart before and wishing them farewell before shooting them dead, at point blank.
She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head vigorously. No. Killing was bad. She’d be banished, branded a criminal.
Layla didn’t want to be a criminal .
The purple haired girl rolled her eyes for the nth time, reaching into her backpack to grab hold of the weapon hidden away in the lining. She handed a small pistol to Layla before she could protest and told her to stay put. Watch and learn , she said.
Layla watched the purple-haired girl peek above the cover of the table, shooting a few rounds before rolling over to the side of a neighbouring plank of wood, using it as a shield before discreetly grabbing hold of a shard of glass as she neared the door.
She was met with a fire of bullets in greeting.
She swore under her breath, using the moment the bullet fire ceased to jump really, really high that Layla wasn’t sure if she could call that jumping or flying. Because she was really flying. She spared her a glance before turning back to fight.
Fight as if it were the easiest thing for her to do - the most natural. Layla tried ignoring the way the girl’s mouth pulled into a massive shit-eating grin. At the way she seemed to be so thrilled just shooting a bunch of people dead, and suddenly she was smiling too, because it was infectious and it made her feel safe and good and-
And then Layla realised that she was not, infact, smiling - but screaming, instead. The girl had noticed the man with a pole a second too late. She turned, kicking him away, trying her best to put distance between them but he swung and he swung, as if she were a piñata at Layla’s tenth birthday party - purple and pink and leaking blood red candy everywhere.
So much happened the next second, it was hard for Layla to even begin explaining. Ixia was jumped by three rangers; all dressed up in the same standard white uniform, guns held high and chins even higher. The perfect display of superiority and pride. The door was completely busted, off its hinges and clattered down with a loud thump, or maybe that had been Layla, because someone was pulling on her pigtails, hard. Forcing her down against the ground so hard, that she suddenly felt sick.
Really, really sick.
“No!” she yelled, struggling at the hands gripping her, “No! I’m…we come in peace! I'm from Eruditio!”
Not a single movement. Not a single reaction.
She grabbed her pistol, hitting the butt of it against the man pressing her down with as much strength as she could muster. It was enough to distract him. The man’s hold on her loosened ever so slightly, and she used that moment to her advantage, entirely. She thrusted her weight forwards, forcing the man to be pushed backwards. She kicked, scratched, bit, threw and raked her nails through any and every piece of flesh she could; and when the man had cornered her dangerously close to the window, Layla stood - legs buckling slightly as she tried smiling at the ranger, “Please - please just tell me that this is one huge misunderstanding. I’m telling you the truth! I’m from Eruditio! My father - You’ve gotta know my father! Nolan - Nolan Grant - he….he works with the lightborn heroes - please… ” her throat burned with the words, voice raspy as she sobbed openly, body trembling with each sob.
“Layla!! Get down!”
The man charged forward, lunging to grab her by the neck or something to that effect, but Layla’s body reacted much faster than his, moving to the side before he all but ran out of the window, free falling to his doom.
Layla looked over her shoulder, feeling numb. Her eyes were growing heavy and she couldn’t properly get herself to breathe . She watched, as a blurry figure pressed the barrel of the gun against the purple-haired girl, smirking in triumph. “Ixia, Ixia, Ixia…”
This was wrong.
They were overpowered.
They were completely overpowered, and had shown up in peace.
“What ever am I going to do with you?” the man sweetly questioned, looking at her with complete disgust.
They were grown men, and Layla and the girl - God, the girl …Ixia ?
Layla and Ixia, they were just-
they were just kids . So why?
Why were the rangers so intent on murdering them right now?
The girl Ixia smiled back just as bitterly, feigning innocence with the soldier. He pressed the butt of the rifle even harder against her heart, licking his lips. “Try it if ya dare.”
The man cooed in response, using his free hand to cup her chin, leaning in closer to get a good look at her face. He studied her for a while before letting go completely, facing the other soldiers, not even sparing a single glance in Layla's way. “We got a fighter, boys!" He grinned, baring his teeth. "She said to try it. ”
A chorus of laughter.
Sicksicksicksick -
these bastards were fucking sick.
Layla couldn’t hear anything over the blood rushing in her ears, saw nothing but red. She hadn’t even registered the weight of the pistol still in her hands until she brought it up, closing her eyes.
3
She steadied the gun in her hands, feeling around the whole thing to properly gain a good grip on it.
2
She turned the safety off. Click.
1
She breathed. Letting her finger reside on the trigger, steadying herself for recoil. She opened her eyes, aiming for the sweet spot between the man’s head and his neck, just above the dip of his shoulders, where his carotid artery was. One swift motion and he’d be dead.
He wouldn’t be touching Ixia anymore - or any girl, for that matter. He’d be dead.
He’d be dead.
He’d be dead.
Layla pulled the trigger.