Chapter 5: Blood and Vengeance

SIENNA

The air is dense, heavy with the humidity of dawn. The cabin stands in the dim light, barely illuminated by the flickering glow of a candle inside. The sun has yet to rise. Everything is silent, except for a guttural sound that makes my skin crawl. A low, ragged growl coming from within.

My fingers tighten around the knife hidden in my sleeve. I move cautiously, every fiber of my body on alert, my heart pounding furiously against my ribs. Something is wrong. Very wrong.

I push the door open gently. The air thickens in my throat, and my body freezes. I see him. And the world shatters.

My father. On top of Astrid.

Horror hits me like a brutal wave. Disgust and helplessness coil in my stomach until I feel like I’m going to be sick. Astrid lies beneath his weight, trapped in a nightmare with no end. Her skin is marred with dark bruises, her face a mask of suffering. Dried blood traces lines down her skin, forming rivers of pain carved into her flesh. Her tattered dress reveals the brutality she has endured. She is barely breathing.

Her eyes, those eyes that always sought beauty in a cruel world, are glassy, empty, lifeless. Dead inside.

The air stops entering my lungs. The trembling in my hands transforms into a burning rage that rises from my chest to my throat. My vision turns red. I don’t think. I don’t reason. I just act.

The world ceases to exist. No sound, no thought. Only a primal roar that rises from my depths and spreads like fire through my veins.

I charge at him with a furious scream, my rage turning into steel as the knife plunges into his back. But it’s not enough. Not for a monster like him.

His scream of pain is more fury than suffering. He turns with the speed of a trained beast, his arm swings, and he strikes me with brutal force. I’m thrown against the wall, my back slamming into the rotten wood. The air leaves my lungs, and pain explodes in my side. The knife slips from my hands, but I don’t have the luxury of surrendering.

He lunges at me, his rough hands closing around my throat, squeezing until black spots dance in my vision. His gaze is that of a predator—cold, devoid of humanity. I struggle, kick, claw at his skin in desperation. I can’t breathe. I can’t move. He’s going to kill me.

But no. Not this time.

Astrid’s face flashes in my mind, her broken body on the floor. A scream of rage drowns in my throat as my hand desperately searches, amidst the dirt and dust, for anything. My fingers brush against a shard of broken glass. I grip it tightly, ignoring the sharp edge cutting into my palm, and stab it into his arm.

He growls, his grip loosens for a second. Just enough.

I gasp for scorching air and drive my knee into his stomach. He staggers, growling, his eyes now blazing with pure hatred. He throws a punch, but this time, I dodge. I move fast—faster than I ever have. Rage gives me a strength I never knew I had.

I launch myself at him, retrieving my knife from the floor. I stab him in the chest with all the force I have left. And again. And again.

He keeps fighting, his hands still trying to reach me, but his strength crumbles with each stab. Blood spills from his mouth, his eyes looking at me with something that almost resembles surprise.

But I don’t stop. Not until his body is motionless beneath me.

He collapses to the floor, gasping, his chest rising and falling in spasms. Without thinking, I straddle him, my knees digging into his sides, and raise the knife once more.

—“Bastard! Bastard! Bastard!“—I scream, and with each word, the blade sinks into his flesh again.

Rage consumes me, devours me, pours out in every movement. Blood splatters my face, my hands, my chest, but I don’t care. It’s not enough. I stab him for every blow we took, for every night of hunger, for every time he left us to fend for ourselves, not caring if we lived or died. I stab him for every time he used us as bait, for every life he forced us to take with our own hands.

My fury becomes my only existence. His skin is no longer skin—it’s a prison I am destroying, a punishment I am ripping apart until his flesh is unrecognizable. I don’t stop until his body ceases to move, until his last breath bubbles in his throat, and his lifeless eyes stare at me.

With agonizing effort, he moves his lips, whispering barely audibly:

—“You are my mirror image... what a pride…”

His words strike me like a hammer, breaking something inside me. My hand rises once more, and without hesitation, I drive the knife deep into his chest, stealing the last of his life.

My breathing is erratic. My body, covered in blood. I look at him one last time, but there is nothing left. Nothing of him. Nothing of me.

Only then, gasping and trembling, does the rage begin to fade, and the world takes shape again.

I lift my gaze and see Astrid, motionless on the floor.

My chest tightens with a different kind of terror—a fear that has nothing to do with the dead man at my feet.

I drop to my knees beside her, my bloodied hands cradling her.

—“Forgive me,“—I whisper, my voice broken.—“Forgive me for leaving you alone.”

Tears blur my vision as I hold her tightly. Her skin is cold, her breathing faint. I can’t lose her. Not after everything.

—“Fight, As. Please, fight. I will save you. I will find a healer, I will do whatever it takes. But don’t leave me.”

My sobs fill the cabin, merging with the silence of death.

I won’t allow her to become another of our losses. My body moves on its own, frantic, searching for something—anything—to help me get her out of here. With trembling hands, I grab a blanket, wrap her carefully, and desperately search the cabin until I find an old wooden cart. I barely care if it wobbles—I just need to get Astrid away from this place before it’s too late.