Rosabella Robber of Shadows
- The Fire and the Shadows -
(From Rosabella’s Perspective)
The swamp knew before she did.
Rosabella stood in the stillness of her clearing, her fingers brushing the surface of the hive. The wasps inside trembled faintly under her touch, their agitation buzzing through the wood like a pulse. She tilted her head, her long white hair spilling over her shoulder as she turned her gaze toward the thick wall of trees surrounding her sanctuary.
The swamp stirred. The air felt warmer than usual, thick with something foreign, something wrong. It wasn’t the swamp’s heat—not the cloying dampness of stagnant water and rotting roots. This was something sharper.
"A fire is coming" one of the voices murmured in her mind, soft and low.
“He burns,” another said, sharper this time, laced with unease.
Rosabella closed her eyes briefly, silencing the voices with a slow, deliberate breath. They still whispered faintly, like an undercurrent she could not shake, but she ignored them for now. The swamp had grown heavier, darker. The shadows of the trees stretched longer than they should have, curling toward her like smoke.
She felt him before she saw him. His heat pressed against the swamp’s chill, bold and defiant, and when his figure finally emerged from the mist, Rosabella was ready.
Major Razer was tall and broad-shouldered, his presence imposing even at a distance. He wore armor blackened by soot and leather cracked with wear, and on his back rested a weapon she had never seen before—a long, jagged thing that radiated heat even in the swamp’s damp air.
But it was his mask that caught her attention first.
The bull-shaped mask covered his entire face, its blue lenses glinting faintly in the dim light of the swamp. From its mouth, a flickering orange glow burned steadily, like the embers of a forge kept alive by sheer will. The faint hiss of its air filter echoed in the quiet, the sound deliberate and rhythmic.
“You’re not afraid,” she said softly. It wasn’t a question.
“Fear is for the weak,” he replied, his voice low and distorted through the mask.
Rosabella tilted her head, the movement catching the faint light on her golden horns. She studied him carefully, noting the way he stood—his confidence sharp, his fire burning bright enough to press against the swamp’s shadows. Too bright. It grated against her.
“I’ve heard the stories about you, Witch,” he said, stepping closer. “You see the future, don’t you? I’ve seen it too. But fire shows fragments. You’ll give me the whole truth.”
Her lips twitched faintly, not quite a smile. Another fool, she thought. They always came with demands, thinking themselves stronger than they were, thinking her magic was something they could tame.
The voices stirred again, murmuring faintly in the back of her mind.
“His fire is dangerous,” one of them whispered, sharp and clear. “It doesn’t belong here.”
“Test him,” another countered, its tone cold and detached. “See what he’s made of.”
Rosabella ignored them, her focus remaining on Razer. “You want clarity,” she said at last. “You want truth. But fire only consumes. It doesn’t create.”
The glow in his mask brightened faintly. “Truth burns away lies.”
Rosabella turned away from him, her fingers brushing the hive as she pulled a single wasp from its surface. It rested on her palm, its wings buzzing faintly, its stinger glinting in the low light.
“This will hurt,” she said softly.
“I’ve endured worse,” he replied.
The wasp landed on his arm. Its stinger struck.
The venom took hold swiftly.
Rosabella stepped back as the man staggered, his knees hitting the ground with a thud. His breathing grew shallow, the hiss of his mask’s air filter uneven. The glow in the bull’s mouth flickered erratically, like a flame struggling against a sudden gust of wind.
Her wasps stirred above her.
They rose from the hive in a restless swarm, their buzzing filling the clearing as they circled high overhead. The swamp itself seemed to hold its breath, its shadows leaning closer, pressing against her like a living thing.
The venom worked quickly, spreading through his veins like a living shadow. She could see it twisting beneath his skin, clawing its way through him with jagged, invisible tendrils. His fire fought back, burning wild and chaotic, but the venom held its ground, refusing to be snuffed out.
Rosabella tilted her head, watching carefully as his body trembled. The glow in his mask flared suddenly, a bright burst of light followed by a faint hiss of steam escaping the bull’s mouth. For a moment, she thought he might rise.
But he didn’t.
The venom dragged him deeper, and his fire faltered. Her wasps grew louder, their buzzing reaching a sharp, fevered pitch, but she silenced them with a flick of her fingers.
The voices in her head were louder now, their tones clashing, their words tangling in her thoughts.
“He’s strong,” one of them said, sharp and clear. “Stronger than the others.”
“But not strong enough,” another hissed. “He’ll falter. They always do.”
Rosabella pressed her fingers against the hive, grounding herself as the voices overlapped. They were louder than usual, their presence invasive, and for a moment she felt her focus slipping.
“You saw it, didn’t you?” one of them murmured, its voice curling through her mind. “The figure?”
Rosabella’s jaw tightened. She silenced the voices with a sharp thought, forcing them into the background. The swamp around her seemed to settle, the shadows leaning back as Razer slumped forward.
The hallucination was complete.
The swamp exhaled as the ritual ended.
Rosabella stood in silence, her arms folding as Razer stirred. His breathing was uneven, but steadying, the glow in his mask flickering faintly. The wasps had begun to calm, their buzzing softening as they returned to the hive.
“You’ve seen it, then,” she said softly.
The man rose slowly, his movements deliberate, the steam venting softly from the bull’s mouth of his mask. The fire in him hadn’t gone out—it burned low, steady, and alive. Too alive.
“Who was the figure?” he asked finally, his voice low but edged.
Rosabella tilted her head, her golden horns catching the light as she watched him carefully. “That was your vision, not mine. You tell me.”
The glow in his mask flared sharply, his frustration evident. “I’ll find them,” he said, his tone colder now. “Whoever they are.”
Her gaze narrowed. “And what will you do when you find them?”
He didn’t answer, only turning sharply and walking into the mist. His fire lingered, leaving trails of warmth in the swamp’s damp air. The shadows around her seemed colder in his absence.
The voices stirred again, murmuring faintly in the back of her mind.
“He’ll come back,” one of them whispered.
“They always do,” another added.
Rosabella didn’t answer. She turned back to the hive, her fingers brushing its surface as the wasps hummed faintly beneath her touch.
“Yes,” she murmured. “They always do.”
Entered by: 0x6424…79B4
