Chapter Text
YUNISE
Why do dead people think letters explain everything? Yunise might have been angry, except the letter rose too many questions.
Her mom’s death wasn’t unexpected. In fact, it was about as painless as death could be. She’d known it was coming, and so had Yunise. She was old. Especially for a mom, seeing as Yunise was only 15. It hadn’t been pretty, seeing her slowly fade away, but Yunise had always been tough.
She looked it, too. Her black hair was inexpertly cut short (she’d done it herself, and rather liked the rugged appearance it gave her). Her eyes were a dark golden brown. It was lucky she was as tough as she looked, because she was a short Asian tomboy. Or, in the eyes of her childhood bully, a target.
Yunise stood, at the moment, in front of a pile of rubble, an abstract sculpture of grey bricks with timber beams sticking out of it like broken ribs. She checked the letter her mother left her, finding it hard to believe that this was the place, but the address was clear. This was where her mom wanted her to go. She read the letter again.
Dearest Yunise,
I cannot explain everything, and even if I could, I doubt you would believe me. But I know you know you are different. Now that I am gone, it is time you learned who you are. For answers, look at the map I’ve given you. Good luck.
Vague, strange and tantalizing. A typical I-can’t-explain-everything letter. It was short and to the point. Their goodbyes, after all, had been exchanged in person. Yunise had hurt and mourned and stared at walls. And then she had found this letter. The note was the first page; the second page was a map, including directions, an address, and enough money to make the short journey to Sonoma Valley. To this pile of rubble.
Yunise might not have gone at all if it weren’t for the line “I know you know you are different.” That was what made her angry. All her life, she’d been unusual. Strange things happened around her, but her mom would always refuse to acknowledge them. At age 6, Yunise had given up telling her, and instead, she focused on training herself, honing her… gifts.
“Here goes nothing,” she said to no-one in particular, and she stepped into the rubble, waiting for answers to appear out of thin air. At first, nothing happened, and she walked deeper through the brick-free patches that had probably once been rooms. Further in, she could see that a few parts- a chamber, a hallway, maybe a wall or two- were still standing, and she decided those were the right way. Half indoors, half outdoors, the walls and ceiling were still able to cast her in shadow. The sun was setting, and the smell of twilight mixed with the smell of powdered brick.
Yunise was about to give up and return home when the Wolf appeared.
It was massive- taller than any human- and had rust-colored fur that glinted in the red sunset. Though she stood in the shadow of the nearest wall, her eyes glowed with a fierce silver light. Yunise probably should have been scared. She wasn't.
“Greek,” said the Wolf, sounding slightly disappointed. Her voice was female, but underneath it was a powerful bestial growl. She began prowling around Yunise, looking at her as if sizing her up for a meal. Yunise stood her ground. “But defiant, strong,” she said more approvingly. “Self-assured, too. Do you want to run away, little girl?”
“No, but you might want to.” Yunise’s head was spinning slightly, but she wasn’t shocked. Surprised, but not shocked. She had long since decided to believe in magic, though she wished her mom could have confirmed her suspicions while she was alive. At her words, the Wolf laughed.
“A good deal of nerve. I like you.”
“Are you going to explain anything?”
“Like what?”
“My mom sent me here for answers,” said Yunise, her voice challenging. “I’m not leaving till I get some.”
“We will talk elsewhere,” said the Wolf. “Follow-”
“We will talk here,” said Yunise. “Answers. Now.” The Wolf gave a quiet laugh, but anger stirred behind her silver eyes.
“Spunk. Not bad. What kind of answers do you want?”
“You said ‘Greek’,” said Yunise. “What does that mean?”
“It means Greek,” said the Wolf unhelpfully. “Not Roman. But you’ve got the makings of a legionnaire.” Yunise’s mind started to whir.
“I want answers, not more questions.”
“Your mother,” said the Wolf. “How much has she told you?”
“Zilch,” said Yunise bitterly. “Looks like it’s your job. Greek and Roman, what do you mean by that?”
“How many of the myths do you know?” said the Wolf slyly, her canine lip curling.
“Greek and Roman myths? Enough. Why?”
“You do know,” said the Wolf, prowling around Yunise once again, “that many of the heroes of those stories were half god?”
“Half god,” said Yunise, resisting the urge to look around as the Wolf passed behind her. She was close, and Yunise could feel her breath on her neck. “Are you saying… what I can do…”
“I don’t know,” said the Wolf, turning to face Yunise once again. “What can you do?” Yunise decided it was about time for a threat.
“This.” She flicked her wrist. The wall behind the Wolf was blasted away, spraying the rubble with an extra layer of bricks. The wall was already in ruin, so it didn’t take much effort. That old pull in her stomach was barely noticeable.
“Impressive,” said the Wolf. Her silver eyes widened as if she was raising her eyebrows. “You’ve trained yourself.”
“I’ve had to,” said Yunise. “Monsters are real.”
“But you’re not strong enough yet.”
“Who even are you?”
“I am Lupa, the wolf goddess.”
“You…” Yunise racked her brains. “You trained Romulus and Remus.” Lupa nodded.
“And you’re here so that I can judge you. Do you think yourself worthy of my training?”
“Easily,” said Yunise. Lupa stared at her, and Yunise refused to look away.
“A Roman must respect her commanders. You have a lot to learn, Yunise Quarter. You seem strong enough to endure my training, but I’ve been wrong before.”
“Strong enough,” said Yunise, her heart pumping a little faster. “What do you mean ‘strong enough’?”
“Rome cannot house the weak,” said Lupa, her eyes glowing brighter. “I sort out the weak from the strong. Those that can endure it become my cubs. Those that can’t…”
“What?” said Yunise, clenching her fists tighter. Lupa was touching a nerve. “What do you do to the ones you don’t deem strong enough?” At her words, Lupa growled, and a series of other growls echoed. Before she knew it, Yunise was surrounded by wolves, all similar to Lupa, though none quite as large.
“We devour them,” said Lupa dangerously. “The twelfth legion cannot survive with an army of cowards.”
“You… you what,” said Yunise. It wasn’t a question. She had heard perfectly. Lupa growled again, but Yunise refused to flinch.
“You would rather we let Rome fall?” said Lupa. “Let hundreds die instead of a few?”
“‘Cubs’,” said Yunise very quietly. The wolves around her began to approach. “You call them your cubs. Do you think of yourself as a mother, Lupa?”
“A mother of Rome,” said Lupa. The red sunset was starting to make her fur look like wet blood. “And of the Twelfth Legion. More of a mother than yours.”
“You dare,” said Yunise, almost at a whisper. She could feel her blood boiling, her fists shaking at her sides. She stared at Lupa with an uncontained wrath. “You sort the weak from the strong. You isolate the most vulnerable, the most scared, the most hurt, the most broken. You take them aside and you, you kill them.” Lupa was on her paws now, looking down at Yunise with murder in her eyes. “And you dare, you dare call yourself a mother.”
“Conquer or die,” said Lupa softly. “It seems I misjudged you. Your blood is too greek.”
“You’ll have to kill me.” Yunise lied, her fury turning her face to stone. “I’m too weak for your training. I guess you’ll have to kill me.” Around her, the wolves growled hungrily. Lupa seemed to be deciding something. She knew Yunise was lying, but she looked like she was figuring out how much of her time Yunise was worth.
“If you say so,” said Lupa. The wolves took that as an order, and they pounced at once, their fangs bared. Lupa joined in, diving towards Yunise with a vicious snarl.
Of course, Yunise had expected that. The wolves’ first mistake was fighting her in a place like this, where she was surrounded by loose bricks. Their second mistake was fighting her at all. She yelled, the pull in her gut strong but manageable, and the rubble around her flew into the air as if caught in a detonation. The smaller wolves were thrown back, but the largest kept forwards. At least, until they received a pile of bricks to the face. Lupa was the only one unscathed. She dodged the projectiles and dived again.
Yunise, ready for her, pointed directly between her eyes. She flicked her wrist and sent the she-wolf flying back through the air. But Lupa was strong. The pain of the effort caused Yunise to double over, though she knew she couldn’t afford that luxury for long. She gritted her teeth and stood up, running between the wolves buried in bricks and back out of the rubble. She made it back to the street, but could still hear the sound of wolves on her tail, so she sent another downpour of bricks behind her without looking. From the sound of it, she’d hit at least one, but the rest followed relentlessly. Yunise knew she could never outrun them. She didn’t even have much of a head start. When she stopped and turned to face them, her eyes widened at the sight of them almost upon her, Lupa in the lead.
As a last resort, she pointed to the ground, trying not to think about how much this was going to hurt. She flicked her wrist again, but this time instead of focusing on blasting objects away from her, she turned the energy in on herself, holding it like a disturbed coke bottle before she unscrewed the metaphorical bottlecap.
The release of energy sent her flying, she saw the wolves watch her rocket into the air. Luckily, it didn’t look like they could fly, and Yunise saw them turn and walk back to the pile of rubble, no less prideful for her escape. Unluckily, Yunise didn’t have a plan for the way down. The blast had caused her so much pain she’d curled her body up like a cannonball, her muscles screaming with agony. It was all she could do to point her feet towards the ground before she hit it. Hard. The crash of her collision and the crunch of her leg bones were the last things she heard before she blacked out.