She slapped a hand to her cheek and clawed at her face, tearing at the gold bands fused with her flesh until flecks of blood stained her fingers and Oyru finally seized her wrists.
‘You are deformed,’ he said. ‘You are marked. You are His. But you needn’t be bound by your pain. You needn’t suffer when you can seek revenge.’
The girl sniffed, blinking bloody tears. ‘Yes! I want them to die … all of them.’
Oyru let her wrists go and reached into his shadowy robes, withdrawing a delicate golden mask. He displayed it in front of the girl, turning it so she could see its perfectly crafted features, then set it atop her open palms.
‘You have two options,’ Oyru whispered. ‘You can live maimed and marked, betrayed by your friends … or you can put on the mask. Hide your deformity and remain beautiful.’
The young woman looked at the exquisitely wrought artifact, turning the lifelike piece of metal over in her hands. ‘What will it do?’ she whispered.
‘Take something broken and make it useful.’
‘Something broken?’
‘Your emotions – your anguish. It will take your grief and your pain, then use them to heal your physical injuries.’ He paused. ‘I won’t lie to you. Your pain never leaves – not entirely – but the mask channels that energy into your body. Makes you faster, stronger, more alert.’
‘It heals me?’ she repeated. ‘Will it take away my …’ She pointed at her gilded face. ‘This. Will it take this away?’
‘No,’ he said, his voice cold and apathetic. ‘Nothing will take that away. It will hide your deformity. It will turn your pain into a weapon, which I can teach you to use, to hunt down those who hurt you.’ Oyru placed his hands beneath hers and helped the girl lift the mask closer to her face. ‘It will keep you from being hurt again.’
The young woman stopped, the mask inches from her skin, and met the eyes of the Shadow Reborn. ‘Will you help me kill him?’
‘I will.’
The girl looked down at the inside of the mask, studying its beautiful curves. Then she lifted it to her face and pressed the yellow metal against her skin. There was a flash of light and her body convulsed, her fingers contracting, scratching to rip the mask off again.
But it was too late.
She closed her eyes tight against the pain and drops of blood trickled from her eyes, staining the golden mask. The two drops ran down the metal, then froze at her cheekbones, a permanent mark on the otherwise flawless mask. The woman screamed.
Oyru drank in the sight. Relished it. Let the image burn itself into his mind. It was the kind of moment he lived for, the kind he savoured when memories of his former life sought to reclaim him. For a few seconds, he felt something akin to delight.
She was no longer a girl. She would be his knife, an instrument of passion that he could hone to a razor’s edge. A dangerous tool, made more dangerous by the mask and the pain that fuelled it.
After years of searching, after dozens of failures, the Shadow Reborn had finally found his true apprentice.