| The Soul of mankind | Pre-Durmstrang, FIOM |
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Stille mit Geschick Silence with Skill. Rafael traced the engraved riser with his thumb, lips pressed in a thin line. A heavier weight to bear than the recurve bow he grasped within his callused hands. Flitting his eyes away from the engraving towards the target standing meters away, the young heir squared his shoulders. He trained the nock of the arrow at the golden circle. This was littered with minuscule holes but populated enough that one could see from a distance. Others remained spotless. | |
With a gentle tug, Rafael drew the arrow back, the tension of the string taut under his fingers. Almost naturally, he simply let go, watching as the carbon arrow left his fingers and zoned straight towards bullseye, piercing the Polyethylene foam and sinking in, forever another indentation. It was only then did Kraus lower his bow.
A light chuckle rose from behind him, causing his jaw to tighten. The source of sound had come from Schlangennest's muggle-born gardener whose name Rafael had failed to memorise simply because he had never tried. "Nein No," he uttered before the other could say a word. This only aroused another faint chortle from the elderly. "Es tut mir Leid I'm sorry," he apologised, a phrase that instinctively tightened Rafael's grip on his bow. Despite the lilt of sincerity in his voice, young Kraus could not shake off the tone of underlying mockery that only he could sense in the man's voice. If only Gabriel was willing to back him up on this situation. Why had Vater Father even hired him? Rafael stood still, exhaling through his mouth till the footsteps of the gardener began to cease as he hobbled away to tend...whatever he was going to attend to. Rafael could care less. Instead, he ran his hand through his hair, romulus in the light. The waves of blonde brushed against his ears as he absentmindedly tucked it back. "Is it that time to cut your hair again?" his sister asked from where she sat, curled up on the frieze mat she so very adored. Her pale, idle fingers caressed the leaf of a journal, though her crystalline ember eyes were fixed upon his face, doting a curious expression. Rafael nodded curtly. "I would like to cut it myself this time," he told her, his attention once again fixed on the target board he had come to know so well.
Lieselotte's supple lips curved at its corners before they were concealed by the hands that now abandoned the spiral bound, her giggling slightly muffled. "Are you sicher sure?" Rafael sent another arrow hurling straight towards the foam, face stoic as the bullet point sunk into red, a hair away from bullseye. One hand balled into a fist as he stalked forward to wrench both arrows out of the target with gratuitous force. "Sure," he corrected his sister, inspecting the fresh hole indenting the foam. "Are you sure is how you say it." He straightened, swiping a dismissive hand at the waves that had momentarily enveloped his vision. "And yes. I am." Lieselotte fell silent, though she tilted her head lightly to the side in wonder, echoing after her older brother.
Rafael strode back to where he had once stood, his stance open and calculating as he faced the target for one last time. His fingers grazed the engraving once again, and he squeezed the bow under his grip, skin blanching. Stille mit Geschick, Stille mit Geschick. "Silence with Skill," he muttered under his breath, drawing the string till its point of tension. The fletching swayed slightly before the point steadied itself towards the centre. He exhaled, then released his hold.
Time must have decided to take a leisurely, meandering stroll. Just as he spotted the flit of colour over the black dot marking direct centre, Rafael could have sworn Earth took a breath. That stray glimpse of colour was revealed to be a butterfly, melanin pigment of black seeping into blue. Its wings fluttered against the yellow, fore and hinds spread. And the arrow was heading straight towards it.
Silence? What had silence been, then, as Rafael took a startled step forward, hand reaching out helplessly as though he could slip the flying nock back into the interdigits. To be incapable was to slow down the seconds eager to take a mere insect's life. And why did he even care? His fingers twitched at the thought, and then the miracle happened. Lieselotte gasped, a sound that caused life to exhale and budge yet again.
But the arrow did not budge. Shaking hands he brought to his face the young Kraus clutching the bow by its nocking point before it slipped from his trembling grasp. Crushed, surely, squidged between weapon and weaponised, surely, Rafael's icy expression had melted long ago. Young boy stumbling over his own feet as he raced towards the archery board. Chilled skin cold sweat, images of a mangled thorax, squashed abdomen, half-hearted flitting wings. Rafael Kraus had never once killed in his life. Why did he even care? Why did he even care? Why did he even--
The young heir stopped short, halted by the peculiar sight before him. Where Rafael was meant to find harsh penetration into the foam, he was caught staring at an arrow floating midair, point inches from grazing the board. And on the board crawled the blue butterfly, left unscathed. Stunned, Rafael watched the butterfly's proboscis probe at the foam. "Brother," a hint of Lesiselotte's phermone scent marked her presence as she joined his side, gaping at the sight. "Brother." Rafael wet his lips.
Vater. Father.
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There's always someone out there who's better than you.
