She told me she was born in the rural country of Geneeva. Part of the vast continent known as the Land of Chimera, it was a place bustling with different cultures. And just as each culture was unique, so was its reaction to Synchrites.
By the time Ester was born, Synchs were in their third generation. The Geneevans believed they were a gift sent directly from a higher power . They called it the Arc, the origin of all frequencies. The name Synchrite translated to "Understander of the Arc."
If you could imagine Flo as an invisible mist shrouding everything, a Synch is able to hear the Arc's frequencies, which in turn lets them manipulate that mist. They could twist it into fire, wind, or any element they desired. High level Synchs could even conjure constructs. And it wasn't just the environment; because of their connection to the Arc, each Synch had a layer of Flo around their body, allowing them to enhance their speed, strength, or even alter their own physical properties.
By the end of the first generation of Synchrites, the Church of the Arc was founded. It began as a movement of people who worshipped Synchs. The Church elders wrote laws dictating how people should live, and their influence spread like wildfire across Chimera. Starting in Leria, it soon established a powerful branch in the capital of Geneeva. They began to seek out and take Synchs, placing a law in Geneeva that families who failed to report a Synch would face severe punishment.
Most obeyed, lured by the promise of recognition and status. The few who refused were dealt with. Even though Ester's family had ties to the Church, they were not exempt.
There were different categories of Synchs. Those born able to tune into the frequencies were called Pure Synchs, seen as the most instinctual and gifted, but that didn't mean they were the strongest. An Awakened Synch was someone who developed their connection later in life. It could happen at any age, though no one knew why.
Ester was an Awakened Synch, earning the title at fourteen. But it was anything other than a celebration. The way it happened for her... it broke my heart.
Growing up, Ester had an uncle who was a predator by nature, a demon who masked himself in human skin. He revelled in control and dominance, hiding his true persona behind a sweet, almost innocent smile. As a higher up in the Church, he had the power to conceal his true nature. He and Ester's family were close; he was her father's brother, after all.
It started when she was ten. He began trying to get closer to her, buying her presents, praising her, acting heaven sent. By thirteen, he was following her in private, insisting she spend days with him, sometimes even trying to peep on her while she bathed. There was a time where she caught him , just staring at her over her bed in the dead of night. His eyes held such hunger, such emptiness, she couldn't even scream. When he realized she was awake, he left without a word, leaving her trembling in the darkness. She couldn't see him as human anymore.
From that day, she developed an inability to sleep. After he left, she told her parents. They exchanged a look of melancholy. A look that suggested they either knew what kind of man he was or had expected this. Her father, though trembling, held himself back. They smiled and told her it must have been her imagination, reminding Ester how kind and honourable her uncle was.
Hearing this broke something in her.
She didn't see much of him again until her fourteenth birthday ceremony. The celebration lasted the whole night, and given her family's status, it was a modest affair—dances around a bonfire, music, praises, and food. She was celebrating her coming of age, and she had every right to have fun. It wasn't until the closing rites that her uncle appeared.
Seeing him again brought back the vision of that devil looming over her, watching her sleep. She wanted to scream, to accuse him right there in front of everyone. It was only her parents' words that made her falter. What if she did imagine it? What if she'd be putting her family to shame? She stayed silent, watching him greet everyone before making his way toward her. She saw how everyone revered him. His saintly demeanour sent chills down her spine.
He smiled at her before beckoning everyone. He gave a grand speech about what it meant to be a woman, how she was expected to behave, and the role she was expected to play. It all made her sick. Then, in a showy act, he revealed a beautiful silver necklace with a green jewel. It sparkled with such purity; it was hard not to be in awe. As her uncle placed it on her neck, cheers and claps erupted from their little village community. However, not all were filled with praise; some were laced with jealousy. It was expensive, more so than anything the other villagers owned, and her uncle knew it. While everyone was infatuated with him, Ester saw behind his mask. There was a sinister calculation in his eyes. She made a mental note to stay away from him for the rest of the night.
As the celebration died down, the villagers began filing out one by one, all except her uncle. He decided he wasn't fit to travel and invited himself to stay as a guest. Of course, her family couldn't refuse.
Hearing the news, Ester's heart sank. A feeling of dread settled in her stomach; one she couldn't shake. Their family had a modest estate, bigger than most in the village thanks to her uncle's ties to the Church. It came with a guest house, separate from the main home, where he would be staying. That brought a sliver of relief. Out of sight, out of mind.
But for her uncle, she was all he could think about.
Ester was still suffering from insomnia. The trauma had left a scar on her; every time she closed her eyes, she was back there, unable to move, watching the demon in her uncle's body stare at her from across the room with pitch-black eyes. She'd wake up sometimes screaming, sometimes crying. Sometimes both. How could that have been her imagination? She began to fidget with the necklace, fascinated by how beautifully it glistened in the moonlight. Doubt crept into her mind. Did she really deserve something this fine?
Her thoughts were interrupted by the slow creak of the main door opening, followed by deliberate footsteps in the corridor. They moved slowly, purposefully. Then they stopped in front of her door. Her heart dropped as it quietly opened.
Standing in the shadow of the doorway, her uncle walked in. He was shirtless, panting deeply and quietly like a dog that had found its next meal. He pressed a finger to his lips.
"…Mama?" Ester tried to call out, but her voice was drowned by fear, barely a whisper.
He entered, closing the door behind him. When he turned to face her again, he wore that fake persona. A smile of someone so pure and holy, it sent shivers down her spine.
"Ester…" He spoke softly, inching closer. "Do you trust me?"
She was frozen. She watched him sit on the corner of her bed, reaching out to touch her hair. Everything about this was wrong. Finally finding her voice, she cried out.
"PAPA!"
Silence.
Her uncle looked at the door, then back to her. "Did I not tell you to be quiet?" His voice retained its softness. "Next time, I will discipline you."
Discipline was a foreign word to her; she had always been a quiet child, obedient, following the rules. Was what she was doing wrong? His hand went from caressing her hair, to her shoulders, to the inside of her thigh.
She tried again. "PAPA—"
He slapped her.
It was the first time she'd ever been struck. Her right cheek stung furiously. She didn't even cry, not because it didn't hurt, but because of the powerlessness that followed. This was real. She was alone, and no one was coming to save her. She went numb, staring at nothing, soothing her swollen cheek.
"I didn't want to do that," he panted quietly. "But I will do it again if you do NOT obey me. NOW, give me your hand."
Her eyes never left the door. If she stared hard enough, maybe it would open. Maybe someone would come.
It didn't.
Her hand moved, but in that moment, it wasn't hers. Her thoughts drifted, drowning out his grunts.
After he finished, he left, but not before kissing her forehead.
She still didn't cry. Even though tears welled up, she refused. Because to cry would be to accept what had happened.
And she wasn't ready for that.
Her ears began to ring.