Why should a child have to shoulder the guilt of her parent's death when she isn't the cause of it? How is that fair?

Lunging at the biggest rogue, I bury my claws into his skull. I can feel the bone shattering under the force, as my claws slice through his brain matter like a hot knife through butter. He never knew what hit him and had no time to react. At least I granted him mercy with a quick death.

I wake up drenched in sweat, my chest heaving for my next breath. It always gets bad a few weeks before the anniversary of the worst rogue attack since the Great War, and the anniversary of my parent's death.

What I didn't know then is that my world would change forever with learning the truth behind my parent's death. That seeking justice not just for them, but others too, would lead to the biggest family secret any bloodline could have. And if life wasn't exciting enough, this all happens in time for my birthday.