Page 16

The corridor falls silent, every guard transfixed by her cryptic speech.

My fists clench. A swirl of betrayal collides with my protective rage.

The Red Purna I once trusted set me up. They arranged for Ai to be discovered, ensuring I’d come for her.

The knowledge burns. But we’re both trapped here now.

Ai’s gaze sharpens, her voice fading back to that small, frightened child. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, tears slipping free. “I didn’t know…”

I wrestle against the guard holding me, desperate to comfort her. “Ai—no. It’s not your fault. I’m going to protect you. I swear it.”

She blinks, uncertain, as if not sure she can believe in hope. Another soldier steps in, shoving her toward a side corridor. “Enough chatter.” He spares me a scornful glance. “Get the older purna out of here.”

“Wait—” I protest, but the guard yanks me backward.

Ai’s eyes meet mine, a plea dancing in her expression.

Then she’s shepherded away, swallowed by the gloom, her small footsteps receding.

My heart twists, each beat pulsing with fury that the Red Purna would stoop to sacrificing a child for their schemes.

The betrayal tastes bitter on my tongue.

I vow silently to tear them apart if I ever escape Orthani’s chains.

The lead guard forces me down the corridor in the opposite direction. My bones ache from frustration, but I keep my head up. At least I know Ai is alive. Bruised, terrified, but alive. That single truth anchors me. My mission has not ended. If I have to burn the entire city to free her, I will.

We ascend a spiral stairway that leads to a broader walkway with black iron railings.

Tall windows line one side, revealing a partial view of Orthani’s lower tiers.

The city’s architecture looms, spiked towers and twisting bridges set against a swirling sky of ash-colored clouds.

I can’t see the horizon, only more fortress walls.

The gloom intensifies my sense of claustrophobia, yet I push that emotion aside, filing each detail away for an eventual escape plan.

The guards march me into a reception hall where Vaelith awaits, arms crossed.

He’s dressed in his customary black leather with plate accents, his silvered hair catching stray beams of lamplight.

A cluster of lesser officers stands behind him.

The tension in his stance suggests he’s been waiting a while.

He nods curtly. “That took long enough. Report.”

The soldier nearest me bows. “We had… a complication. The purna child was being moved for a check at the same time.”

Vaelith’s eyes flick between me and the guard. He says nothing, but the lines of his jaw tighten. A subtle question lingers in the air: Did I see Ai? My glare remains steadfast, refusing to give him any more satisfaction.

He exhales through his nose, dismissing the lesser officers with a wave. Once they file out, he steps closer, voice low. “I told them not to let you anywhere near the girl.”

I match his tone. “Then your soldiers are incompetent. Because I saw her. And I know you’re all using her.” My anger simmers near the surface.

Vaelith holds my gaze without flinching. “She’s dangerous. Orthani doesn’t keep untrained purna children in the general prison for pleasure. The high council wants her powers contained.”

I grit my teeth. “If you think you can harness her magic, you’re no better than the Red Purna who sent us here.”

His brow furrows slightly, as if my words strike a nerve. “We do what we must to protect Orthani from threats. That child nearly burned half a district?—”

“She’s terrified,” I cut in, voice taut. “She has no mentor, no guidance, just a city of sadists prodding at her.”

Vaelith’s expression flickers. Perhaps he remembers something from his past. I recall hearing rumors that he once lost someone close to a purna.

But if I expect a confession or show of weakness, I’m disappointed.

He schools his features into a mask of detachment.

“I can’t change Orthani’s stance on purna. ”

I let out a bitter laugh. “So you’ll stand by while she’s caged, hoping to shape her power into a weapon. And me too, I suppose.”

He doesn’t deny it. Instead, he shifts his weight, scanning me from head to toe. “Your entire body radiates defiance, and the high council finds that… troublesome.” He takes a step nearer. “If you want to survive—if you want the girl to survive—cooperation is your best path.”

I tilt my head, refusing to back down. “Is that what you believe? Or are you parroting Orthani’s scripts?”

A flicker of annoyance crosses his face. “Enough talk. I brought you here for a demonstration of your combat skill. We want to see if you’re truly as capable as your infiltration suggests. If you pass, you might earn privileges. If you fail, the decision on your future will be less kind.”

A demonstration. It sounds like a twisted test, but I sense an opportunity. Perhaps if I impress them, I gain a sliver more freedom, more leverage to help Ai. My mind examines every possible angles. “Fine,” I say.

He nods, motioning me toward a set of double doors at the opposite of the hall. As I walk, I notice the rhythmic clink of chain from my ankles is gone. They haven’t replaced the shackles, which is interesting. I glance at Vaelith in suspicion. “You’re giving me freedom of movement?”

His voice stays measured. “You’ll be supervised. And the wards on this level are strong enough to hamper most purna spells. Don’t mistake this for leniency.”

We step through the doors into a wide training arena with a sand-covered floor.

Racks of weapons line the walls—spears, swords, staves etched with runes.

Dark elf warriors move in disciplined formations, practicing strikes under the watchful eye of instructors.

Torches set high overhead cast a bright glow across the ring, illuminating every grain of sand.

My gaze drifts over the group of onlookers who gather at one side. Some wear high-caste attire with house emblems. Others appear to be officers or strategists. Their expressions range from bored curiosity to predatory interest. I stand alone with Vaelith, tension coiling in my belly.

He meets my eyes. “Show them your skill with a blade or staff. Prove you’re worth keeping alive. But if you try to escape or harm the watchers, the wards will activate, and you’ll regret it.”

I roll my shoulders, ignoring the aches. “I can handle your demonstration.” My voice is laced with scorn. “Though I won’t dance on command like a pet.”

A faint smirk touches his lips. “No one expects you to dance. Just fight.”

He gestures to a weapon rack. I stride forward, scanning the options: swords, daggers, a short staff, each inscribed with minor runic embellishments. I pick a slender blade that looks balanced enough. The metal is dark, shimmering with arcane forging. It fits nicely in my grip.

A younger dark elf soldier steps into the ring, twirling a curved sword. He offers a mocking bow, confident in his advantage. An instructor stands aside, calling out, “Begin!”

The soldier lunges. I shift my stance, letting muscle memory guide me.

The sword in my hand glides up, deflecting his blow with a shower of sparks.

He’s fast, but his technique is formal, reliant on Orthani’s standard moves.

I adapt, weaving around him, letting the anger and frustration pent inside me feed my reflexes.

Within moments, I slip under his guard and tap the flat of my blade against his side.

He staggers, eyes widening. The watchers murmur.

A second flurry of movement follows as he attempts a more reckless assault.

My sword meets his with a metallic ring.

I pivot behind him, spinning in close. A final parry sends his weapon tumbling from his hands.

The tip of my blade rests at his throat.

He surrenders, panting, confusion etched on his face. I drop my sword hand, stepping back. Some onlookers clap politely. Others remain silent, measuring me. My breath comes in short bursts, but adrenaline hums in my veins, momentarily eclipsing my exhaustion.

The instructor motions for the soldier to retrieve his sword. He does so, shooting me a glare before withdrawing. Vaelith crosses his arms from the sidelines. “Good. Again.”

Another soldier steps forward, older with a heavier sword.

He’s bulkier, likely stronger, but possibly less agile.

I face him, heart pounding. We clash, steel flashing in arcs.

Each time he tries to bulldoze me with raw strength, I slip to the side.

He’s cunning, though, feinting high then slashing low.

I barely dodge in time, feeling a whoosh of air near my legs.

I counter with a downward strike, hooking his blade away.

Before he can recover, I thrust the hilt against his jaw, sending him reeling.

He lands hard on the sand, spitting out blood.

More watchers begin to take notice, whispering among themselves.

I taste a grim satisfaction. If they wanted a show, I’ll give them one.

Vaelith nods to the instructor again, but the older soldier staggers upright, shaking his head.

He waves off the next challenger, not wanting to concede defeat without a final stand. Pride glints in his eyes.

“All right, purna,” he growls, lunging with renewed fury.

We trade a series of strikes that ring in the air.

My arms protest the strain, reminding me of my battered body, but I push through.

Heat builds under my skin. On his next overhead swing, I sidestep and deliver a swift kick to the back of his knee.

He collapses forward, and I slide my blade across his neck in a deliberate, unhurried motion, stopping just short of breaking skin. The entire arena goes quiet.