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Kameel’s face goes from smug satisfaction to a thundercloud of fury in a heartbeat. The poor fellow practically vibrates with indignation. “Asset? She shouldn’t even be here!”

A surge of fury courses through me, hot and fierce. But years of ingrained deference to my seniors keep my tongue in check.

“And why shouldn’t she be here?” a voice booms from behind.

Bahador, a towering figure with a scowl that could rival a Nohvan’s breath, walks forward.

A few steps behind him, Faelas places their coins on the table.

Lost in my simmering anger toward the Ahiras, I hadn’t even noticed the arrival of two more Aramisi contestants before them.

Kameel remains silent, regarding Bahador with a dismissive sneer.

“Lost your voice? Your mouth was running a league.” Bahador’s thick voice drips with sarcasm.

“How dare you address an Ahira with such disrespect!” Kameel snarls.

Bahador merely smirks. “You lot… your ego is so boosted that it’s a wonder you don’t just float away like an inflated pig bladder. But in our far-flung corner of the continent, Ahiras aren’t quite the deities they are in the West.”

“Oh, we’re well aware of your Izadeonian bigotry,” Maleed snips, barely able to hide his rage. “That’s why it’s a run-down province that only barbarians live in instead of civilized people.”

Bahador merely raises an eyebrow, clearly unfazed by the insult.

“Have you ever even set foot in Izadeon, or are your opinions courtesy of your arrogant Aramisi friends?” He waves a hand dismissively.

“No need to try to see its desolation —unless, of course, you fancy a taste of Izadeonian steel wielded by men far worthier than you.”

Faelas tugs on Bahador’s arm. “Don’t waste your breath on them. Look at how they treat their own kind.”

Kameel, unable to resist a parting shot, locks eyes with me. “Our kind? You mean her ?”

Finally, something snaps in my head. “What exactly makes me so unworthy of being your kind, huh? I came here with Ahira Emmengar’s blessing, yet you all treat me like a throne-stealer! I’ve had enough of your insults. Don’t ever talk to me that way!”

The moment the words are out of my mouth, I’m mortified by my blatant insubordination, though I don’t show it. I’m not sure what’s gotten into me, but it seems to be a frequent pattern since I’ve been here in Jahanwatch.

Darian stands beside me, and his presence is like a silent anchor. And there are Bahador and Faelas, too, these strangers, defending me against my own people, even though I’ve only known them for a handful of days.

Kameel and Maleed gawk at me as if I’ve suddenly sprouted horns and a tail like a Daeva.

Maleed, sputtering like a fish out of water, can’t even form a coherent sentence.

Kameel’s face turns a shade of red that could rival a volcanic eruption.

The poor guy looks ready to explode, his hand twitching with the urge to unleash a curse on me.

Instead, he grits his teeth and lowers his arm.

“Wise choice, lad,” Darian rumbles, and the hint of menace in his voice is unmistakable—and surprising. There is a protectiveness there that I hadn’t expected.

Maleed ignores Darian and addresses me directly.

“Ahira Emmengar is an honorable leader. Duty compels him to respect the wishes of those who earned their rings first, but even he shouldn’t have granted such a foolish request. A wish that tarnishes Firelands’s reputation is a wish best left unfulfilled. ”

“You shouldn’t have pressured him like that,” Kameel adds.

“You should have known your place, girl. Asking to be here when you’re unfit for it is a disgrace.

Seeking permission to win? Bah! We don’t send four-ringed novices to embarrass the rest of us with their lack of skill.

Let alone a… " He trails off, unable to utter the word sorceress .

“And yet,” Darian says, arching an eyebrow, “this very sorceress bested you in the last trial and would have outpaced you in this one if I didn’t delay her victory.”

Maleed, ignoring Darian’s challenge, glares at me. “Not only do you forget your place, but you conspire with lesser beings—even worse, Izadeonian scum! And have you forgotten your lessons on modesty? A virtuous Ahira doesn’t throw herself at men!”

I clench my fists and take a step forward as a sharp wave of anger courses through me. But before I can react, Bahador snarls and takes a bigger, menacing step toward Maleed. “Throw herself at men?”

Darian and Faelas mirror his stance, their faces red with righteous fury. It is as if Maleed’s insult has struck them personally as if they’ve known me their entire lives and are ready to defend my honor to the death.

This sudden, fierce loyalty from near strangers is baffling.

The wary part of me wonders why they care so much, but the part of me that has never experienced such loyalty finds it incredibly touching.

The three of them stand as one, a wall of defiance against Maleed’s arrogance, ready to unleash a world of hurt, rules be damned.

“Enough!” a thick voice booms across the courtyard, silencing everyone .

My eyes snap up to see Zanyar. I’m not sure when he approached us and how much he heard of our conversation, but he looks… furious. I flinch, expecting his anger to be directed at the Izadeonians. However, to my surprise, his glare is a frozen spear pointed straight at Maleed.

Maleed, a man not easily cowed, shrivels under Zanyar’s gaze as if physically struck. “But she… "

“Shut. Your. Mouth,” Zanyar growls, and the raw threat in his voice chills me to the bone.

It is not just anger; it is a promise of punishment so swift and brutal that it would make a seasoned butcher flinch. It is a low, guttural sound that vibrates through the space, a primal warning that makes the fine hairs on my arms stand on end.

I’ve known Zanyar to be capable of fierceness, even a certain cold ruthlessness. But this… this is something else entirely. I can almost feel the weight of it, the chilling certainty that Zanyar would deliver on his threat without hesitation.

Frowning, I wonder why he’s so mad. The idea that Zanyar might be defending me is both bewildering and strangely unsettling, so I quickly dismiss it. He is an honorable Ahira, and perhaps he simply dislikes seeing disrespect, even though it doesn’t explain the intensity of his response.

But before I can obsess over it any further, Darian gestures to Bahador, Faelas, and then me, inviting us to follow. “Let’s go. These scums aren’t worth our breath.”

At that moment, it feels as though I have become one of them. Then my eyes meet Zanyar’s, and he holds my gaze as if he is ordering me to stay put. And I… hesitate.

My mind is a battlefield. On one side, the familiar, suffocating world of the Ahiras.

Their arrogance, their rigid hierarchy, their ingrained sense of superiority—it is the air I have always breathed, the world I have always known.

It is predictable, stifling, but utterly familiar.

I know the rules, the boundaries, and the expectations.

The Izadeonians, with their untamed spirit, are unfamiliar. They are foreign and unpredictable, and to me, that is terrifying. But, beyond the fear, a strange, undeniable thrill pulses through me.

With surprising clarity, I avert my gaze and nod at Darian. I turn my back on the frowning Firelanders, on Zanyar, their disapproval fading into a whisper. My heart pounds with the fierce thrill of rebellion as I follow the Izadeonians.

They might not be my people, but at this moment, they are the only ones who have offered me acceptance. And for the first time in my life, I embrace it.