Page 47

The days slip by, merging into one another like a painting blurred by rain. My routine is a familiar cycle of training, meals, reading, and alchemy.

It’s been nine days—nine excruciatingly long days—since my time with Darian in the wilderness. The alchemy hall is now my official hideout, the only place where I don’t feel like a complete social outcast. I lose myself in potion-making, a flurry of stirring and bubbling.

The library is my second home, where I’m engaged in a thrilling game of “ Find the Star. Lose Your Sanity”, and the elusive Star is definitely winning.

I don’t even know why I’m still looking for information about it. But I keep going because, apparently, boredom is a more powerful motivator than common sense.

Afternoons are reserved for my daily dose of humiliation, courtesy of Bahador and his relentless swordplay. He has almost turned me into his personal training dummy.

“You’re a natural-born sword-wielder,” he declares. “Your footwork is improving. Less like a newborn deer, more like a… slightly drunk gazelle. With a sword. And a tendency to trip over air. But progress!”

I manage a smile, which is a miracle in itself. “Thanks, Bahador. You’re a remarkably patient teacher.”

“Oh, don’t mention it,” he replies, waving a hand dismissively.

“You’re a gem, Arien. A bit rough around the edges, sure, needs a bit of polish, but with a surprising amount of sparkle hidden beneath.

I quite enjoy our little torture sessions.

” He grins, and I can’t help but grin back despite myself.

“I have something for you,” I say, reaching into my pouch and pulling out a few vials. “The green one will heal. The purple one gives you a stamina boost—perfect for running away from Nohvans.”

Bahador’s smile could light a small city. “You’re a walking apothecary, aren’t you? How do you manage to concoct these without blowing up the place?”

“Madrisa secret. With a few unorthodox techniques, I picked up at the Fire Temple. And there’s one more thing…

” I pull out a small vial filled with shimmering, golden liquid that hums with sorcery.

I glance around before shoving the vial into his pocket and whisper, “This isn’t for the trials. It’s an invisibility potion.”

Bahador’s jaw drops. He stares at his pocket, then at me. “You’re joking. An actual invisibility potion?”

“It’s good for three people, less than one hourglass turn. Potions have limits, you know. Can’t make you disappear forever.”

Bahador stares at me, speechless. He’s been tight-lipped about their mission, only hinting at dead ends. Apparently, sneaking back into the Martyshyar wing is a headache without using sorcery. Who knew?

“This is… amazing, Arien,” he finally manages, still looking slightly dazed. “We’ve been banging our heads against a wall trying to find a way.”

I shrug, trying for nonchalance and probably achieving awkward. “Happy to be of service, even if said service is completely unsolicited and possibly unwanted.” I force some humor in my tone.

“Of course, your help is wanted, Arien,” Bahador says, catching the sarcasm in my words. “That’s not why we haven’t asked for it.”

“Right, right,” I mutter, staring determinedly at a particularly interesting crack in the stone.

But Bahador picks up on my not-so-subtle bitterness.

“Arien. Truth be told, I wasn’t thrilled about asking for your help in the first place.

This is our fight, not yours.” He runs a hand through his hair.

“But after we did, I don’t agree with Darian shutting you out like that.

I think he feels guilty. He nearly got you killed, nearly cost you the trial.

He’s always been terrible with guilt; he either lashes out or pushes people away.

It’s not a new pattern. He is like this because…

” He hesitates, his voice uncharacteristically uncertain, his gaze flickering away from mine for a moment.

“But deep down, I think he’s just trying to protect you, to keep you from getting hurt, even if it’s in his usual messy way. That’s all.”

I plaster on a bright, brittle smile only to make him feel better. “I understand. Just be careful with the potion. One sip is all you get. Any more, and you’ll be seeing double, or worse.”

Bahador nods, and a silent acknowledgment passes between us.

But instead of leaving, he moves to a weathered bench at the edge of the training ground and sinks onto it.

His movement is heavy, and his usual easygoing grace is replaced by a weary slump.

His expression is not the carefree Bahador I’m used to.

I cross the distance and sit beside him. “Is everything all right?”

He sighs—a long, drawn-out sound. “Honestly, Arien, I’m questioning everything myself.

I never wanted to come to Martysh. My dream was always the Izadeon army, even when my father pushed and prodded me for years to become a Master.

” He pauses, staring out at the training grounds, his eyes unfocused.

“But then Faelas and Darian decided to try for the trials, and… Well, I couldn’t let them come here alone.

The three of us, we’ve always been together.

The thought of being separated from them, of sending them to this place by themselves…

I couldn’t do it. But now…” He shakes his head slowly.

“With everything we’re learning about the Star, its power, the Daevas…

I’m starting to wonder if this is the right path for any of us. ”

That familiar sinking feeling returns. “You mean you’re having doubts about joining Martysh? Like Faelas?”

“No,” Bahador says, shaking his head again.

“Faelas and Darian, they’re the brains. Always have been.

I’m the muscle, the follower. I’ve never questioned Darian, not once.

But here…” He pauses, searching for the word.

“Maybe it’s Martysh, maybe it’s everything that we’ve discovered…

but I’m not the same person I was moons ago. I’m… seeing things differently. ”

He wants to say more. I can feel it. But he holds back, releasing only a troubled sigh that seems to carry the weight of the world.

“All this to say, I think it’s good you’re not tangled in our mess, though I don’t agree with how Darian went about it.

Focus on the trials, Arien. And when you win, when you become a Martyshyar, don’t forget Izadeon.

Help us.” The plea in his voice is raw, almost desperate.

“When we win,” I correct him. “We will fight for Izadeon together when we become Martyshyars.”

Bahador gives a wry smile and nods, but his eyes remain troubled.

I don’t fully understand his doubts. They seem different from Faelas’s.

But I can sense his need for a friend, someone outside his usual circle, to open up to about his thoughts without worrying about being questioned.

So I don’t pry. I just sit beside him, offering silent support.

When I finally leave him and walk back to my quarters, I am physically and emotionally exhausted, dying for a bath, a moment to think about Bahador’s words and get some sleep. But as I approach the spiral staircase leading to my humble quarter, a voice calls out, “Arien!”

It is Lila. As always, her presence is unexpected, sudden, and cheerful.

“Lila.”

“You’ve been as elusive as a Nohvan since the last trial. Where have you been?”

Our interactions had been scarce since the aftermath of the arena. Whenever we saw each other in passing, Lila seemed eternally grateful for my assistance, though I kept assuring her it was only a minor act of helping an ally.

“I’ve been in the library a lot lately,” I confess, feeling my melancholy vibrating from my body.

“And food, apparently, has become your mortal enemy. I don’t ever see you in the kitchen anymore. And why is everyone avoiding the communal hall? I miss our fireside chats with the Izadeonians.”

Her words hit hard, bringing back memories of the cozy evenings we spent around the warm glow of the fireplace. But I shrug and say nonchalantly, “Everyone’s been very busy lately. ”

Lila’s gaze sharpens as if she can see right through my casual act. “Has something transpired between you and the Izadeonian three?”

“Or course not,” I blurt out, but my voice is high-pitched and forced.

Lila arches an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced by my hasty denial.

“If you insist. But should any discord have arisen—which it hasn’t, according to you—I wouldn’t be surprised.

Men, in my experience, are as trustworthy as a fox guarding a chicken coop.

One should never become too entangled in their affairs. ”

“I’m not entangled with their affairs. We’re just allies,” I say defensively. But the words sting a bit. The truth is, I wanted to be entangled in their affairs. I liked being entangled in their affairs. It meant we were more than just allies. It meant I was a part of their inner circle.

Lila gives me a look that screams, “I’m not buying your act,” but she’s kind enough not to say it out loud.

“Good. But even if you have allies, don’t put all your eggs in one basket—especially when it comes to men’s basket.

You should branch out a bit and build connections beyond those three fools. ”

I frown. “And who, exactly, am I supposed to befriend? It’s not like there’s a queue forming for Arien’s best friends.”

“Well. There’s always me,” she says matter-of-factly.

I blink, feeling a bit taken aback. “Um, I thought we were already allies.”

“Are we?”

“Wait, are we not?”

Lila purses her lips. “Hmmm, let’s see. You never really reach out to me unless you’re with the Izadeonians. It’s like I’m the awkward fifth wheel on your already wobbly four-wheeled wagon.”

I stare at her, mulling her words in my head.

She’s not wrong. But it never occurred to me that she’d be interested in, well, me, outside of our shared alliance.

Now that I think about it, she’s the only Kishi left.

And she has made several attempts to engage me in conversations.

The irony of the situation isn’t lost on me. Me, dismissive of someone else?

I stare at her, mentally face-palming myself for my social ineptitude and struggling to find the words to convey my thoughts. “I’m sorry. I tend to avoid… imposing on others. ”

“I know. That’s exactly why I’m taking the initiative once again. I wouldn’t have if I knew you were doing this on purpose. If you’re in need of a friend, a confidante, I’m here. But only if you reciprocate. You’re not imposing when someone extends a hand.”

This whole situation is as awkward as a fish in a ballroom, but Lila seems unfazed by my silence and hesitation. “I’m a veritable fountain of fascinating conversations and social connections, just waiting to be tapped.”

I can’t help but admire her confidence. This tiny woman seems completely free of self-doubt.

She knows her worth and doesn’t let anyone else’s opinions define it.

If I turn my back right now and walk away from her, she’d probably just shrug and laugh at how silly I am rather than blaming herself for why she extended a friendly hand to me.

Meanwhile, I’m here, overthinking every social interaction like it’s some deep statement about my worth and constantly stressing over what others might think of me.

“So, now that we’ve established my fabulous personality and your desperate need for new friends, how about I introduce you to my adoring entourage?” She gestures dramatically toward… well, open space as if a whole crowd of admirers is about to appear.

I can’t help but chuckle. “I’m intrigued. Lead the way.”