Rin’s lungs burned. Her boots slipped on wet stone, hands clawing for purchase as she hauled herself over the jagged ridge. She hit the next platform running, the wooden planks slick with sweat and rainwater.

  The human overseer kept throwing pebbles at her, forcing her to keep up her speed. She gritted her teeth and forced her legs to move faster. Pain in her calves, pain in her chest.

  Welcome feelings.

  For better or for worse, running the obstacle course was the best part of her day.

  But her endurance, while high, was not infinite. Training ended all too soon.

  As she left the trail, gasping, soldiers in the yard jeered. A few were brave enough to make disgusting remarks.

  “Are all elves like this? Maybe we should get a few for the barracks.”

  “Feisty little bitch. Bet she’d beg for more after a proper breaking in.”

  Such scum wouldn’t survive a minute in the arena. Her fingers itched for the knife at her belt, but she stopped herself. She couldn’t afford to lose temper.

  Rin stopped at the mess hall, wolfed down the slop posturing as food, then headed to her ‘superior’s’ office for a daily check in. A barely disguised excuse to give her a chance to yield. To plead for assistance.

  Godrick Lovandel met her in the candlelit office. White hair, soft features, voice always polite. If he wasn’t a human, she could even almost respect him.

  “I hope you found today's training to your liking, we consulted your elders on how to best train you and the others,” he checked in, as he always did. “Were there any trouble with other soldiers? They’re a rowdy bunch.” If not for her situation, Rin would find his ‘concerned father’ behavior hilarious.

  “Yes, It was fine. ” She admitted, holding her head high. “No issues.”

  “Are you sure?” We need you and your people in top form, not distracted with annoying chatter.” He said, disbelief showing on his face.

  Rin met his concerned speech with silence. She would bear it all with pride expected of her.

  “As long as you understand the stakes.” Godrick shrugged.

  Rin nodded slightly, teeth clenched so tight her jaw ached. His calm demeanor couldn’t fool her.

  The human Empire had always met opposition with fire and blade. For every failure, the gallows. For every deserter, a hundred dead elves.

  By the time she returned to her quarters, she could barely breathe. There were no voices to share the weight she carried. No souls to share her pain with.

  For the first time, she was well and truly alone. More than that. Lonely.

  She slid down onto the floor, her knife cold in her palm. Every humiliation she couldn’t answer with steel stabbed deep into her heart. Normally she’d burn that hatred into plans—how she’d learn their ways, use them for revenge.

  But tonight, something cracked. She just couldn’t find the strength to pick herself up. Her strength and resilience, a bottomless well in the arena, was now drying up.

  Her hand trembled. She pictured dragging the blade across her throat, an escape from it all. In the ever swallowing silence, there was no Soulwell to judge her for it.

  Her breath came ragged. She raised the knife—

  —and hurled it across the room. It clattered against the stone and lay still.

  Guilt surged, mixing with rage as her fists struck the cold floor.

  “You chose me!” she shouted into the void, voice breaking. “You gave me hope! And now what? I poured out my life to save our race, to bring back our glory—and they abandoned me! Are you going to forsake me too? ANSWER ME!”

  Her words echoed off the bare walls. Useless. She was too far from the homeland, too far from the elders who carried most of the ancient memories and essences.

  “Fine. I will do it myself. I will carve out the future for our race, even if I have to murder this whole city with my bare hands.”

  A voice, cold and sharp, rattled her skull.

  [You despair. Yet, only in darkness can resolve burn.]

  [You are outmatched. Yet, only against all odds can strength shine.]

  [You have found the direction. I will show you the way.]

  Rin froze. Breath caught in her throat.

  Before she could question, it began. Memories not of her own surged through her mind. Fields drowned in blood and rivers running red. Echoes of a hundred losses and a thousand slaughters. Shattered fragments, jagged and raw.

  But then came a single vivid vision that burned brighter than the sun.

  Through her mind’s eye, she stood in a vast arena, like nothing she could even dream of. Towers of gold and jeweled spires putting the sky of the old world to shame.

  The roar of tens of thousands filled the air. All the eyes were on her. No—not her. The body whose eyes she looked from. The first Empress. The one of myths, who united the old world beneath a single crown, who held dominion for centuries with sheer violence and force of will.

  The name lost to time.

  The Nightblade.

  David wiped his brow with his sleeve and shuffled into position beside the others.

  The day had been nothing but sweat and repetition. Zerik drilled them on the simplest forms: how to grip their weapons, how to stand, how not to hurt themselves. By the time the sun dipped low through the high windows, their arms trembled and shoulders ached.

  “Enough,” Zerik finally called, voice carrying across the training hall. “One last exercise. Fighting is half body, but also half mind–And that can be honed only through spars.”

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  They formed a rough semicircle around the knight.

  Olen’s chest already heaved from exhaustion, and Diana’s grip on her mace was looser than it should have been. Lia looked like she had energy to spare, grinning, the long hatchet twitching in her hands.

  I could keep going quite a bit longer, too.

  “Attack,” Zerik said.

  Lia moved immediately. She charged without hesitation, hatchet raised high, hoping to catch him unguarded.

  Olen startled, then followed with his bastard sword, trying to cover her. But Lia never slowed for him.

  Zerik stepped into her momentum and gave her the gentlest of shoves with his free hand. It was enough. She staggered sideways, off balance, while he pivoted cleanly into Olen’s path. One lazy parry, one sharp backhand—and Olen crumpled to the floor with a gasp.

  David tightened his grip on his shortsword.

  Shouldn’t we be coordinating? Attacking together?

  Before he could call out, Diana advanced. Her mace swung in wide arcs, a mockery of the technique they had practiced. Zerik lowered his own blade, watching. He swung at her slowly, a strike anyone could have blocked.

  She ignored it, opting to attack at the cost of getting hurt.

  “This isn’t some game for points.” His words snapped like a whip. He drove his fist into her stomach. She collapsed to her knees, choking on the breath that left her. “You just died.”

  Zerik turned at last. His eyes found David, still holding back. “And you? Why aren’t you moving?”

  David shifted into stance, sweat stinging his eyes. “I wanted… to find a good moment.” He immediately realised his error.

  The knight blurred forward. David barely registered the motion before Zerik’s fist smashed against his guard. Much harder than the strike Diana took. The shock rattled all his teeth.

  “Found it yet?” Zerik asked flatly.

  David hit the floor hard enough to taste blood. The shortsword wrestled away from his grasp, clattering across the stone. He scrambled up, but Zerik’s boot pressed lightly against his chest, holding him to the ground.

  “You just watched your comrades get slaughtered.”

  David glanced around–Olen was still on his knees, wheezing around the weight of the bastard sword. Lia had been swatted into a padded dummy and it toppled over with her. Diana was still trying to regain her breath after the punch, her noble countenance nowhere to be seen.

  Zerik hadn’t even broken a sweat.

  “Line up,” Zerik said, finally lifting his boot. “This is it for today.”

  David’s arms shook as he pushed himself upright, forcing the air back into his lungs. Lia staggered over, still grinning despite the bruise blooming on her cheek. Olen leaned heavily on his sword, pride keeping him upright more than strength.

  Zerik’s gaze swept over them, observant. “You correctly reacted to your teammate rushing ahead,” he pointed at Olen, “But lack of endurance is holding you back. Run every morning. Swing your sword until your arms feel like breaking.”

  Olen straightened, face lighting with earnest determination. “Yes, sir!”

  “Lady Diana… You came to their aid, but you treat fighting like some kind of fun playtime. That has to change.”

  “Thank you, Zerik. I must admit I am not used to such… methods, as yours.” Diana admitted between laboured breaths.

  Zerik turned, pointing his finger at Lia, “Fast and reckless, with energy to spare. For the love of the Goddess, make sure you have backup before you charge.”

  Lia scowled but didn’t argue. The excitement in her eyes betrayed her.

  “And you.” His gaze landed on David. “A plan doesn’t mean shit if your comrades are fighting and you are not. It’s better to be in a bad spot as a four, than a mediocre spot alone.”

  David swallowed his protest. The man was right.

  “Aside from that, repeat the basic exercises we went through today. That will be all.”

  “Thank you for the day, Zerik.” Diana nodded at the knight. Surprisingly, she was already back to her normal self. “We’ll continue this in four days–same place, same hour. Please check in with my head of staff for your payment.”

  The knight bowed and headed out.

  On the way out, Olen whispered his concerns about missing too many lessons.

  Diana dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “Don’t fret. For every missed lecture, I’ll have a tutor waiting. You’ll learn faster than the rest, and without the wasted hours.”

  The relief on Olen’s face was almost comical. Lia just shrugged. They left soon after, both giddy after training with a real-deal knight.

  Which left David alone with Diana.

  She stood by the window, mask slightly off center, softly caressing the head of her mace. Her breathing still uneven, her stance relaxed in a way he rarely saw. For the first time, it felt like they had been equals.

  “I didn’t expect to see you with wind knocked out of you.” David joined her, leaning against the wall. “A pleasant sight, all things considered.” He chuckled.

  “Watch your tone.” She turned to him, flourishing her mace in his general direction. The gesture was so overdone, that David had no question if the warning had been a serious one.

  “If I am to lead, I should be a prime example to follow.”

  “But why bother?” David frowned. “Aren’t you a bigshot noble already?”

  Her chuckle was soft, almost seeming genuine. “I thought you hated politics.”

  “I do.” He rubbed at his sore shoulder. “But I'd also like to know what I'm getting into.”

  “Fair," She sighed as she touched her mask. "I had to fight just to come here. My father intends to marry me off to a minor lord as soon as I graduate.”

  She gesticulated with the mace as she spoke, making for a truly bizarre sight. “These games may be training, but don’t underestimate them. A dozen talented, coordinated knights and mages had often been enough to decide battles.”

  “You want us to wage war against your father?” David’s stomach twisted. He didn’t even know what house she was from.

  “As much as I’d like that, I don’t think we would stand a chance.” Her tone was calm, despite her still heavier breathing. “It’s about proving my worth. There won’t be any actual fighting. Most likely.”

  He doubted her words, but before he could press, she tilted her head. “Now, what did you want my help with?”

  “Oh, right.” David exhaled, “I applied for a laboratory, but my request was denied without good reason. In general, it feels like someone is sabotaging me.”

  “Not unheard of, but what exactly do you mean?” She leaned closer to him, towering over him.

  He gave her a quick rundown of his denied petition and Greine’s antagonistic antics.

  Diana fell quiet, fingers tapping against the head of the mace. “That is interesting. Getting you a laboratory is simple, but if a teacher simply doesn’t like you, I might not be able to do much about it.”

  Just like that?

  “That’s more than enough, thank you,” David hesitated, then added. “There’s one more thing.”

  “Hmm?”

  “I’ve been wondering…” he said, carefully choosing every word and phrase. “I’ve heard of the Goddess speaking to some people. Is that something that really happens?”

  “I doubt it.” Her reply came with an eye roll. “Who would even make such a claim? I thought Avill Lovandel was the last to spout such nonsense.”

  “Nonetheless, could you tell me more about it?” David kept pressing her.

  “You do realise this is restricted knowledge, right?” She questioned as her brows tensed. “I only know that because I often snuck into father’s library.”

  “I won’t tell a soul.” David promised, a hand on his heart.

  Her eyes narrowed for a second, but she shrugged eventually. “You'd have to be suicidal to use this against me, I guess. Some two hundred years ago, one of the main nobles of the kingdom, Avil Lovandel professed himself a prohpet of the Goddess. Not long after, he attempted a coup and split the Kingdom in two."

  "And what happened next?" David tried.

  "What am I, a historian? All I know is that someone claimed the Goddess was speaking to them, and a few events later, our lands to the east are calling themselves a separate country. An Empire, even."

  "That's one crazy escalation," David scratched his head. "I'll cut contact with the people who told me such nonsense, then. Wouldn’t want to be associated with them."

  Diana's eyes pierced through him. She probably realized he made the 'mysterious contact' up.

  In any case, she didn't bring it up.

  "Well, you'd better. Though such ‘revelations’ were unheard of long before that, Avil’s delusion definitely made the council more wary.”

  "Dellusion?" David sighed as he took the information in. "What if he spoke the truth?"

  “I frankly doubt that," Diana laid her chin against the mace. "The Goddess wouldn't speak to anyone."

  “Huh? Why?”

  “Because she is dead.”