Hadassah was taken to bury the body the next day. There was no place to bury the child within the beast city, so they had to leave the city’s borders and walk into the grasslands.
The deep sea pearl Kaladin had left with her was gone as soon as she had it, used to heal the snake beastman who had been left childless by Hadassah’s actions. She knew it was not enough to atone for her sins, but when she gave him the pearl, he bowed deeply and thanked her. Thanked her. She deserved no thanks.
Now they were travelling by waggon, with Hadassah seated inside beside Vivian, while Erebus—Esther’s father—and Rahn guided the horse. Hadassah sat listlessly, lost in thought.
“Thank you, Vivian,” she said, her voice quiet. She would forever be grateful for Vivian’s help in saving the child’s body, allowing her at least a dignified burial.
Vivian looked at her curiously, sensing her unease. “Have you never seen a dead half-caste before?” she asked.
Hadassah shook her head. That night at the brown rabbit settlement, she had hidden inside, listening helplessly to the screams outside. And this time, too, she had been forced down, knowing she was powerless. Rahn was her anchor, but it felt pitiful how much she relied on him.
“I haven’t,” she admitted. “I grew up somewhere different. I didn’t know this world was like this.” If she had, would she still have longed to leave and see the continent?
Vivian was quiet for a moment. “I don’t think there’s anywhere on this continent without darkness. But still, it’s unfair.”
Hadassah let out a dry laugh. She knew not everyone was good; some were outright cruel. But this? This was excessive. Things were happening before her eyes that no one seemed to recognise as wrong. It felt like she was the only one who saw it as evil.
“I know humans did the unspeakable; I know humans were awful,” she whispered, “but what sin did she commit?”
“We are punished before we even have the chance to sin,” Vivian replied. “That’s why… it’s better to commit a sin worth punishing.”
Hadassah couldn’t help but admire Vivian for her resilience. Vivian was far stronger than she would ever be.
“I admire you, Vivian. I don’t think I could live the life you have.”
Vivian pursed her lips. She wished her mother had never met her father, and even more that her mother hadn’t abandoned her to die.
“You were born fortunate. My birth is my burden to bear,” she finally spat, bitterness seeping into her words. There was nothing she could do.
They arrived at the burial site, and Rahn began to dig. Erebus spent a few last moments with his daughter. Since his full recovery, he had been able to transform completely and now stood on two feet.
Esther’s body was lowered into the earth, her hands clutching the pink bead she had cherished.
At least now, she could rest.
The four of them sat by the grave, and Erebus poured them each a cup of nectar. “I am fortunate to have met you, my lady,” he said as he offered Hadassah a cup. “I will leave this city once you do, though I do not know where to go.”
Hadassah took a sip of the nectar, feeling its warmth as she looked out over the grave, lost in thought.
“You could go to Nerissa,” she suggested, glancing at him thoughtfully. “I know someone there who might help you settle.” She knew snakes could survive underwater, so he would be welcomed at least.
Erebus raised a brow, surprised. “You know someone in Nerissa?”
“Yes, the merman who saved my life. His name is Ahqi. He’s… someone you could trust.” She chose her words carefully; a few months felt like a lifetime. He was someone she could trust.
Rahn, who had been sitting quietly, clenched his fists; this was the first time he was hearing that name, and he did not appreciate the fondness her heart had for him.
“My lady, you do not have to worry about me. Before my injury, I was a guard at Atlas; I relocated here since it is a small city; it is easier for people like me to live in smaller cities.” People like him, ferals. Ferals were known to be cruel and cold-blooded; the mother of ferals was crazy to take them under her wing. But she could tame such a rabid group, now meeting a feral, Hadassah did not feel scared. Erebus loved his daughter dearly; she felt he did not lose to her own father.
“It would be good if you could send him a message on my behalf.” Hadassah said, she at least wanted to know how he was doing.
“After you leave for the expedition, whatever you need me to do, I will comply.”
The journey back was sombre, and Hadassah spent much of the time poring over ancient scripts, deciphering the complex runes she needed to create what Vivian had asked for. Vivian watched her, silently studying the way she arranged and rearranged different symbols, her brows furrowing with concentration. For a moment, Vivian felt a pang of longing—she wished her mother had taught her Emerian. Perhaps then she could feel a little closer to the people she had been forced to identify herself with.
“Do you want the inheritance?” Vivian finally asked, breaking the silence.
Hadassah looked up, a bit surprised by the question, but her answer was certain. “No, I don’t.”
Vivian seemed to relax, a slight tension leaving her shoulders. “Good,” she murmured. “As long as we aren’t fighting for the same things, we’ll be fine.”
“Vivian,” Hadassah replied gently, “I think very highly of you. I wouldn’t take what belongs to you. You don’t have to worry about that.”
Vivian’s gaze lingered on her. “I have no choice but to vie for it. For me, survival means power. Half-castes don’t have a choice. We either fight for our place, or we get torn apart.”
Hadassah bit her tongue in guilt; she felt as though she were watching a play from the outside despite being one of the actors.
“You know, Vivian, in Emerian there is no word for half-caste.” Hadassah started, “So to me, you are human.”
The moment she got back to the inn, she pulled out her Wyre. She would try to make it work one more time.
ˋ?-?-?ˊ
Dawn was much colder now, and Hadassah wrapped herself in a cloak for warmth as she kneeled on the damp grass. The scent of dew calmed her, even with the weight in her heart. She bowed low, her palms pressed against the earth, her forehead touching the ground. Then, slowly, she straightened, lifted her upper body, and bowed again.
And then once more.
This might be the last time she would have the chance to bow before Esther’s grave. But today, at least, she would repay her debt.
“You don’t need to bow, my lady,” Erebus, standing nearby, said softly. He stood on two legs, dressed in dark clothes, his face concealed behind a black mask. A strange, translucent staff with a black hue was strapped to his back. Behind Hadassah stood Rahn, his large wings spread wide, his expression solemn. He had brought her to this grave each day for the past three months and knew their routine by now.
“I am simply giving her the respect she deserves,” Hadassah replied.
The masked man was silent, yet undeniably moved by her words.
The sun crept slowly over the horizon, casting a warm glow over the dark grasslands, bringing the sky to life in brilliant shades of pink and purple. The cold of dawn retreated, giving way to the warmth of morning.
‘I wonder if you can see how beautiful this world is,’ Hadassah thought to herself as she watched the sunrise. ‘Unfortunately, I find it truly ugly.’
ˋ?-?-?ˊ
The inn was quiet, most residents still asleep, having stayed up until late into the night. Zarek stood in front of Hadassah’s door, dressed in a formal purple under robe beneath his silver armour, the emblem of the split dragon emblazoned on his chest plate. He didn’t knock, nor did he attempt to enter; he just stood there, hand on the hilt of his sword, as if in a trance.
It was unclear how long he remained there until the creak of a door drew his attention. Neveah stepped out of her room, her quiet gaze meeting his.
“She’s not around,” she said softly. “You should come and have some tea.”
Zarek’s eyes held a deep weariness, a silent weight behind them. He had wanted to wish her luck before the trial but had hesitated. Now, reluctantly, he nodded and followed Neveah inside.
He sat by her desk, sipping the tea she had prepared. She could see the exhaustion in him—his messy hair, dark circles under his eyes. She sighed, observing his tense silence.
“Zarek,” she began gently, “what’s the point of just standing in front of her door? At least knock.”
Zarek remained silent, knowing it was cowardly but unsure of what else to do. She had avoided him for months, and yet he still felt a desperate need to see her.
Neveah’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Zarek, I think I will return to Orlaith.”
Her words startled him, and he looked up in confusion. “Why all of a sudden? It’s been thirty-six years; going back now…”
She sipped her tea calmly. “Did you think I would never return?”
He did. He had always thought she would never go back.
Neveah continued, “I’ve lived a life of avoidance, but I can’t run from my responsibilities forever. Kaladin took me under his banner, and I’m grateful, but there’s a throne waiting for me.”
“If you return…” he started, his voice uneasy.
“I know.” She would be judged under the heavens, bound to the Seer throne for life. He saw the gravity in her expression, the resigned acceptance in her eyes.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she said quietly, her voice uncharacteristically quiet. “I’ve seen you as my brother, Zarek, and I hope you consider me your sister. I want you to live freely, not as a general of Nephel.”
“I want to stay.” Zarek was insistent.
“You cannot stay here, Zarek, not by Kaladin’s side nor Hadassah’s.”
His grip on the hilt of his sword tightened, knuckles blanching. “I know you want me to avoid pledging loyalty to the Dragon Queen, but you also say that if I am by Hadassah’s side, you’ve seen a future you dislike. What do you want from me, Neveah?” The only time she was ever this serious with him was when she read into the future. She had done it once before, and now she had done it again.
Her bitter smile returned as she placed her teacup down. “I am selfish, aren’t I? I’m asking you to abandon your dream of becoming a general, and I’m asking you not to follow Hadassah either. Do you think I’m being unreasonable?”
No, he didn’t. Neveah had never interfered with others’ choices until now. She was asking something enormous from him. “Please,” she said softly. “Come back to Orlaith with me.”
It was the impossible choice. “Neveah…”
“I know what you’ve trained for your entire life—that you want nothing more than to stand by Kaladin’s side. But Zarek—please, reconsider.”
He looked down, his voice barely a murmur. “If I choose not to go with you, that means the end of my life, doesn’t it?”
The words hung in the air, cold and final, cutting straight to the truth she had skirted around. He could see her clenching her jaw, knowing that warning him would come at a price—one she had chosen to pay. “Neveah, you shouldn’t suffer because of me.” Anytime she peered too far into the future, her body would be paralysed; he knew if she was telling him this, then tomorrow she would suffer the consequences.
“I don’t want to escape my fate. Though I am a bit surprised Hadassah is part of that fate, considering she hates my guts right now.” He chuckled, rubbing his neck nervously, ears dusted red.
Neveah blinked, then burst into laughter. His obliviousness, even now, left her in disbelief.
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She stood abruptly, taking his hand. “Come with me.” She led him to Hadassah’s room, ignoring his protests.
“Wait, she’s not here—”
Without hesitation, Neveah opened the door and led him inside. She pointed to two pieces of paper pinned on the wall, the first one closest to the window. “Do you know what that word is?”
Zarek looked at it, surprised when he recognised it. “That’s… Esther?”
Neveah let her hand fall, her gaze sharp. “That name spells Hadassah.”
Zarek’s eyes widened as he looked back at her, realisation dawning on him. “If you go forward without understanding who she is, you’ll both end up hurt. Hadassah is human. You know what that means for beastmen. If you can’t accept this, end it here. Pursue becoming a general, or come with me to Orlaith. But if you can handle her origins, the kind of monster she will become, then follow this path.”
Zarek’s mind raced as he absorbed Neveah’s words. The shock resonated through him, piecing together all the subtle hints he had missed. The name ‘Esther’ on the wall… it was her name, her Emerian name. The name she had called beautiful was her name.
Was Esther such a common name?
As he looked back at the handwriting, his mind cleared. That was undeniably Rahn’s handwriting; he must have seemed stupid compared to Neveah; he was sure Kaladin also knew. He was the only one kept in the dark.
A small, self-loathing laugh escaped his lips. How stupid, he was so, so stupid. This entire time, she was human. His vision grew hazy, and he had to look away from her name. He couldn’t bear to see it, not when his heart felt as if it were being pulled apart, his head splitting with a sudden, stabbing ache.
How could he reconcile the woman he knew with the human that raised him? Hadassah wasn’t cold; she was warm. She wasn’t powerful; she was vulnerable. She wasn’t human; she was… what was she then? If she wasn’t human, what was she?
His throat felt tight, and he could only snap back to reality when Neveah’s hand gripped his shoulder, grounding him. “Zarek, you don’t have to do this. That woman—”
“She’s nothing like my mother!” Zarek’s voice rose sharply, startling Neveah. He forced himself to lower it, though frustration still simmered. That’s right. Hadassah was nothing like that woman. Hadassah was warm; she was sharp; she pushed him, mocked him. She’d never asked him for anything, never wrapped her hands around his neck, never tried to control him. She would never. She wasn’t—
“My mother was a monster before she was anything else. I can’t use her as a model for all humans,” he managed, voice rough. “I know that Hadassah isn’t her.”
“But you still can’t stand the idea of her being human,” Neveah observed gently, her words cutting straight through him. The young half-caste girl had seemed tolerable because she wasn’t fully human. But Hadassah—she embodied everything he despised, a contradiction he could barely stomach.
“She had no choice in the matter, Zarek,” Neveah continued, her hand steady on his shoulder. “She had no control over being born what she is.”
He knew that—knew it as well as he knew himself. But his memories, the chains, the violation of trust and dignity, haunted him still. The image of his ‘mother’ kept overlapping with Hadassah’s, twisting his stomach into knots.
“I…” He struggled, the words catching in his throat, lost to uncertainty.
Neveah’s hand tightened on his shoulder, her face unreadable. “This is your choice now, Zarek. You can let it heal… or let it fester.” Sooner or later, he would need to choose which side he would take. If he chose loyalty to the Dragon Queen, he would have to hunt Hadassah one day. He knew it.
Zarek sank to his knees, feeling like a mountain collapsing under its own weight. Anger flared at Neveah—if she’d told him sooner, he might have been able to hate Hadassah in peace.
But now, how could he?
How could he hate her!?
A flash of blue shoes from the little girl, her innocent face— In Hadassah’s eyes, wasn’t he the monster? At the death of an innocent child, he’d been impassive as if she was meant to die.
The law of beasts, If you die to a beast, you can only blame yourself for being weak.
How could such a rule apply to a defenceless child?
He had eaten at the same table as that child, and yet in the face of her death he felt nothing.
Wasn’t he the monster?
ˋ?-?-?ˊ
Vivian Vortigern sat at her vanity, a quiet smile tugging at her lips as she fastened her deep red under robes, layering them with silver armour that glinted in the morning light. Three months had passed since Kaladin’s departure, and though rumours of his return had circulated before, this time they were real. Today was a momentous occasion—the Dragon Princess herself was descending, and the entire city had been roused to celebrate. Decorations blanketed the streets, and music had filled the air since dawn, as if the city had been holding its breath all this time, waiting for today.
Vivian glanced out her window, admiring the changing season. The dry heat was finally giving way to cooler breezes, and there was something poetic in the shift. It truly was a beautifully ominous day.
She took a hairpin from her desk and tucked it carefully in her hair. It was plain—the hairpin she had won in the auction house—but it was a little different. It had been augmented; runes were painted all over it in tiny writing that could only belong to Hadassah.
After checking her reflection once more, she put on a plain wooden mask and left her room, her footsteps echoing down the empty corridors of the Vortigern tree. Everyone had gone, crowding into the grasslands to await the princess, save for one person.
A tall man with long black hair and striking purple eyes stood by the window, his white fan hanging loosely from his hand. His open robes of deep purple and gold seemed to capture the morning light, his bare torso exposed and a gourd tied to his waist. Though his gaze had been fixed on the distant celebrations, he turned to face her as her footsteps approached and his pupils dilated.
“You know,” he said, an amused glint in his eye. “I think I prefer your other face.”
Vivian’s mask, plain and unadorned with just two narrow slits for her eyes, gave her a hauntingly unreadable appearance. “Then you’d better get used to this one,” she replied, her voice steely. “This face is all you’ll see from now on.”
He smirked, flipping his fan open with a graceful flick of his wrist, the gold edges catching the light. “So, are you ready?”
She nodded, her eyes flashing with the resolve she had carried since the day she was born. Today would be the beginning. She was destined to be Lord Vortigern, and she would claim it fully, starting now.
The frivolous man grabbed the gourd on his side and took a swig of the nectar in it and handed it to Vivian, who drank the rest freely.
ˋ?-?-?ˊ
In the grasslands surrounding the beast city, all participants of the expedition’s trial were stood in strict uniform behind Lord Vortigern and his commanders. Verena and Valentino stood next to their father; they did look magnificent. Like they were crafted from snow.
Verena looked through the crowd; there were people missing—three people. She scoffed. If they wanted to be cowards, they should remain cowards and refrain from showing their faces.
Soon enough, the crowd erupted in a quickly hushed uproar.
From above, the clouds parted, and a shadow began to loom, its wings stretching so wide that they seemed to swallow the sun. Its shadow covering the plains as if it were a mere garden.
A dragon was descending from the heavens.
Her wings were vast, each one the span of a hundred men standing shoulder to shoulder. Scales like molten gold, deep purple eyes, and teeth like mountains. The sheer size of her was unfathomable—a towering beast that dwarfed even the Vortigern tree—and as she descended, the clouds cleared, revealing the bright sun behind her. Her roar rumbled like thunder as she extended her talons to land, the earth shaking violently beneath her weight.
In one fluid motion, the dragon folded her wings as it’s massive body shone and transformed. Bones reshaping, scales receding, and skin whitening. The transformation was mesmerising—giant claws and wings shifted and coiled, melting into the slender form of a girl no taller than a teen. Her form was deceptively young, her features sharp, and her previously hardened skin now tender.
At her side, a man landed silently, without the grandeur of the dragon princess—Kaladin. The crowd murmured in recognition as the imposing figure of Kaladin stood tall, purple under robes and silver armour. He inclined his head to the newly transformed girl who stood nude in front of the crowd as Lord Vortigern himself stepped forward, bowing before handing her a deep purple robe. She took it, pulling it over her shoulders, the dark fabric contrasting with her skin. Her hair was left freely, and was so long it nearly touched her ankles.
Lord Vortigern remained bowing until she released him.
Everyone waited for her to speak, and the first thing she said with her booming voice was, “I hear my useless ingrate of a brother is here; where is he? I don’t see him.”
“Your Highness, Prince Zeus must be at the Vortigern tree, about why he isn’t here… “ Lord Vortigern did not know how to answer; the princess did not need him to go into detail; she knew he was probably gorging himself on nectar like the idiot he was.
“Then take me to your little tree; the trial should begin soon.”
“Yes, your Highness!”
From outside the city, Lord Vortigern looked at the tree looming in the distance, and he raised his hand. And suddenly, the Vortigern tree began to morph as the people watched.
Cracks spread across the trunk like veins sounding horrifically like bone snapping. Under Lord Vortigern’s command, the entire inner structure of the tree hollowed out, transforming into a vast, open arena in the centre.
Roots and thick branches snaked down, forming wide, tiered seating reminiscent of a colosseum. Sunlight barely penetrated the canopy above, leaving the arena floor strangely dark despite the early hours of the morning. Natural balconies emerged along the inner walls, creating viewing platforms high enough to be unaffected by the fighting.
The wide, rounded floor was soon blanketed by a dense layer of moss, and saplings began to push up from the soft ground of the arena, growing at an alarmingly fast pace. Saplings turned to gigantic trees in an instant, and the large arena was soon a densely covered forest. Any participants would think it was the dead of night—not a ray of light filtered through the layers and layers of tree leaves.
Zarek gawked, he did not expect that the Vortigern tree was really a moveable artefact.
Vivian watched from inside the Vortigern, her hand holding onto her partner as she kept them safe from the tree’s transformation, her smile growing wider by the second.
This was the perfect place to commit murder.
ˋ?-?-?ˊ
The colosseum slowly filled with spectators who could afford the luxury of witnessing the trial. Wealthy investors occupied private booths, while the general audience took their seats, eager to see the spectacle that would unfold. The participants, standing below, readied themselves for what might very well be their final moments. Facing something as bizarre and terrifying as a Siren meant accepting the uncertainty of survival. They were prepared to fight, flee, or die.
Hadassah made her way towards the Vortigern Tree, each step feeling lighter, her focus unwavering. The entrance for participants was clearly marked, and around fifty warriors gathered. Among them, Verena and Valentino were already fully dressed for battle, their imposing armour giving them an air of invincibility. They looked like they couldn’t possibly lose. Zarek stood beside them, but Neveah was noticeably absent—perhaps exempt from this trial due to her status as a princess.
Hadassah’s attire drew curious glances. She wore tight-fitting black leather instead of armour, choosing freedom of movement over heavy protection. The leather clung to her form, accentuating her agility, while a string of pink beads adorned her waist, and a delicate gold body chain crossed her chest. To an onlooker, it seemed like mere decoration, but its true purpose remained a mystery. Her knee-high black boots, laced up to perfection, added to her striking appearance. She bore no sword, only a Jade hairpin glinting in her bun decorated in what looked like illegible scribbles, the white light reflecting on her false brown rabbit ears. To some, she looked more like a child playing dress up for war than an actual participant.
Her hair, which had once been in tight micro braids, was now tied neatly in a polished bun. Behind her stood Rahn, ever her protector and companion. His wings were retracted under his skin, giving him a more human-like appearance, though his black, hardened skin and razor-sharp claws betrayed his beastly nature. His sword was strapped at his side, and his dark tunic exposed his muscled arms. Unlike the others, Rahn wore no armour—his body was already an impenetrable shield. He moved in perfect sync with Hadassah; every step she took was echoed by him. It was clear that they would fight together as one.
Verena’s mocking laughter broke the tense atmosphere. “I suppose she’ll rely on that beastman to protect her the entire time,” she sneered, her voice dripping with disdain. Though she addressed Valentino, her words were loud enough for the whole room to hear.
Verena’s eyes gleamed with malicious intent as she shifted her gaze from Hadassah to Rahn. She couldn’t help but admit he was handsome; he had long, dark lashes, and now that his hair had been cut he seemed so much more mature. He had gained good muscle and stood tall next to Hadassah; it would be a shame for him to waste away in that weakling’s bed.
The mockery in her voice morphed into flattery as she sauntered over to him. She stopped right in front of him, lifting her chin as if her words alone could command submission. “You know, Rahn,” she began, “you don’t have to lower yourself to this level. I could give you a much better future. After my engagement is set, I could make you mine, my consort; you’d have more than this… child.” She cast a dismissive glance at Hadassah. “You don’t have to sleep beside her when you could be with someone of real power.”
For heirs of great families, they could not take in consorts until they had married an official mate. So Verena could not take in Rahn until her father had found her a suitable mate to manage her household. But still, being a consort to a powerful woman was considered having a good future; most beastmen would at least consider carefully before saying no.
However Rahn did not.
He could not talk; she knew that, but he made no movements of shock, flattery, or even anger; there was nothing.
Rahn didn’t move. His eyes remained fixed ahead, not acknowledging Verena’s presence at all, as if she hadn’t spoken at all. The silence in the room deepened, and tension built like a hurricane.
Verena’s smile wavered slightly, her gaze shifting to Hadassah, who sat with her arms crossed, still as a statue. Hadassah didn’t speak, didn’t even glance in Verena’s direction. The weight of their silence was deafening, and it was an unspoken insult. To them, Verena’s words were nothing.
She was nothing.
Verena’s face flushing in rage at the complete dismissal, and she let out a grim, vengeful laugh. How dare they? Her fingers twitched at her sides, her nails biting into her palms as she struggled to contain the fury that bubbled inside her.
Her lips curled into a snarl; there was no point getting angry at them, they would soon be dead, “You’ll regret this. Both of you. In the trial, you’ll beg for your lives, but no one will save you.” Her voice was sharp, dripping with venom. She turned on her heel, her armour clinking with the sudden movement, and stormed back to her spot beside Valentino, her eyes burning with hatred.
Hadassah remained calm, her face emotionless; she knew the outcome of this match already; her confidence wasn’t something Verena could shake with just a few petty words.
Vivian was the last to enter. She hovered near the farthest corner, her body language showing her supposed anxiety. The mask she wore, plain and unsettling, drew glances from the others. Whispers spread through the room—perhaps she was too ashamed to show her face after her humiliating defeat. But Hadassah didn’t seem to care. She kept her eyes forward, waiting for the trial to begin. Nothing else mattered.
Above the group, the Dragon Princess was being served nectar and exquisite vegetarian dishes, her delicate hands swirling a goblet as if bored, her eyes scanning the arena with impatience. Her fingers tapped rhythmically against her cheek, betraying her lack of interest in the formalities.She was waiting for the trial to begin, eager to get it over with.
“Your impatience is a bad habit, Drucilla,” a voice interrupted, slipping through the curtains behind her booth. The man who joined her had the same fan with gold edges, and his deep purple eyes gleamed with amusement. His robes were immodestly thrown on, and at his waist hung a gourd of nectar.
Drucilla’s expression twisted into a scowl. “So now you want to show your face? You didn’t even come to welcome me,” she snapped at her incompetent brother.
He chuckled, unfazed. “My apologies. I drank a little too much last night and struggled to wake up.”
She huffed, turning her attention back to the colosseum, ignoring him as he casually poured himself a glass of nectar, clearly in no hurry.
Lord Vortigern, meanwhile, was barely holding his composure as he stood stiffly besides the two siblings, who were sat in comfortably cushioned chairs. He had calmed his heart for the moment, relieved that nothing had gone wrong yet. The Vortigern Tree had obeyed his will today, and he had not embarrassed himself in front of such esteemed guests. The millions of shells he poured into shell cores had been worth it. He had feared that moving all the different parts of the tree in perfect harmony might take extra effort, but to his surprise, the tree responded smoothly to his commands. He allowed himself a fleeting moment of hope—perhaps his control over the tree had finally returned to its full strength.
He cleared his throat, and as he spoke, his voice travelled through the tree, echoing through the colosseum, commanding the attention of the crowd.
“Today marks the trial for the great Veres expedition. The object of this trial,” his voice reverberated, “is simple—survive.”
Hadassah, who was seated underneath the colosseum arena, frowned as she heard the announcement. ‘Survive?’ If that was the objective, then surviving was going to be far more difficult than she had anticipated. Lord Vortigern’s voice rang once more. “Let us release the Siren!”
Hadassah took a deep breath. The Siren would be released first before they were; she calmed herself and gave away her fears.
There was no point dwelling on anything but the future, and the only future she could allow was a future where she avenged the little girl’s death.
A future where Verena Vortigern was dead.
