The rainy season was ending, and the dry season was beginning to roll in. Gone were the chilly mornings and wet evenings; now came scorching heat, cracked lips, dried hands, and unbearable injuries. Hadassah was partly grateful her hand had been blown up during the rainy season—the thought of healing a burnt hand in this dry climate sounded torturous.

  A month passed before Kaladin finally organised another round of spars. Hadassah wasn’t sure why he’d dragged it out this long, but she welcomed it. She needed to measure her improvement.

  Of course, the first to go would be the last to join the sessions, Vivian Vortigern.

  She stood quietly, her black hair pulled back, her usual plain leathers clinging to her slender frame. She looked calm, as if she weren’t about to step into a fight she had little chance of winning. Kaladin’s announcement was brief, but its effect was immediate.

  “We need a volunteer for today’s sparring session with Vivian.”

  Before anyone else could react, Verena’s voice sliced through the short silence. “I’ll do it.” Her voice was unnervingly cheerful, like someone being offered candied fruit rather than a fight.

  Verena walked confidently, her white hair catching the morning light, her eyes sharp and unrelenting. Hadassah, sitting next to Neveah, felt her heart drop into her stomach. This wasn’t going to be a fair fight. The look on Verena’s face made that clear.

  As much as Hadassah hoped Vivian had some hidden talent, she knew that against someone like Verena, who had real battle experience, there was little chance. Over the past month, Hadassah watched Vivian. She had never given off the impression of being a skilled warrior capable of handling either of her siblings. And today, Verena was out for blood, the way a predator toys with prey before the kill.

  Vivian stepped forward, her hand shaking around the hilt of her sword. It didn’t go unnoticed by the crowd, who snickered quietly at the sight. Verena’s smile widened into something sinister, her lips pulling back in a mockery of warmth. “Are you ready, half-caste?” she taunted, circling Vivian slowly, like a tiger stalking its prey. “Or would you rather crawl back to the gutter you came from?”

  Hadassah shifted in her seat, her hands clenching into fists. Her stomach twisted, but Neveah’s hand on her arm was steady. “Keep your composure,” Neveah whispered. “This isn’t your fight.”

  But that didn’t make it any easier to watch.

  The fight began without formalities. Verena launched her attack with overwhelming power, her wooden sword slicing through the air, too fast for human eyes. Even a novice could tell her strikes weren’t meant for practice—they were meant to kill. Vivian dodged and twisted, relying on her agility to avoid the full force of the blows, but how long could agility compete with brute strength and skill?

  Verena’s laughter rang out, her voice laced with disdain as she casually flicked her ponytail off her shoulder. “Is this all you’ve got, half-caste? Do you really think speed will save you?”

  Vivian’s breath grew laborious. She circled around Verena, searching for an opening, but Verena stood rooted, unshakeable, with no gaps in her defence. Vivian had no choice but to stay on the defensive.

  With a vicious downward strike, Verena knocked the sword from Vivian’s hand, sending it skittering across the ground. Vivian staggered back, clutching her side where Verena’s sword had grazed her, blood staining her leathers. But before she could recover, Verena closed the distance, delivering a brutal kick to her chest. Vivian crumpled to the ground with a sickening thud.

  Hadassah flinched as the impact echoed through the training grounds. She glanced around, hoping someone—anyone—would intervene, but the crowd remained silent, watching with cold indifference. This wasn’t a sparring match any more. This was a punishment, and they were enjoying it. A beastman punishing a half-caste—who would stop her?

  “Get up,” Verena sneered, kicking Vivian’s sword back towards her. “You’re making this too easy. Come on, half-breed. Show me what’s left of the Vortigern blood in you. Or is it all diluted in yours?”

  Hadassah’s stomach twisted. Deep down, she knew: if her own humanity were ever discovered, this would be her fate. Verena had sparred with her before, but there had always been a layer of respect, a restraint that wasn’t present here. In this fight, there was no respect, no mercy.

  Only disgust.

  Vivian, barely able to stand, struggled to push herself up on unsteady arms. Her body was bruised, bleeding, but there was no defiance in her eyes—only an eerie calm. It was this calmness that seemed to enrage Verena further.

  “You think you belong here?” Verena hissed, her voice low and menacing. “You’re nothing. Not a beastman. Not a warrior. Nothing.”

  With those words, Verena slammed her boot down on Vivian’s ribs, sending her sprawling across the dirt again. This time, Vivian coughed up blood. And still, Verena wasn’t finished. Her expression darkened as she approached again, this time lifting her boot and bringing it down on Vivian’s arm with a sickening crunch. The sound of bones snapping echoed like breaking branches, a sound that seared itself into Hadassah’s mind.

  Hadassah’s breath hitched, her fingers digging painfully into her palms. She glanced around at the others—Neveah’s cold indifference, Zarek’s empty expression, Kaladin’s shadowed face.

  ‘How are you all so calm!?’

  No one reacted.

  No one cared.

  She did not know where to look or who to look at, so she turned to the only person feeling her fear.

  Rahn sat across the barracks; the entire time his eyes had been on her, he felt everything she felt, and he knew how much she hated this.

  She caught his eyes, grounding, and she kept her gaze there.

  She tried to steady her breathing, ignoring the sound of Verena’s boot coming down once more on Vivian’s wrist and again on her humerus.

  Throughout all this, Vivian did not scream; the only thing she could hear was silence, and she was so scared she could not look away from Rahn for fear she would break.

  And he did not look away from her.

  He might never understand why she felt the things she felt, or why she cared so much about the things she cared about, but he would always know what she needed the most. The gift her father had left for her—someone who would be able to comfort her without her needing to say anything—to Hadassah, this was invaluable. This was the beast continent; if you did not have power, you could only accept your death.

  The sounds of fighting eventually faded, and Verena’s voice cut through the still air. “You’re weak. When you think you can rise higher than you deserve, remember your place, half-caste.”

  Hadassah’s stomach churned as she forced herself to look at Vivian, who was now barely recognisable. Blood and dust caked her body, her bones jutting out unnaturally. Her breath was thin, and the guards were already moving to carry her away. No one seemed to care any more. To the crowd, Vivian had served her purpose—as entertainment. It took everything in Hadassah not to gag, and she saw Verena’s boots—stained with mud and blood.

  And as Vivian was taken away, the only one who remained watching was Hadassah. And she was the only one who saw it—the faintest hint of a smile on Vivian’s bloodied lips. Despite the pain, the humiliation, and the utter brutality of the defeat, there was something in her eyes that shouldn’t have been there—satisfaction.

  Hadassah stood frozen in place, stunned.

  How?

  How could Vivian possibly feel satisfied after such a brutal defeat?

  Her gaze followed the direction of Vivian’s, her pupils shrinking as she realised who Vivian had been looking at.

  Lord Vortigern.

  There he stood, his white rabbit ears stark against the silver armour he wore, his hands clasped behind his back. His face was cold, expressionless, watching, observing. Next to him, concealed in a small booth in the Vortigern tree, was an unknown group of people. Some held ornate fans; others had identifiable beast ears, some in semi-beast forms. All of them were watching—silent, analytical, as if they were assessing their prized products.

  A guttural laugh forced its way up Hadassah’s throat.

  If she had missed that glimmer of a smile in Vivian’s eyes, she would have missed everything. Hadassah could hardly believe it—she had been completely outmatched.

  Vivian hadn’t truly lost.

  Not really.

  She had won something far more dangerous than a simple sparring match.

  But what exactly had she won?

  Hadassah could only assume—this wasn’t just a fight. It was a calculated move in a much larger game.

  A play for succession.

  And judging by the satisfaction in Vivian’s eyes, it was a game Vivian Vortigern was more than pleased with.

  ˋ?-?-?ˊ

  As the crowd dispersed from the spar, Verena strode confidently towards Hadassah and Neveah, her expression nearly smug; if Hadassah didn’t know better, she would look like a child who had just won a dirt race. The blood on her boots left faint, disappearing footprints on the floor as she walked.

  Neveah spoke casually to Hadassah, offering her a final warning. “There is no medicine for regret.” Though she never once looked directly at the human girl, Hadassah could feel Neveah’s words digging into her conscience. “Are you sure about this?”

  Hadassah’s jaw tightened; how could she possibly swallow her emotions? As much as she would love to pretend that nothing wrong had happened, she couldn’t bring herself to smile at the white rabbit. She would be a fool to think that if she were the one on the ground, Verena would spare her once her true identity was exposed. Her fingers instinctively brushed against her false ears, giving her the courage to stand her ground.

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  “I will not regret my decision,” Hadassah finally stated, her voice steady. Regret was something she didn’t dwell on; the only thing to do was to move forward. “There’s no point looking back on mistakes like you can change them.”

  Neveah nodded thoughtfully, her expression unreadable. She wondered if Hadassah would still be able to say that after facing the consequences of her actions.

  When Verena finally reached them, she was expecting admiration, maybe even a bit of praise for her prowess. Instead, Hadassah greeted her with a cold, dispassionate stare.

  Verena’s face faltered slightly, confusion replacing her earlier smugness. “Well?” she asked, glancing between the two women. “Did you see? That half-caste didn’t stand a chance.”

  Hadassah’s lips barely moved, her voice quiet but firm. “Verena, you are a coward.”

  The statement hung in the air like a stone, sinking deeper as Verena processed it. Her eyes flashed with shock, quickly replaced by a wave of rising anger. “What?” her voice dripped with incredulity, her pride clearly stung by Hadassah’s unexpected coldness. “I’m a coward? For what? For dealing with the half-caste? You have no idea what you’re saying.”

  Hadassah held her ground, her face impassive. “I know exactly what I’m saying. You expect me to be impressed with you stomping on the weak? Is that something to be proud of? Since when?”

  Verena’s fists clenched at her sides, her pride starting to crack, her tone rising. “Hadassah. Don’t be stupid. You’re making a mistake. You cannot possibly think siding with that bitch—”

  Neveah, who had remained silent up to this point, spoke up with a sharp, authoritative tone. “Verena Vortigern. Watch your tone in my presence.” She might not interfere, but in her presence, the white rabbit should know her place.

  Verena’s face twisted into something ugly, her pride wounded far deeper than she had anticipated. Neveah did not say anything wrong, but interrupting her right now was stating her stance. “Of course, princess,” she spat venomously. “I hope you both do not regret your words today.” Saying nothing more, she scoffed and stalked away, her wooden sword dragging against the floor, the sound a horrific screech trailing behind her.

  ˋ?-?-?ˊ

  Hadassah left early, unable to remain in the barracks after her sparring match. Her body felt heavier than usual, her throat constricting as if her heart were lodged there. The sight of Vivian’s blood still lingered, and every time she closed her eyes, she could see the broken bones, the ruptured muscles. Bile rose in her throat, and she stumbled to the side, heaving violently. There was nothing in her stomach but water, yet she continued to wretch and cough until blood speckled the ground.

  Her body trembled, drained of energy, but she dragged herself forward, trying to reach the inn. Her mind was clouded with exhaustion and shock, so much so that she almost missed the small figure waiting for her.

  “Older sister!” came a soft, familiar voice.

  Hadassah stopped in her tracks. Standing by the inn in the fading light was Esther—the little girl she had helped before. The child clutched a small straw basket in her arms, her big brown eyes filled with expectation.

  “Esther?” Hadassah blinked, surprised. “What are you doing here again?” Her voice came out hoarse and worn from the day’s events.

  The little girl fidgeted, her hands gripping the basket tightly. “I… I brought you some food,” she said quietly. “I made it myself.”

  Hadassah’s heart softened immediately. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  Esther lowered her head, her voice trembling. “I just… wanted to see you again, and… if I’m bothering you, I’ll leave.”

  Hadassah knelt down in front of her, placing a hand on the girl’s frizzy hair. “You’re not bothering me at all, Esther. I’m glad you came.”

  The girl’s face lit up, her shyness melting away. “Really? I don’t want to be a bother!”

  “You could never be a bother,” Hadassah reassured her. She glanced at the small basket and smiled warmly. “Come on, let’s sit for a bit.”

  They sat together, and Hadassah unwrapped the basket to reveal rice balls. Her stomach churned at the thought of eating, the taste of bile still fresh in her mouth, but she forced herself to take a bite. The combination of rice and the lingering taste of sickness made it almost unbearable, but she swallowed it down with a forced smile.

  “It’s delicious,” she said, her cheeks aching from the effort of stretching them into a smile. Her eyes watered from the urge to gag, but she kept it down.

  Esther beamed. “Eat more!” she urged, trying to hand Hadassah the remaining rice balls.

  Hadassah gently declined. “Rice is too expensive to give all of it to me. Why don’t you eat one, and we can share the last one?” The girl’s smile dimmed, but brightened again at the suggestion.

  “My father was right! You are good to me,” Esther said, her eyes sparkling.

  Hadassah’s smile faltered. To this little girl, her refusal to eat more rice was an act of kindness. But Hadassah knew better. ‘I’m not a good person,’ she thought. If she were truly good, she would have intervened during Verena’s assault on Vivian. She would have spoken to Vivian when she first arrived a month ago. She wouldn’t have joined in isolating her.

  What kind of good person did that?

  Esther devoured her rice ball, finishing it quickly and reaching for the shared half. Hadassah watched her eat, admiring the girl’s appetite and wondering when she had last eaten so heartily.

  “Your shoes are pretty,” Hadassah commented, noticing the bright blue cloth shoes on the girl’s feet. “Are they new?”

  The girl nodded eagerly. “The tall older brother bought them for me! He said I shouldn’t run around barefoot if I’m weak.”

  ‘Tall older brother?’ Zarek’s stiff, awkward face appeared in Hadassah’s mind, and she giggled at the thought of the hesitant man buying a pair of shoes for a child. “Does the tall older brother visit often?” she asked, amused.

  “Yes, he said he was worried I’d fall and die, so he came to check on me,” Esther replied earnestly.

  Hadassah’s giggles turned into full-blown laughter. Since when was falling on dirt a valid cause of death? “He must like you a lot,” she said between laughs.

  Hadassah unclasped the string of beads from around her waist and pulled out one of the translucent pink beads. She held it out for the girl to examine. “Do you see this?” Hadassah said, her tone more serious now. “It’s special. If you’re ever in real danger, throw it as hard as you can, and it will explode. But only in an emergency, alright?”

  Esther’s eyes widened with awe as she took the bead, holding it close to her chest. “I will! I promise! Thank you so much, older sister!”

  Hadassah smiled at her enthusiasm, warmth spreading through her chest despite the heaviness that still lingered. “Be careful, okay? And remember—only in an emergency.”

  The little girl nodded eagerly, clutching the bead tightly as she stood up to leave. “I’ll be really careful, I promise! Thank you again!”

  Hadassah waved as she watched the girl run off, the basket bouncing against her feet with each step.

  ‘A child who does not know the value of her actions,’ Hadassah thought as she watched Esther vanish from her sight. Even if it was just for a moment, her heart felt lighter.

  Without wasting any time, Hadassah made her way to the bamboo forest once she returned to the inn. She had been at a stalemate with her artefact-making for weeks now, and no matter what she did, the Wyre refused to stabilise. Today would be her final attempt. If she failed again, she’d have to give up on the project entirely and create something new.

  The sun was beginning to set as she sat in the clearing, her tools spread out before her. The shell core glinted faintly in the fading light of day. She had one goal tonight: to merge the unstable Wyre with the shell core to create something usable, something powerful. It was a delicate process—rune-writing, energy control, and patience—but she had prepared herself for this.

  This was her last shot

  Hadassah worked tirelessly into the evening, sweat gathering on her brow as she carefully drew the runes onto a fresh scroll. A tremor took over her fingers, exhaustion setting in, but she couldn’t stop.

  Not now.

  She started to syphon her energy from her core; the symbols began to glow faintly, responding to her touch, and for a moment, it seemed like she might succeed.

  But then, her hand slipped.

  The rune she had been crafting went wrong.

  The energy within the Wyre surged, twisting violently, and before she could react, a sharp jolt of electricity zapped through her body. The air around her began to buzz with strange energy.

  Lightning.

  A blinding flash ripped through the sky, and a bolt of lightning struck the exact spot where Hadassah had been sitting. She barely had time to register the danger before she was yanked backward, strong arms pulling her to safety. The lightning scorched the ground, illuminating the forest with a brilliant flash.

  She gasped, finding herself in Kaladin’s arms.

  “It took longer than I expected,” Kaladin said, a teasing grin spreading across his face. His voice was low and warm, tickling her ear. “I’m surprised you only just made a fatal mistake. Still, I’m glad I was here to save the princess.”

  Hadassah’s heart pounded, her mind racing.

  ‘Was that lightning!? Lightning!?’

  She screamed internally. The book had mentioned punishment, but she had never imagined it would involve being struck by lightning.

  ‘Is this really punishment from the heavens?!’

  She couldn’t believe it. This felt surreal.

  Before she could respond to Kaladin, another bolt of lightning cracked down, even closer this time. Kaladin grabbed her hand without hesitation and pulled her behind a nearby tree.

  “I feel like this hobby of yours might be a bit too dangerous,” he said again as they dove for cover.

  Hadassah glared at him, her breath quick. “Can you be serious for just one moment? I nearly died!”

  Kaladin leaned in, his face inches from hers, his grin widening. “Oh, I’m very serious. I love that you have hobbies, but maybe you should tone down the death experiments a bit? I might not always be around to save you.”

  Hadassah’s face grew warmer, and she stammered, “W-who said I needed saving? Besides! I only made one big mistake!” As long as she didn’t repeat it, there shouldn’t be any more lightning, right?

  But the final bolt came hurtling down, crashing into the spot they had just been standing in. Kaladin swept her away yet again, moving them to safety just in time.

  “Seems like the universe disagrees with you on that,” he murmured.

  Three bolts, she made three mistakes.

  Hadassah finally pushed him away, frustration bubbling up. “I hate how vague these stupid books are!” She kicked one of the books lying near her feet. How was she meant to know if it wasn’t explicitly stated? All the book said was ‘fatal mistake.’ Now she did not even know what fatal mistake she had made. “When they said punishment from the heavens, I thought it would be some curse I could just live with—not lightning! Is there really some deity up there waiting for humans to make a fatal mistake? There’s no way, right?!”

  Kaladin chuckled. “I think that’s enough for tonight. As much as I enjoy saving you, three lightning strikes in one courtyard are bound to raise some questions.”

  Hadassah nodded wearily. She glanced at the burnt scroll and the book that had been completely obliterated. The shell core and Wyre, however, remained intact. She sighed deeply. It was clear now—the Wyre wasn’t meant for her. She would have to move on.

  “What are you even doing here, Kaladin?” Hadassah asked, her voice showing evidence of her exhaustion.

  “Oh,” he replied with a sly smile, “I came to give you something.”

  Hadassah raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued, and watched as he pulled a jade hairpin from his pocket.

  “Is this…” she trailed off, taking the cold pin into her hands; it felt smooth against her skin.

  “I figured you’d feel better after what happened today,” Kaladin said, his voice softer than usual. “I know it’s not much. The way this world is… it’s rotten, and not something I can change. So all I can do is make you feel a bit better.”

  Hadassah’s heart melted at his words. The hairpin wasn’t extravagant by any means, but the gesture meant everything to her. He understood, truly understood her, and that made all the difference. She slid the pin into her microbraids, feeling the cool touch of it nestle in her hair.

  “By any chance… are you free tonight?” she asked, adjusting the pin.

  He nodded, curious. “I am, why?”

  “Do you want to buy me something?”

  Kaladin blinked in surprise before breaking into laughter. “What kind of question is that?”

  “Well, if not, I’ll have to sell my own beads, and I don’t think I want to,” Hadassah replied, her hair suddenly turning to a beautiful ginger from her dark brown, the colour looking so natural it seemed as though it had grown from her scalp.

  Kaladin marvelled at the transformation, she looked good with red hair too. “Mmm, what do you want to buy?”

  Hadassah’s eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint. “A deep sea pearl.”

  Kaladin’s laughter died in his throat. A deep sea pearl—a legendary item, known as the tears of the celestial family, capable of healing any ailment and bringing a person back from the brink of death.

  Something like that was priceless.

  Families of immense wealth hoarded them, guarding them jealously for emergencies, yet Hadassah asked for it so casually, as if it were a trinket.

  “Where am I meant to find something like that? Do you think they grow on trees?” he asked, still caught off guard.

  “Well,” Hadassah began, gathering her things as if it were the most normal conversation, “you could steal one, right?”

  Kaladin’s eyes widened at her bold suggestion.

  If the wealthy families were hoarding them, it made perfect sense to Hadassah to just steal one; after all, they would never notice unless there was an emergency. The wealthiest family around was the Vortigern family. So, in her mind, the solution was simple—take what was hidden behind their guarded doors.

  Kaladin stared at her in disbelief before a slow grin tugged at his lips. “So you’re not asking me for dinner; you’re asking me to go on a heist. Tonight.”

  Hadassah smiled back, the ginger in her hair glinting in the fading light. “Well, can you bear to let a girl like me down?”

  He knew she was joking—or rather, he should have known—but something about the way she said it lit a fire in his chest.

  She was right.

  He couldn’t bear to disappoint her.

  “Alright then,” he said. “But not tonight—tomorrow night.”