Kaladin’s sword clashed against Rahn’s, and the two stood locked in a stalemate, their strength and will equally matched.

  Kaladin let out a small breath of relief. That’s right, she had someone who would protect her, someone who would not fall so easily to his power.

  Meanwhile, Hadassah kept her focus on Drucilla, who, despite her battered and fatigued state, still exuded an intimidating aura. She was a dragon—the one creature that truly ruled this world.

  “You’re watching me so intently,” Drucilla sneered. “Afraid if you look away, you’ll die? Smart, I suppose. Maybe humans aren’t as incompetent as I thought.”

  Hadassah almost wanted to laugh at her words. Her mother was supposed to be human, wasn’t she? Yet here stood Drucilla, a creature of power and transformation, something beyond ordinary humanity. She wondered if there were secrets about her own lineage she had yet to uncover. In this world filled with powers and principalities, the impossible often finds a way to exist.

  “Pick up that sword and fight me,” Drucilla commanded.

  Hadassah didn’t hesitate, though she knew her limitations. She wasn’t particularly skilled with any weapon, which was why she relied on explosives. But she could wield a sword well enough to put up a basic fight, even if, against a weakened Drucilla, her chances of victory were slim. Steeling herself, she bent down and gripped the hilt of the sword that had been embedded in Arcadia’s corpse, the cold metal biting into her hand as she lifted it.

  The sword was unexpectedly light in Hadassah’s hand, surprising her. It looked heavy, with a thick blade and a hilt intricately carved with crows, each one seeming almost lifelike. They all looked like that—every sword she’d seen in Arcadia’s body.

  Drucilla didn’t hesitate. Her injuries were healing at an alarming rate, and in a swift movement, she rushed forward. Her glaive scraped against the floor, leaving sparks in its wake before she leapt high into the air. Her body twisted, positioning her weapon for a killing blow, her fierce eyes locked onto Hadassah.

  Drucilla was born to fight; her father was the greatest military might in the entire continent, and from a young age she was trained to kill. Someone like her did not need a dragon form to kill a person like Hadassah who had grown up under the gentle care of a loving father. If she fought head-on, there was no future where she could survive.

  Hadassah rolled away from the throne, Drucilla’s blade imbedding in the stone floors, causing spiderweb-like cracks to spread quickly as an explosive boom rocked the room, and a crater was left where her glaive had landed.

  Dust rose, swirling around Drucilla as she straightened, her silhouette sharp and menacing amidst the haze. Her eyes glowed a fierce purple through the cloud, locking onto Hadassah with an intensity that sent chills down her spine. Hadassah was painfully aware—one hit from Drucilla’s glaive would mean her end. She had no chance of parrying, no opportunity to strike back; her only option was to keep dodging and hope for a chance to use her Wyre.

  Rahn looked away for one second, his heart lurching at the sound of Drucilla’s glaive smashing through the stone ground.

  “You should not be distracted; your opponent is me.” Kaladin’s voice forced him to focus as he felt the sword slash through his side.

  Rahn took a step back, his hand touching his bleeding flank, seeing his own blood was new, and what was worse—he wasn’t regenerating.

  Kaladin flicked the blood off his sword as he started walking forward casually, closing the distance.

  “You need to get your head together; if you don’t, she will die.”

  His words were clear. A challenge to Rahn, who clenched his jaw as the shadows in the room began to grow, trapping the both of them in another sphere of shadows.

  Kaladin looked around, as if inspecting Rahn’s work. “Not bad, now defeat me!”

  Rahn gritted his teeth, the pain in his side searing but insignificant compared to the wrath he felt. Even now, how Kaladin told him what to do, he was her protector! He would be the one to win!

  The shadows burst forth from all angles of that sphere, heading towards one target. Yet Kaladin remained calm; his sword flashed, and in an instant the shadows had been cut through like tofu, disintegrating and merging back with the dome covering them.

  “Is this all you can muster?” Kaladin’s voice was taunting, almost mocking. “If you want to protect her, you’ll have to do better than this.”

  Rahn’s anger flared.

  Shadows gathered at his hand, coalescing into a large sword that was nearly the size of his entire being. He lunged forward, slashing at Kaladin, their weapons clashing with a deafening sound. Each impact was enough to internally wound any person within the effect radius. Kaladin predicted every move; even as shadows shot around behind him, he dodged effortlessly, as if he were dancing; it drove Rahn to such heights of rage he had never experienced before.

  Rahn aimed a strike at Kaladin’s head, only to have his arm parried and twisted back painfully. He staggered, barely managing to avoid the thrust of Kaladin’s blade aimed for his heart. A second later, another wound opened on his arm, Kaladin’s blade flashing in the dim light.

  “Focus, Rahn,” Kaladin said, his tone sharp as he brought his sword down again, slashing his side again, the same previously injured side, this time going deep enough past muscle.

  Rahn winced as he struggled to stay upright; he was not healing, and he could tell Kaladin was going easy on him. He felt humiliated; how could he remain her only Harbinger?

  If Kaladin beat him here, the worst future he could envision would come true, and he would surely be abandoned by her.

  He could not let that happen.

  No, he would rather die than see her look at him with disdain.

  “You’re too reckless,” Kaladin said softly, disappointment flickering in his gaze. “You fight with emotion, not with skill. That will be her downfall.”

  Rahn did not care; to him, Kaladin was merely someone who needed to die; if he did not die here, Rahn would not be satisfied.

  Suddenly power burst through Rahn, the sphere grew larger as Kaladin watched as Rahn’s gold eyes were consumed by black; the whites of his eyes were gone, replaced by just darkness. The blacked skin below his knees and elbows spread, covering his entire being with darkness.

  Kaladin’s eyes gleamed with a twisted sense of satisfaction as he watched Rahn finally let go of his restraint, the shadows around him intensifying, becoming a force of nature.

  Multiple eyes sprouted from inside the sphere; all pupils pointed at Kaladin.

  “Yes, that’s it. You were made to be the Harbinger of Darkness; you are meant to have overwhelming strength!” With that, Kaladin dropped his sword, the metal clattering against the floors of the throne room.

  He held out his hand, and a staff materialised with a bright white glow, forming from seemingly nothing; wood and vines extended until a heavy stick was held in his hands. He stomped it on the floor as if to anchor himself.

  “Now I can actually get serious!”

  The air around Kaladin shimmered, like a mirage, as it seemed like reality itself began to bend around him and he tapped his staff twice. The two met each other’s eyes and rushed towards each other.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  ˋ?-?-?ˊ

  Hadassah pushed herself to the side as the glaive stabbed into the wall behind her, a sharp pain slicing through her ear. Blood dripped down, warm against her flesh, she tightened her grip on the sword in her hand. Drucilla raised her boot, planting it against the wall, trapping Hadassah in place.

  “Hah, you’re like a cockroach,” Drucilla sneered, her voice laced with contempt. “How long do you plan to run away?”

  Hadassah lifted her hand; the delicate gold handpiece grew hot, and then, a blinding force shot from her palm, slamming into Drucilla with unrelenting power. Drucilla staggered, teeth clenched, fighting against the flames. She drove the blade of her glaive deep into the stone floor, the weapon trembling under the strain as she struggled to keep her footing.

  She was a dragon, so fire did nothing to her, but at least it allowed Hadassah to scramble away from the princess, who chased right after her.

  ‘So what if I’m a cockroach? At least I’m the best damned cockroach in this room!’

  Hadassah’s breaths were becoming ragged, and the weight of exhaustion started to pull at her limbs, but Drucilla’s relentless attacks allowed no reprieve.

  Drucilla aimed at her once more. Hadassah tried to dodge but found herself being destabilised by the now impossibly rough terrain. And she found her body rolling and slamming against the side of the throne.

  Drucilla’s lips twisted into a victorious grin.

  “End of the line, human,” Drucilla taunted, raising her glaive high, its deadly edge gleaming as it arced downward.

  Hadassah squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the impact. But instead of the final blow, there was a loud, high-pitched sound grating her ears.

  When she opened her eyes, she saw Zarek standing before her, his arm raised, blocking Drucilla’s attack with a scaled, clawed hand that glistened like polished obsidian. His fingers curled into sharp talons.

  His back was to her, and as he moved, she caught sight of the scales creeping up his neck.

  “Zarek,” she managed to say, watching as his hands crossed, blocking Drucilla’s glaive. His strength matched hers, pushing her back.

  “Not today,” Zarek growled, his voice low. He shoved the glaive away, forcing Drucilla to stumble, her expression twisting with anger and surprise as her eyes locked onto his scaled arm.

  “So, you’ve decided to betray your queen?” Drucilla spat. “If you dare to get in my way, you will never join the dragon queen’s forces; I will make sure your head is put on a spike!”

  Zarek remained silent, his body tensed, sinking low in preparation for battle. He was like a mountain standing between Hadassah and the threat before her.

  “What’s happening?” he asked Hadassah, who was still gathering herself behind him.

  Her mind raced. She had to focus and find the words. “The inheritance. I want it.”

  He glanced back over his shoulder. “You want it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then get it.”

  He did not know what had transpired, but he had made up his mind. Whether the heavens fell or the earth split beneath them, whether she destroyed this world or allowed him a place by her side, he would be her shield, until the ends of time.

  Drucilla’s face darkened, and she spun her glaive lunging forward in a rage. Hadassah scrambled to her feet, moving as the clash erupted behind her. Sparks flew as Drucilla’s glaive struck against Zarek’s scales, the metal grating against his arm like blades on stone.

  ‘What kind of beast is he!?’ She was awestruck by his strength; she knew he was strong, but holding his own against a dragon was just ridiculous. There was no time to dwell on it. She turned her focus back to Arcadia’s corpse, reaching for the next sword embedded in its form, tugging with all her strength.

  Hadassah yanked out sword after sword, acutely aware that the circle on the floor was running out of time. The dim glow on its edge pulsed steadily, counting down. She did not know what awaited them at the end of that timer, but she did not want to find out. She swallowed hard, reaching for the final sword embedded in the corpse’s thigh. The blade slid free, and she glanced down, half-expecting the circle to respond.

  But nothing happened.

  She frowned, looking over the body for anything she might have missed. Her fingers hesitated, but then she forced herself to check. Then, her hand paused, and she noticed it—something nestled inside the corpse’s throat. Her stomach churned, but she knew she didn’t have the luxury of hesitation. Forcing her fingers into the jaw, she pried it open.

  What she thought was another sword wasn’t one at all; instead, she pulled free a slender tube covered in runes.

  Her breath caught in her throat.

  She opened the tube quickly, taking what seemed like a scroll and stuffing it in her robes before closing the tube back. She rushed down the platform and ran out of the room, avoiding the impact of the fighting happening around her, but turning the corner, she came to face to face with Verena.

  Hadassah nearly jumped but calmed down upon seeing her. “You scared me! We need to leave this place.” She grabbed her hands and began to run before she could ask questions. She was sure once that circle timer was out something would happen and she was not strong enough to stay and find out what.

  “What’s happening!?” She asked confused.

  Hadassah did not know where to start, “Drucilla found out I was human, so they’re holding her and Kaladin back while I get the inheritance.”

  Verena’s eyes widened in understanding, her eyes lingering on the tube in Hadassah’s hand. “That’s the inheritance? What does it do?”

  “I don’t know,” Hadassah admitted, rushing along the winding corridors with Verena close beside her. The walls stretched open, revealing dizzying drops into mist and darkness below, and she clung to the inner walls, fear sparking in her with each glimpse. “But I know if we don’t leave now, we’re in danger. We’re not beastmen, Verena; we wouldn’t survive what’s coming.”

  Verena remained silent, her gaze distant, and Hadassah felt a pang of anxiety. “Did you get injured?” she asked, glancing at her companion’s unchanging expression.

  Finally, Verena spoke, her voice flat and unwavering. “Why are you taking me with you? I’m Verena Vortigern now, under the Dragon Queen’s rule.”

  Hadassah halted, breathing heavily, sweat beading on her forehead. The long, frantic run had left her lungs burning, but Verena hadn’t even broken a sweat. “Do you really want to stay here?” Hadassah managed, meeting her gaze, “You might look like Verena, but if they find out—”

  “They’ll never find out.” Verena’s voice cut sharply. Her gaze was as cold as ice. “You made the hairpin perfectly, Hadassah. I’ll never be Vivian again. I am Verena Vortigern now.”

  Hadassah frowned, her worry twisting into something heavier. “If you come with me, you could be free from all of this. You wouldn’t have to live in that twisted tree or take on the title of Lord Vortigern. You could choose your own life, Vivian.”

  Verena pulled her hand from Hadassah’s grasp, her face hardening. “What do you know, Hadassah? You, running around pretending to be a rabbit—do you think that’s enough to understand me? You, living in comfort while the rest of us fought for survival. Do I look like you?” Her voice was bitter, each word laced with resentment.

  Hadassah felt her heart sink. The words stung deeply, as if cold water had been poured over her hopes. She hesitated, looking into Verena’s stormy eyes. “But Vivian, this life, the Vortigerns—it’s not for you. You’re meant for more than this—”

  “Who are you to tell me what’s meant for me!?” Verena’s voice rose sharply, her body trembling with anger. “You’ve never known hardship, not like I have. And you dare—”

  Hadassah felt a sharp chill radiating from Verena’s gaze, but her words softened unexpectedly. “You know, Hadassah,” Verena murmured, her voice dropping to a chilling calm, “I like you very much.”

  “What?” Hadassah barely had time to register the statement, let alone its weight, when a sudden, tearing pain pierced her torso. Her breath hitched, and her gaze dropped in disbelief to the blue-hilted sword embedded in her stomach.

  The pain radiated, sharp and excruciating, and her knees buckled as Verena withdrew the blade. The metal tube clattered from her hand, rolling away across the cold stone floor, and she dropped to her knees, the strength in her legs giving way.

  Verena stood above her, gaze indifferent as she watched Hadassah’s shock bleed into helplessness. “You wouldn’t understand,” Verena whispered coldly, the faintest smirk twisting her lips. “You never could.” Hadassah had promised not to take what was hers, and now here she was, doing just that.

  Hadassah stared at her own blood on her hands, her mind spinning. She pressed her hands against the wound, trying to contain the bleeding, and looked up at Verena. She didn’t know who she was looking at any more—all she could see in Verena’s now-silver eyes was unbridled anger. Anger directed at her.

  Hadassah’s mind stilled, and she could only manage, “I see.” That was all she could say.

  Verena scoffed, her anger far from appeased. “Is that all you can say!?” She had hoped that seeing Hadassah bleeding at her feet would satisfy the rage burning inside her, but instead, it only seemed to intensify. How dare Hadassah live a life untouched by suffering while she had been left begging, freezing in the winter, struggling to survive day by day? She had not tasted death, not even once! And now, Hadassah wanted her to leave with her? To keep living the miserable life of a half-caste?

  Was she out of her mind?

  Verena re-sheathed her sword and reached for the metal tube. But just before her fingers touched it, Hadassah’s voice stopped her.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Verena’s hand froze.

  She looked back at Hadassah, bewildered. Why was she apologising?

  “Why are you apologising?” Verena demanded, but Hadassah only offered her a sad, pitiful smile, as if watching a tragedy she couldn’t change. “I’m sorry,” she repeated softly.

  Something broke inside Verena at those words. She wanted Hadassah to be angry too, to meet her resentment, to make this betrayal feel justified. But Hadassah was apologising like a fool, and it chipped away at Verena’s resolve. Her face crumbled, her lips trembling as rage and sorrow collided within her.

  “Why?” Her voice was a whisper, but it quickly grew more frantic. “Why!? WHY!?” how could she stay so composed? How could she apologise now? “Fight back! Stop me! Do something! Don’t just stand there and take my betrayal! I thought you were stronger than this!”

  Hadassah only laughed, it was a soft and sorrowful laugh, as though she felt this was inevitable.

  She, too, thought she was stronger.

  But she couldn’t help but admire Verena’s conviction and her ability to take what she wanted without hesitation. In that moment, Hadassah realised how deeply she loved the woman that was ‘Vivian’.

  “Maybe in another life, we’d be friends.”

  If they hadn’t been born in a world like this, if Verena hadn’t been a half-caste, if Hadassah hadn’t been sheltered by her father. But here they were—Hadassah, a constant reminder of a life Verena could never have.

  “Do you remember what you said to me, Hadassah?” Verena asked, her voice brittle, as though it might shatter under the weight of her pain. “That there are no words for half-caste in Emerian?” She picked up the tube and turned away, heading back towards the throne room. “I really wanted to believe you.”

  Hadassah felt herself slump to the cold stone floor, her head knocking against it as her vision blurred.

  She watched in silence as Verena walked away.