“What do you think the High Priestess meant by ‘observing us’? Are we accused of something?” Naruku overheard the hushed whisper as she picked at her bread. The murmur came from a group of young boys seated near the hearth in the mavora, the long stone hall where meals were taken. The mavora was a grand, echoing chamber with high-arched ceilings and stained-glass windows that spilled fractured morning light onto rows of wooden benches. The scent of warm porridge and crisped herbs hung heavy in the air, but the mood was anything but cozy.

  “They’re probably watching to see who’s going to break the rules first,” another voice chimed in. “I heard one of them can read thoughts.

  “Oh great,” muttered one of the younger boys, Kaji, dramatically shielding his head with his breakfast tray. “Abort mission. I was just thinking about skipping sword drills again.”

  Yura, the eldest boy of his group, smirked over his cup of tea. “You really think anyone needs to read minds to know that? You scream ‘I fake stomach aches’ every Tuesday.”

  “I do not!” Kaji gasped.

  “Last week you told Master Tori your ancestors were haunting you.”

  “They were! Great-Grandma Yuri has opinions about my posture.”

  A loud clink came from the Prefects table. The students froze.

  “…Do you think they heard that?” whispered one girl.

  “If they did, I hope Great-Grandma Yuri backs me up,” Kaji whispered back.

  A few girls snorted into their cups.

  “I bet it’s because someone cursed the Temple,” whispered a wide-eyed boy, spoon halfway to his mouth. “Maybe the blood rain’s about to return, and they’re checking to see if one of us brought it back.”

  “Oh please,” a lanky boy named Fen scoffed, “unless the blood rain smells like your feet, I doubt you’re involved.” The table burst into stifled laughter, even some of the older students cracking smiles.

  But the laughter died as fast as it came.

  The large doors creaked open, and the priestesses stepped inside with quiet, deliberate grace. Clad in their ceremonial robes. Midnight blue with embroidered silver thread that shimmered like frost. They moved as one, their presence undeniable. The chatter ceased instantly.

  At the front of the room, seats had been arranged especially for them, a long curved table draped in velvet, symbols of the Veyara Order stitched into the fabric. Without a word, the priestesses took their places, and the mavora sank into a silence that felt almost sacred.

  Naruku’s eyes drifted to the priestesses’ table, lingering on the pristine white robes adorned with intricate orange embroidery that shimmered subtly in the morning light. Today was Tuesday — Serael’s Day — a sacred day in the old calendar dedicated to the Veil Between Worlds, when barriers between realms were thinnest and prayers to the Keepers of Balance were whispered with extra care.

  As her gaze wandered across the priestesses, she suddenly locked eyes with a young girl seated at the end of the table. She had short, inky-black hair that curled just beneath her jawline and eyes as dark as the forest floor at night — deep, still, and unreadable. She seemed rather young, around Naruku’s age. Her posture was composed, almost statuesque, but there was an intensity to her stillness, like a blade sheathed in silk. She tilted her head slightly, curious but unsmiling, as if dissecting Naruku with her eyes.

  Naruku immediately looked away, heat rising to her cheeks. Staring at a priestess like that was close to disrespect. They weren’t simply teachers or temple residents. They were sacred beings.

  Priestesses of the Veyara Order were chosen from birth, trained in divine disciplines to guard Tharion from the encroaching shadows. Their primary duty was to protect the world’s mystical portals, ancient rifts between realms that allowed both light and darkness to pass through. For centuries, they had kept the balance, their rituals ensuring peace across the lands. But ever since the Blood Rain fell, their powers had diminished.

  Not that the high priestess Eloryn, would ever admit to such a thing. She wore her poise like armor, unmoved, as a symbol of unwavering divine strength. But even armor could crack. And the longer the silence stretched, the more Naruku wondered just how fragile that armor had become.

  The priestesses murmured a short, melodic prayer before beginning their meal, then ate in near silence, their movements precise and serene.

  Naruku watched them, as she often did, imagining what it must be like to sit among them, to be one of them.

  She liked pretending she belonged somewhere. That she was more than just the orphan girl everyone barely noticed, the one always lingering on the edge of things. In her mind, she imagined she had a place in their circle, cloaked in white robes, performing sacred rites beneath moonlit altars, whispering ancient incantations that held the darkness at bay.

  She imagined what it would feel like to be part of that sisterhood, to share a purpose greater than herself, to wield the kind of power that made the world listen.

  Even if it was just pretend.

  “Naruku, did you finally return the Urn?” Yura asked provocingly, drawing Naruku back to the reality. Other students snickered at his question.

  “I - I didn’t take it,” she replied quietly.

  “Oh? So you’re saying the Prefect is lying?” he asked, deliberately loud enough to risk drawing the Prefect’s attention.

  Naruku shifted uncomfortably, but before she could respond, Tasha cut in with a smirk. “Leave her alone, you see she doesn’t have any friends, let her have the Urn!” Everyone laughed. Naruku blushed in embarrasment. Tears prickled her eyes. Had she really looked that miserable to everyone. She didn’t want to think about it. She just wanted to leave. Now.

  As Naruku began to rise from the table, a Prefect’s voice rang out, slicing through the clamor and silencing the room. Naruku was grateful when the Prefect’s voice cut through the tension, drawing attention away from her.

  “Everyone, you have ten minutes before sword drills begin. The priestesses will have the honor of observing your training, so don’t disappoint them.”

  A collective groan rippled through the room, but Naruku stood quickly, taking her plate to the wash station at the back of the dining hall. She slipped into the corridor, her eyes fixed on the floor as she rushed toward her dorm, trying to beat the crowd.

  She wasn’t watching where she was going. And that’s when she slammed into someone solid, unmoving, and cloaked in the weight of authority.

  She looked up, heart leaping into her throat.

  High Priestess Eloryn.

  Her face was as severe as carved stone, with high, angular cheekbones and cool, obsidian eyes that seemed to hold a thousand unsaid truths. Her dark lips were pressed in a thin, unreadable line, but her gaze burned through Naruku, heavy and ancient.

  “You walk with your head down,” Eloryn said, voice low and cryptic. “You should learn to lift your eyes, girl. You never know what you’ll miss—or what will see you first.”

  Naruku mumbled a breathless apology, her body bowing instinctively, and before the High Priestess could say anything more, she darted away, her heart pounding.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Luckily, her dorm room was still empty when she arrived. She threw open the wooden chest at the end of her bed and pulled out the training uniform: a fitted tunic made of deep navy fabric, reinforced at the shoulders and ribs, with a silver belt to hold her wooden training sword. The matching trousers were slightly too long on her, but she tucked them into her boots. She twisted her hair into a tight braid and fastened the standard-issue arm guards.

  She caught her reflection in the small mirror by the bed. The uniform made her look more serious, more capable but it didn’t ease the knot in her stomach.

  Swordplay was not her strength. She wasn’t weak, just... uncertain. Her movements lacked the sharpness that came naturally to others. She feared being paired with someone older. Worse, she feared being put against Tasha. Tasha fought like a viper and didn’t miss an opportunity to humiliate. Unfortunately, Naruku already had her fair share of experiences with fighting against her.

  Naruku took a deep breath and grabbed her sword. There was no room left for panic now. Only steel, sweat, and whatever fragments of dignity she could hold onto. She managed to slip out of the dorm room just before the other girls poured in, hoping to make it to the training yard unnoticed. But luck, as always, had not been in her favor. As she turned the corner, she came face to face with Yura, his usual lopsided smirk already in place.

  “Well, well,” he drawled, arms crossing leisurely. “Careful, you’re starting to look too visible with all that blushing.”

  Naruku groaned inwardly.

  “I’m not blushing,” she muttered, trying to walk past him.

  “Right. Your face just decided to spontaneously combust from… joy?”

  “I’m just in a hurry.”

  “To steal another Urn?” he chuckled.

  She stopped and looked up at him. “Are you done?”

  “Not even close.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “So, is it true you tried to summon an urn demon last night? Because that would explain the smashing pottery… and maybe even the sudden arrival of the priestesses," Yura added, his grin widening. "It was you all along, wasn’t it?"

  Naruku rolled her eyes. “It was just a vase.”

  “Sure. And I’m just a harmless, dashingly handsome observer of you web of lies.”

  She scoffed. “Delusional, more like.”

  He grinned wider. But then, unexpectedly, his expression softened.

  She bit the inside of her cheek as she tried to look away from him.

  “Hey,” Yura said, suddenly softer. “That was rough. Tasha was too harsh.”

  Naruku looked at him, surprised. His tone had changed. There wasn’t even a trace of teasing in his voice—just honest concern. And that unsettled her more than any joke ever could.

  “She crossed the line,” he added. “I’ll talk to her.”

  Naruku blinked, unsure she heard him right. Panic flared in her chest.

  “Wait—what? No! Don’t do that.”

  He frowned. “Why not? What she said was really mean.”

  “Please,” she interrupted, her voice too sharp. She immediately softened it. “Just... don’t. It’ll only make things worse.”

  Yura hesitated. “You shouldn’t just let people walk all over you.”

  “I’m not,” she snapped a little too quickly. Then quieter, “I’m just... picking my battles.”

  For a moment, he looked like he wanted to argue but then he simply nodded, letting it go.

  “Okay. But you ever want backup, I’m here.”

  Naruku blinked, unsure how to respond. She wasn’t used to kindness—not like that. Not from him.

  “Thanks,” she said quietly, then added, “I think.”

  “See you at training grounds,” Yura said with a lazy wave.

  Naruku didn’t answer. She just kept walking, her boots soft against the stone corridor. The unease in her chest hadn’t settled, and his offhand farewell only deepened the hollow weight pressing on her ribs.

  She was one of the first to arrive at the training grounds. The morning mist still clung to the edges of the field, curling around stone pillars and weather-worn flags. The priestesses were already seated on the observation platform, their white robes with orange embroidery catching the pale light like sacred fire.

  The sight made Naruku’s stomach twist. She realized, at that moment, that this wouldn’t be simple swordplay. They would perform The Rite of Blades.

  It reminded her of the Summoning Ritual—her Summoning Ritual—set to take place on her fourteenth birthday. She imagined the scene: Hosts watching in solemn silence, the challenger standing across from her, older and stronger, ready to test her magic to its limits. That’s when she would be expected to awaken her uqi—the inner force of magic bound to her soul.

  If she failed, if nothing awakened, she’d be marked as Unbound—one of the powerless. One of the discarded. And the ones without magic were often sent into quiet servitude. Not students. Not warriors. Not anything.

  Just forgotten.

  This was her reckoning year.

  The year before the Summoning was considered sacred—a time of transformation and testing. Students were divided into four Tiers, each based on their skills, precision, elemental or spiritual affinity. Some began to experience the first flickers of power: partial Awakenings, unpredictable bursts that surfaced under stress or emotion—glimpses of the Uqi stirring beneath their skin. And Naruku currently ranked in Tier Four—the lowest classification of skill—which meant there was a high chance she wouldn’t be able to summon her Uqi at all.

  In preparation for Summoning, every student faced sacred rites, and one of them was The Rite of Blades, which closely recreated The Summoning duel, only without magic.

  Naruku tried not to think about it constantly—but it was always there, like a second heartbeat pulsing beneath every lesson, every moment.

  Other students began trickling into the training grounds, the murmur of anticipation growing with each arrival. Naruku’s stomach twisted into knots when she saw Tasha standing across the courtyard, her lips curled into a smirk so smug it made Naruku's insides churn. She tried not to meet her gaze, but it was like a magnetic pull—Tasha wanted her to look. And when she did, it felt like locking eyes with a predator already certain of the kill.

  The crowd quieted as the Prefect stepped forward, his ceremonial cloak brushing the polished stone underfoot. His voice echoed across the yard, clear and steady.

  “Students of the Inner Circle,” he began, bowing slightly toward the dais where the priestesses sat. “We welcome our honored guests, the Priestesses of the Veyara Order. Today, they witness not only your progress—but your spirit. The Rite of the Blades begins now.”

  He lifted a small silver vessel, engraved with celestial runes, and reached inside. The object shimmered faintly in the morning light as he pulled out a parchment ribbon, unfurling it with practiced care.

  “First to be called to the circle…” His eyes scanned the name and paused. “Naruku of Tier Four.”

  Naruku felt the blood drain from her face.

  A murmur spread through the gathered students like ripples through water.

  “And your challenger?” the Prefect asked, looking out into the crowd.

  “I challenge her,” Tasha’s voice rang out, crisp and eager.

  Naruku’s breath hitched. Her legs felt like they were carved from hollow wood, but somehow, they moved. She stepped onto the dueling ground, the polished stone cold under her boots.

  The moment she entered the circle, she felt the weight of a hundred eyes. For a split second, her gaze flicked to the side—and met Yura’s. His expression had shifted from casual amusement to something softer, more worried. She looked away quickly. Something inside her couldn’t bear even a shred more pitying looks today.

  Tasha stepped in next, the sun glinting off her shoulder guards. She looked at Naruku the way a hawk studies a rabbit—calm, calculating, certain.

  The Prefect raised his hand.

  “In the name of the Heavenly Hosts,” the Prefect intoned solemnly, “I declare The Rite of Blades to commence. Tasha of Tier One has issued a challenge to Naruku of Tier Four.”

  He turned toward Naruku, his gaze steady. “Naruku, do you accept this challenge?”

  Naruku’s throat tightened. Her eyes locked with Tasha’s—those cold, predatory eyes that had never known doubt. To reject a challenge would, of course, be seen as shameful. A failure. A silent confirmation of Naruku’s insignificance. Yet another affirmation of her weakness and invisibility. More pitying looks thrown at her. And at that thought, something stirred deep within her. Not fear. Not submission. Something sharper. Hotter.

  Defiance.

  She didn’t know where it came from, only that it surged forward and drowned the trembling knot forming inside her chest. Suddenly, the High Priestess’s voice echoed in her ears: “You should learn to lift your eyes, girl. You never know what you’ll miss—or what will see you first.”

  Naruku clenched her fists. Well then, she thought, let her see what’s coming for her.

  Her voice was quiet but iron-clad as she lifted her gaze and stared straight back at Tasha.

  “I accept your challenge.”

  The smirk on Tasha’s face faltered.

  Do you think Naruku has what it takes to rise beyond her Tier?

  And most importantly... would you accept a Rite of Blades challenge?