Two days after the failed escape,

  she did not lament. She showed no emotion. Her face had taken the shape of something cold, as if she no longer had feelings. Not about the pain. Not about being dragged. Only about the chains.

  When she opened her eyes, she was on her knees.

  In the middle of the fortress courtyard.

  The other trainees surrounding her.

  The instructors silent.

  Sarya had been left in the center of the yard, kneeling.

  One of them extended a rod. Then another. And another.

  One by one, the instructors raised thin switches. They looked fragile, but they were not. That was terror.

  They were flexible.

  When they struck skin, each crack left a mark.

  — This… — he said — is what happens when someone tries to run from the Madame.

  Burn this into your minds.

  — She is lucky to be talented.

  If it were someone else, she would be dead or in a brothel by now.

  But punishment for escape is certain.

  Everyone stared at her.

  — And now we will give her the punishment for defying us.

  —

  Sarya did not beg.

  Did not scream.

  When they threw cold water over her, she remained silent.

  When the rods came down, she did not try to flee.

  With every strike against her skin — slap, slap, slap —

  she did not cry out, but her eyes showed deep fury.

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  Welts.

  Small scars.

  Her pale skin did not hide the redness and bruises left by the quince rods.

  But in the end… she stood.

  Swaying.

  Legs firm.

  Standing.

  That was when the masked woman arrived.

  —

  The Gray Lady.

  No one knew her name. Nor her face.

  But her presence caused immediate silence.

  She observed Sarya with expressionless eyes.

  Then spoke:

  — Release her.

  The instructors hesitated.

  — Release her, I said.

  The chains were removed.

  Her wounds bled.

  Her hands trembled.

  The Lady handed her… a spear.

  —

  — If you want to live, you will have to kill.

  Sarya looked at the weapon.

  — If you do not want to kill, you will die. Slowly. By the hands of others. Or by your own.

  The Lady stepped closer.

  Eyes almost maternal — or perhaps simply cold.

  — Choose, girl.

  Sarya felt revulsion.

  But something still beat inside her like a burning heart:

  I will destroy everything.

  I will remove this control seal from the back of my neck.

  And when I do, I will kill you and destroy this base.

  I only need patience. Autumn is patience.

  —

  Sarya gripped the spear.

  It weighed like a burden.

  But it was… hers.

  And that was the day she chose not to be a victim.

  But to become a silent hunter who planted the traps of her own vengeance.

  —

  She spent weeks without speaking.

  Months learning to use the spear — first with straw dummies, then animals, and finally people.

  Never by choice.

  But she never surrendered again.

  Never knelt again.

  —

  At the end of a Selectors’ mission, she stared at her reflection in a puddle.

  The smiling girl full of weaknesses no longer existed.

  She could no longer smile.

  She had understood:

  To feel was weakness.

  Feelings were weakness.

  Love was weakness.

  And she would never allow herself to be weak again.

  Or to have weaknesses.

  But no matter how lethal she became…

  a heart still beat inside her chest, hot like a volcano.

  And an elven core filled with condensed emotions. Contained.

  She no longer allowed those emotions to interfere.

  And so it was for a long time.

  Killing without hesitation.

  Hunting.

  Becoming feared.

  A warrior.

  A deadly huntress.

  And with each passing day, her beauty grew — but so did her lethality.

  While she attracted lustful, disgusting stares,

  she also radiated fear wherever she went.

  No one dared cross the line between them and her,

  lest they end up with a spear through their chest.

  The Gray Lady’s voice echoed behind Sarya:

  — The spear chose you. And you chose to be sharp.

  Worthy of being a Selector.

  — I was not wrong to spare you, Number 9.

  You honor the name of the Selectors.

  No one dares challenge the Selectors of the temple.

  — And we are more feared than ever throughout the nomad region.

  Much because of the fame of an Autumn elf.

  Sarya did not show it, but inside she felt disgust. Revulsion.

  And she told herself she would kill them all.

  It was only a matter of time.

  Until then, she merely sharpened her blades for the perfect moment.

  Just wait, human without character or dignity.

  You who bathe in the blood and tears of innocents.

  Who grow rich on filthy gold earned through trafficking.

  Sooner or later, I will make you pay.

  But outwardly, her expression was cold as a block of ice.

  — Wow, Number 9…

  You should find a boy to make you smile from time to time. You walk around like you have no feelings.

  — There are plenty of young men who would like to get to know you.

  But no one has the courage to speak and risk a torn artery. Haha.

  — You’re dismissed for today. Go enjoy yourself.

  It’s still early in the night.

  She left.

  Sarya did not speak. She only stored everything inside.

  Yes… I will enjoy myself.

  And when that day comes, everything you take pride in will fall by my hands.

  All of you — just wait.

  Autumn does not die. It renews itself.

  Do not think I have forgotten Maria, Madame.

  Nor my mother.

  Those feelings were carefully preserved.

  Waiting for the day of reckoning.

  End of Chapter 3.