“For half carnivores, eating meat was… heavenly, to say the least.”

  Vierna caught a faint shift in his tone—his eyes unfocused for a heartbeat, lips parting just slightly, as if savoring a memory he wasn’t supposed to have. It was gone as quickly as it came, but she noticed.

  “While the Pact of One began as carnivores showing consideration toward us, there were always factions who disliked the arrangement. And the Runat’hir knew that. They funded those groups heavily and seeded discord wherever they could.

  My father told me they were a minority, but with the amount of money the Runat’hir poured into them, their voices became the loudest in the room. Even moderates started to waver once the coin arrived. Some of them joined outright when the opportunity presented itself.

  In the end, it all spiralled into large-scale civil unrest. Tax revenues collapsed, trade faltered, everything was affected. Eventually the Magierkonklave noticed Tirnalthir’s decline and decided the Princedom needed a change of ruler. The Runat’hir stepped in and replaced the previous house. And the rest… well, you already know how it unfolded.”

  “How do you know all of this?” Vierna asked.

  “My father was a Count,” Fenric replied, setting his mug down. “He taught me politics so I could succeed him one day.”

  Vierna looked at him thoughtfully. For a noble, Fenric was surprisingly courteous, with none of the arrogance she expected. He took another quiet drink, composed as ever.

  “Rolbart is a place of exiles, Vierna,” Fenric continued. “All non-humans here are runaways from somewhere. The beastkin here are mostly herbivore-types who fled Tirnalthir.

  This is why I want to keep my half-breed situation a secret. If they knew I’m half-carnivore, it would change how they see me, and I really don’t want that.”

  “I get it, Fenric. I’ll definitely keep your situation a secret,” Vierna said with a small smile. “But I’m curious. I know Rolbart isn’t that large, but with this many beastkin here, I don’t see how their escape went unnoticed. Especially when the Reich is so strict about mass movement.”

  “That’s thanks to Yvlaine,” he said. “She’s from House Runat’hir, and she sent out as many herbivores as she could. To be honest, I feel bad for her. She saved so many of us, yet people here still get uneasy when she walks into a room. Probably that’s why she prefers being a ranger.”

  “Ranger?”

  “Yeah. Her duty’s to keep the woods safe. Not all mana beasts from Schattwald can leave the forest, but some do. Yvlaine’s job is to kill those.”

  Vierna tilted her head. “Wait, so some of the mana beasts from that black forest can’t get out?”

  “Yup. Usually the more ferocious ones. For some reason they can’t cross the forest’s edge.”

  Vierna nodded at the information. Halwen’s journal hadn’t mentioned anything specific about the mana beast inside the forest’s behaviour. She didn’t yet know where this knowledge would be useful, but learning more about the place she was heading into later could never hurt.

  “Didn’t the Runat’hir would appeal to the Magierkonklave to returned all the exiled herbivore back to Tirnalthir?” Vierna asked.

  “My father always told me to be careful with the Magierkonklave. Any hint that you weren’t capable, and they’d push you out of power straight away. I guess that’s why the Runat’hir didn’t go to them. They overthrew the previous house claiming they were incompetent, so it’d look strange if they couldn’t even keep their own people in line. And with their heir running away as well, they’d look even worse.”

  “What?”

  “Oh right, Yvlaine isn’t just some random Runat’hir. She is the heir of the house.”

  The revelation shocked Vierna. For an heir to abandon her position and save as many people as she could—Yvlaine was something else. Even without the gratitude she deserved, she still chose to protect them. It was selfless, the sort of thing a hero would do. It was not what Vierna would do, and the thought tore a small hole in her heart. Now she had to deceive this woman and gain access to her circle. A certain guilt now pressed her chest.

  Yet it passed quickly. Yvlaine’s group was her target, and she needed to infiltrate it for her future. She steeled herself. This was no time for doubt. Even if Yvlaine was a hero, Vierna still had to go against her.

  “Thanks, Fenric. I get the picture now.” She smiled.

  “Any time. You’re going to be living here now, so it’s good you’re starting to learn about the people around you.”

  “Haha… yes, you’re right. But what about you specifically? What were your father and mother like?”

  Fenric’s gaze fell. His ears laid low, and his lips trembled as if shaping a word he could not say. His fingers tightened around the rim of his cup. For a moment he only breathed, shallow and careful.

  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

  “Sorry, Fenric. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “It’s okay, Vierna. Another time, okay?” His throat bobbed. His tail went still.

  “Okay.”

  Vierna moved to another table and came back with two mugs of beer. She set one before him and lifted hers. “To Rolbart.”

  Fenric drew a slow breath, steadied his grip, and raised his mug. “To Rolbart.”

  Their cups met with a clean clink.

  The celebration carried on a while longer. Warm music threaded through the hall, quick drumbeats under a bright reed whistle. Bowls of stew and flatbread kept moving from hand to hand; someone passed roasted moonroot and ember-tubers slick with herb oil. Lantern smoke drifted in soft ribbons. Laughter rose and fell, and for a moment Rolbart did not look like a village on the brink of starvation.

  It seemed Yvlaine’s raid had gone well enough to allow this. Vierna wondered why she shared the spoils with Rolbart. Affection? Leverage? Something else? She could not pin it down.

  She turned back to Fenric, talking about a myriad of light things: what to hunt tomorrow, who his favorite girls were.

  Apparently, Fenric had feelings for someone named Livia, but he wasn’t sure how to approach her, especially while hiding so much of his past. Vierna enjoyed the light conversation, but in truth, it was a distraction. She talked about anything she could to keep her thoughts from drifting into darker places.

  The fear of becoming a traitor to the Reich still weighed on her, but worry solved nothing. She folded it away, at least for tonight. If this moment was both his welcome and her farewell, then she would see it through and enjoy what she could.

  “All right, fellas.”

  Vierna turned toward the voice. Yvlaine had stepped to the front, leaving her companions.

  “We have eaten, drunk, and danced,” she said. “However, our new residents have not given us what new residents bring.”

  Both girls stared, unsure what she meant. The villagers fell quiet. The music stopped. People closed in around Vierna and Lina, forming a loose circle. Their eyes were too bright to be hostile.

  “I’m sorry,” Vierna murmured, a prickle of fear rising. “I don’t understand.”

  Yvlaine grinned. “A dance. Aline here has danced, but you haven’t. You were too busy with Fenric!”

  The villagers laughed as well; they had seen Vierna’s worry.

  She glanced at Lina. Lina was smiling; she seemed to know this was coming.

  “But I don’t know how to dance.” Vierna replied with a small voice.

  “Oh, come on.” Yvlaine patted her back. “This isn’t a grand ballroom. Just move and follow the song.”

  “But…”

  “Dance, dance, dance,” the villagers chanted.

  “Aline… help me…” Vierna looked at her girlfriend.

  “Haha… sorry, Vierna. I kind of want to see you dance too.”

  Vierna caught the mischievous glint in Lina’s eyes. She was enjoying this, and she had chosen not to warn her.

  “Uhmm… okay, okay. I will try.” Vierna looked at the villagers.

  “That’s more like it.” Yvlaine laughed. “Ainfric, give us something good!”

  Ainfric laughed and glanced at his mates. The drum and violin rose again, weaving a tune both somber and bright. It carried the ache of distance and the warmth of reunion, as if welcoming long-lost kin home at last. The melody swayed between joy and sorrow, each note a heartbeat caught between laughter and tears. It was enchanting—music born from longing, played by those who had learned to smile through it.

  The song seemed to slow time. It felt familiar and far at once, a voice from somewhere she used to know. It drew her toward her Sun—Her mother.

  The pain still throbbed—the knowledge that her mother had never loved her, that every motherly embrace had been a lie, that she had been abandoned all the same tore her heart. And yet she couldn’t bring herself to forget. All she could do was accept that maybe she was unlovable—an abomination born wrong, a defect that tried too hard.

  She missed her Eagle. The one who had always loved her, lifted her, shielded her from every storm—taken so brutally by the world because of her own selfishness.

  Where was he now? Was he watching her from somewhere? Was he proud of her… or ashamed of what she had become?

  The questions clawed at her chest until breathing hurt. Even if he hated her, even if he looked down on her from whatever heaven or void waited beyond, she wanted to see him again. Just once.

  She wanted to hear his voice, to feel the weight of his hand on her shoulder, to be called “stupid” for trusting the wrong people. She would have given anything for that—for him to yell at her, to scold her, to make her feel small again—anything, as long as she could see his face.

  Even if it was only to tell her he was disappointed. Even if it broke her all over again.

  Because the truth was unbearable: the world had taken him, and she would never stop wanting him back.

  And so she closed her eyes. For a brief, fleeting moment, she wanted to feel—she wanted to be the child she once was. Before the indoctrination, before the experiments, before Sieg. Just to come back as Alice.

  She didn’t care that her tears fell, or that the villagers might start to suspect something. She did not hide them; perhaps they would wonder, but she could not bring herself to care. She only wanted to move with the music.

  She turned and swayed. Hair that was not hers brushed her cheek, a reminder of the mask she wore among people who had welcomed her anyway. Her movements were rigid yet soft, each turn drawn sharp then softened into grace. There was a brightness in it, a somber light—like laughter heard through tears. Her hands floated up, trembling, then curved inward to her chest as if holding something fragile.

  It was a masked cheerfulness, a dance that tried to smile while bleeding underneath. Her feet moved in erratic rhythm, sudden bursts of motion held together by deliberate control, as though she refused to let the grief inside spill too far. The circle quieted; faces gentled.

  Like a wounded swan, she tried to shape the memory of her mother’s dance, chasing the outline of a woman she could not touch. Then she misstepped and tilted, the floor tipping up toward her—until Lina caught her and steadied her weight.

  She couldn’t speak, only looking at Lina with longing eyes.

  “It’s okay… I am here.” Lina said to her.

  Vierna smiled and continue her dance. Stiff and awkward however it was masked by her intention and emotion. And Lina was there, picking up where she failed, supporting her movement without masking it.

  The crowd couldn’t help but shed tears, an aching longing they all knew. Some used magic, shaping the room to fit the music: a deep, dark, warm sky under a full moon, a cathedral of yearning lit only by the heavenly body above it.

  When Vierna opened her eyes, it felt as if she stood on the moon with Lina, while her newfound family—whom she was deceiving—looked on and saw only an innocent girl. She let the lie hold her and kept dancing the pain out.