The scene was deeply depressing. Elryn was curled up on the floor, hugging her legs the way she always did, but there was something different about her now—she seemed darker, for lack of a better word. The curtains were tightly shut, blocking out the sunlight, and her gaze was fixed on nothing at all. When she noticed Lyara enter, she barely lifted her eyes, frowned, and pulled her knees even closer to her chest.

  Lyara sighed. She hadn’t even thought about what to say once she came in; truth be told, she didn’t know where she’d found the courage to barge into the room like this. She crossed the space without Elryn saying a word and pulled the curtains open. Daylight flooded the room violently. Elryn let out a soft cry and tried to shield her face from the sudden brightness.

  Lyara lowered her gaze, pressing her lips together as she finally saw her clearly. She was even more gaunt than before; her bones jutted unsettlingly against her collarbones. Her slightly sunken face was carved with such deep dark circles that she could have passed for a raccoon. Lyara looked at her with pity and knelt beside her.

  “Have you eaten anything?” she asked gently, setting a plate covered with aluminum foil in front of her.

  “And what does that matter?” Elryn muttered, lowering her eyes.

  Lyara smiled warmly. For a brief moment, Elryn felt something close to comfort—but she immediately shook her head, rejecting the sensation.

  Lyara peeled back the foil. The scent of food escaped the glass bowl and filled the room: yak meat with chunks of carrot. Elryn sniffed weakly and turned her head away, trying to resist.

  Lyara had done her research and learned it was Elryn’s favorite dish. That was why she’d taken the time to ask the mansion’s chef’s cook for it. Elryn’s stomach growled, rebelling against the apathy of her mind. She drooled slightly before lunging for the plate and devouring its contents.

  The bourgeois girl smiled, satisfied, and let herself fall back against the bunk. From what she’d heard, no student wanted anything to do with Elryn. She could understand it—she herself wouldn’t normally have done something like this, much less shared space with someone in such a state.

  Elryn kept eating quickly, savoring the flavor of the meat.

  Lyara wondered how difficult it would be to take her in with her father, but she knew the worst part would be testing the guard’s patience. Still, if they managed to unify the nations, a small scandal wouldn’t matter much, and they’d let Elryn leave without serious consequences. In a way, that was the only good thing about the guard: they could be sadistic and excessively logical, but they didn’t kill without reason. Lyara despised that hypocrisy. In the end, it was that very contradiction that had driven her to join them.

  At last, Elryn finished eating and set the plate on the floor. Lyara offered her a small cloth. Elryn looked at it hesitantly, then took it and wiped the sauce from her face.

  “Did you like it?”

  “It was fine, I guess,” Elryn said with a sigh, staring at the ceiling. “So… what do you want?”

  “Would you believe me if I said I’m worried about you?” Lyara asked, smiling as though it were no big deal.

  “We’ve known each other for five days. And we barely talk,” Elryn replied, lowering her head. “I don’t even know why you insisted so much that we stay.”

  Should I tell her that her life is at risk if she doesn’t do what the guard wants? Lyara wondered. She decided to keep that to herself—for now.

  “Well… I couldn’t let that idiot Aedran walk away from this with his arrogance intact,” she replied. “I’d already decided who would stay the moment I walked into that room. I wouldn’t have been able to rest otherwise.”

  It was partly true. Still, Elryn shuddered.

  “Aedran…” she murmured to herself.

  Lyara groaned softly. She’d been careless.

  “I’m sorry about what happened,” she said with a sigh. “Aedran is an idiot, but I never expected him to do something like that. It was far beyond anything I could’ve anticipated.”

  “I don’t blame him…” Elryn murmured quietly.

  Lyara looked at her, confused.

  “Entropy magic alters behavior,” Elryn continued. “And he didn’t hurt me… he just made me realize that I have no value here. I’m not brave enough—not even to protect myself. When I saw him grabbing my neck like that…”

  Elryn rested her face against her arm. She looked on the verge of crying again. Lyara didn’t know what to say; most of her arguments had relied on Elryn being afraid of Aedran, but this was far worse than she’d imagined.

  “The idea of going back out there,” Elryn went on, “of facing who knows what… the idea of seeing more people die, like what almost happened to you, to Aedran, to Thaelen… I can’t handle it. Every time I look at the door, my legs start shaking and I collapse all over again. You shouldn’t worry about me.”

  “You know, I was the one who insisted you be on the team,” Lyara said. “If something happened to you after what Aedran did… I couldn’t live with myself, honestly.”

  She straightened up slightly and positioned herself in front of Elryn. She took her hands. The girl let out a startled sound and opened her eyes. Lyara hadn’t noticed it before: they were large, striking, a vivid shade of green.

  “I understand that you’re scared,” Lyara continued. “I don’t even know how I’m going to react when I see him again… when I have to see Thaelen injured. I can’t ask you to forget it, or to simply get over it. But I do want to ask you to try one more time. If you stay alone, we’ll have no way to protect you.”

  Elryn stared at the floor for a few seconds, lost in thought. She didn’t understand why Lyara cared so much, but eventually she let out a weak sigh.

  “If the guard doesn’t consider me stable,” she asked nervously, “they’ll probably get rid of me, won’t they?”

  Lyara wasn’t sure how Elryn had arrived at that conclusion so quickly, but it sounded like something she’d been turning over in her mind for a long time. Lyara found herself wondering how Elryn’s division had died.

  “I don’t understand,” Elryn continued. “I just want to go home, to see my father again. Why does it have to be so difficult? I don’t want to go back. Even if I don’t blame him… I don’t want to be in the same room as him. He terrifies me.”

  Elryn was trembling. Lyara was left speechless. What could she do? Elryn was on the edge of a breakdown—maybe something worse. Words no longer seemed enough, but perhaps she could try something more direct.

  “I’ll take care of you…” Lyara said suddenly.

  Elryn looked up at her, confused. Lyara lowered her gaze; this time, she wasn’t smiling.

  “As I said, I dragged you into this. I think it’s my responsibility to make sure you come out alive. You know I can stand up to Aedran, that I’ve convinced him before to do things my way…”

  “You can’t protect me forever!” Elryn shouted.

  Lyara startled; it was the first time she’d heard her raise her voice. She frowned and sighed.

  “It doesn’t have to be forever,” she said calmly. “Just until the nations unite. Please. If you can hold on for one more month, everything will pass—I’m sure of it. And you’ll be able to see your father again.”

  Lyara left the building with the reassurance that Elryn would at least try. She couldn’t ask for more than that right now. She wondered what she should do next. From what she knew, Aedran would be released from the guard’s infirmary in a couple of days, but that would only place him in an even more hostile environment: looks filled with suspicion, fear, and hatred. And the last thing they needed was for him to become even more unstable.

  Platea had informed them that Aedran would remain the unit’s leader, albeit under supervision. Even so, knowing he would still be there was far from comforting.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Lyara had chosen him because, despite the rumors, Kaeldric had insisted he was an exceptionally skilled Gramorguian. And it was true… but she couldn’t help blaming herself for not pushing harder to find another option.

  “Kaeldric!” Lyara called as she entered the guard’s break room.

  It was a large space, with food available for anyone and a servant endlessly preparing coffee to keep the headquarters’ operatives on their feet—a titanic task. Kaeldric was sprawled on a couch, trying to enjoy the little free time he had. He looked up with irritation.

  “What do you want?”

  “I want to know more about Aedran.”

  “I already told you everything you need to know as an operative,” he replied without looking at her. “He’s good at fighting and terrible at everything else.”

  He tried to lie back down.

  “Then why do you tolerate him? Why do you and Platea always seem to defend him?”

  Kaeldric fell silent. He looked away. Several long seconds passed before, realizing Lyara wouldn’t leave without an answer, he sat up with a sigh.

  “Because we were friends,” he said bluntly. “Before the Red Night, he and I were at the academy. We did stupid things together. We both wanted to lead the guard.”

  “And then the tragedy happened. I understand that,” Lyara said. “But… was he kind before? Or did he just break?”

  “He was always a sarcastic asshole,” Kaeldric admitted, “but he was also someone who jumped in to help without thinking twice. After the Red Night, he became obsessive, violent. Then came the incident with his unit, and he decided to do everything alone. He hunted so many mages that he became a legend for a while. That was his peak. After the Year of Absolution… he collapsed. Alcohol, prostitutes… we didn’t even see it coming. We knew even less how to stop it.”

  “So you put up with him out of guilt?” Lyara asked. “For not helping him?”

  “For that… and because after the Year of Absolution, fear of mages became absolute. Even if we won’t admit it, Aedran’s image gave to the people hope. Even knowing if he faced a third-tier mage, he’d die like any other human.”

  “He was convenient for control,” Lyara concluded, lowering her head.

  Kaeldric nodded.

  “He hadn’t been violent for a long time, if I’m being honest. But the fear was always there. That’s why I recommended you transfer to another division, no matter how skilled he was.”

  “And why do you keep helping him?”

  “I don’t know. And it’s none of your business,” Kaeldric replied curtly. “But imagine meeting someone with the potential to be the very best, only to watch them hide behind layers of self-justification. It’s… frustrating.”

  Lyara nodded. She wanted to ask what was really going on between him and Platea, but she knew she wouldn’t get an answer. She offered a respectful gesture and left the room.

  Only two more days passed before Aedran was back on his feet. Despite the beating, the guard possessed the finest healing methods in the entire nation of Veltraxia.

  He put on his uniform and stared at the armor resting on the bed. The bald mage came back to mind. He already had a rough idea of how that technique worked, but that didn’t make it any easier to counter. Perhaps the only real option was, in fact, to use technocamelium.

  He picked up the armor and left the room. Three days remained before his next leave. Maybe he’d get lucky and no one would bother him while he figured out how to deal with mages on his own.

  I don’t need a team. They’re inefficient. I can handle everything myself—and I’ll make that bitch Platea choke on her own words, he thought as he strode through the corridors.

  Whenever he passed near someone, they pressed themselves against the wall or avoided his gaze altogether. In the main hall, whispers followed him; from the elevated bridges above, people watched him warily, wondering who would be next.

  “What are you staring at, idiots?” Aedran snapped.

  His voice rang out sharply. Those present stiffened and clumsily returned to their tasks.

  Aedran ground his teeth.

  Rumors spread faster than a nightmare devourer.

  He wasn’t sure whether to head to the anti-terror division—where no one would want to see him—or go straight to the lord and demand to be left alone. He’d rather do that than repeat anything like what had happened before.

  His thoughts were cut short by the sound of rapid footsteps. He turned just in time to see Lyara sprinting toward him. He raised an eyebrow, confused—and took a solid blow to the back of the head from her.

  Aedran staggered as Lyara fell to the floor. He stared at her, bewildered.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” he growled.

  He stopped when she looked up at him—brows knitted, expression hard.

  “You were thinking about abandoning the division, weren’t you?”

  “How did—”

  “For the celestials’ sake,” she cut him off. “You solitary idiots always do the same thing. You pretend you’re being mature by doing everything alone, when in reality you’re just running away like scared children so you don’t have to face the consequences of your screw-ups.”

  “I’m not—” Aedran tried to say, but Lyara lunged forward and grabbed him by the collar of his uniform, yanking him close. He was too dizzy to react.

  “Don’t think I’m going to let you escape that easily, idiot—not after everything you caused,” Lyara shouted, her voice echoing across the hall.

  Several people turned to watch the scene with open curiosity, something Aedran hated instantly. He stared at her, demanding an explanation.

  “You still owe Elryn an apology. And if you think I’m going to let you walk away without doing it first, I’ll hit you again,” she added coldly.

  Aedran’s eyes widened, completely thrown off.

  “An… apology?”

  Lyara released him. Though her face remained stern, she smoothed her dress calmly and watched him, waiting for his reaction.

  “It’s the least she deserves,” she replied, glancing aside as she drove away the onlookers with a single look. When she wanted to be, she was genuinely intimidating. “Besides, you’re such a coward it would probably take you three months to work up the nerve to apologize. More than enough time for the division to stabilize.”

  “Let me rephrase that,” Aedran said, scratching his head. “Why are you doing all this?”

  Lyara fell silent for a few seconds. Even she didn’t seem sure of the answer. The quiet grew uncomfortable. She flushed faintly and, annoyed with herself, fixed him with a renewed hardness.

  “I don’t owe you an explanation,” she snapped. “It’s what you have to do, end of story. And I won’t allow the first division I belong to to fall apart. I have a prodigy’s reputation to protect.”

  Aedran didn’t believe a single word. He watched her as she trembled slightly where she stood.

  This girl… only an idiot or someone absurdly kind would treat someone like this after what happened, he thought.

  “It’s… nice that you care about her,” he said at last, turning away and continuing down the corridor.

  Lyara followed him, trying to steady herself.

  What the hell was that? I reacted on instinct and blurted out the first excuse I could think of. What a stupid speech… she scolded herself, fanning the air with her hands, visibly nervous.

  “But I don’t even think you have anything to say here,” Aedran continued. “This situation is beyond you.”

  Even so, he stopped in front of the magical anti-terrorism division.

  “But you came anyway,” Lyara replied with a crooked smile.

  “Does that mean they don’t hate me, or something?” he asked half-jokingly, though there was a faint crack in his voice.

  “What are you talking about?” Lyara began, until he turned to look at her. “They despise you. By the celestials, they thought you were going to kill her. If they don’t hate you, they fear you—or they deeply resent you.”

  She didn’t want to be cruel, but she wouldn’t lie either. Aedran pressed his lips together, unsettled.

  It’s your fault for asking stupid questions, she thought.

  “But…” she added, “the first step is walking in, don’t you think?”

  Aedran didn’t reply. He simply opened the door and went inside.

  The room fell silent. Everything looked the same as always: mostly empty seats, two books abandoned on the desk.

  Aedran took a deep breath before looking at the apprentices. He was surprised to see Thaelen already back on duty, a bandage wrapped around his head covering his ears. The only thing Aedran could think was how stubborn he was—he’d clearly returned as soon as possible just to prove he’d recovered faster than him.

  Lysette barely looked at him and gave a brief nod, as if she had no idea what had happened. She seemed far too focused on her work.

  Aoi watched him nervously, then quickly looked away, pretending the window was fascinating.

  Marreck kept his head down, muttering something along the lines of, “I knew it… this is a bad idea…”

  Aedran sighed and sat down at his desk without a word. No one spoke.

  Lyara glanced around anxiously, searching for Elryn. She hadn’t seen her in days, but she still clung to a faint hope… one that was crushed almost immediately.

  “So she didn’t come…”

  She said it almost in a whisper, just as the door opened again. Lyara turned, hopeful—but it was only Platea, who raised an eyebrow when she saw Aedran.

  “So now I have to put up with you showing up here every so often?”

  “Yes,” Platea replied with an arrogant smile, “and you’ll also have to put up with my orders.”

  Aedran sighed, already regretting coming back.

  “I’ve come to give you a gift this time, despite everything,” Platea added.

  A member of the guard entered, pushing a cart. Everyone stifled a gasp when they saw who was lying on it: Elryn.

  Lyara nearly cried out in relief when she saw her. The young woman slowly lifted her gaze until it met Aedran’s eyes—then immediately lowered it. Her hands began to tremble. Aedran said nothing. He only looked away, resigned. Platea watched the exchange closely, narrowing her eyes.

  “I apologize for taking the girl,” Platea said. “I needed someone to help bring this in.”

  She pulled the cloth off the cart. Everyone sucked in a breath.

  The deep black sheen of the metal gleamed under the light. Aedran stood up at once, unable to believe what he was seeing.

  “I had to call in a few favors,” Platea continued, “but I managed to secure enough material to forge these pieces.”

  The group approached cautiously. Perfectly balanced weapons, of a quality and beauty comparable to Aedran’s sword.

  “If you’re going to kill mages,” Platea said with a satisfied smile, “you’d better use the right weapon.”

  She straightened proudly.

  “Behold—blackstone weapons, members of the magical anti-terrorism division.”

  End of Chapter 11.

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