Her hand moved with trembling purpose, sliding beneath the loose hem of her servant robes.
Not toward a pouch.
Not toward the knife he'd already kicked away.
But toward something thin, metallic — barely the size of a sewing pin.
A small needle.
Completely black.
She knew what would happen now that her plan had failed.
Assassinating a core disciple?
She wouldn't even make it to trial.
She'd be much better off dying on her own terms.
Her fingers found the needle. Slipped it into her grip.
Just then —
CRACK.
Not loud — just a quiet, sickening grind as bones shifted in ways they weren't meant to. Her arm spasmed violently. The needle dropped from her hand and clattered harmlessly across the stone.
"A-al—"
The sound barely made it past her lips.
Vaern didn't answer.
He twisted her wrist farther.
"Don't think you get to escape that easily."
Mira let out a half-choked noise, face contorting in rage and panic. Her body trembled.
"Give me the antidote," Vaern said flatly, voice like a low growl. "Or I'll search your body."
>>>
A little later.
Riven stirred with a shallow breath, eyelids twitching.
His body ached.
His mouth tasted bitter — a thick herbal aftertaste clinging to his tongue. His thoughts felt slow, dulled like a blade with a notch in it.
What… happened?
He shifted slightly and realized he was no longer in the bath. He was lying in his bed — damp hair trailing over the pillow, chest still bare, a faint ache lingering in his limbs.
He blinked the blurriness away and sat up slowly.
Then froze.
Vaern sat beside the door, arms crossed, watching him with all the patience of a bear staring at a tree that owed him money.
"…You're awake," Vaern said. Not a question. Just fact.
"What the hell—" Riven coughed. "Why am I—?"
"You were drugged."
A pause.
"In your own bath. By your own servant. And almost got your throat slit like a fattened pig."
Another pause.
"Clearly, I've been going too easy on you."
Riven stared at him.
"…What."
"You heard me."
Vaern stood. His voice sharpened.
"I'm taking you to her."
Riven stared as Vaern turned without waiting and stepped outside.
Still dazed, still half-processing, he dragged himself out of bed, grabbing the first dry robe from the shelf.
He followed.
The garden air had cooled since sunset, and the breeze carried a faint, this time non-drugged, scent.
Outside the main courtyard, beneath one of the willows near the outer path, someone was tied to a tree.
Mira.
Her wrists were bound together above her head with a thick band of thread, stretched high enough to keep her on her knees. The bark scraped her back every time she shifted. Her face was pale, lips cracked. Her servant robes were rumpled and dust-streaked, hair falling loosely around her face in uneven strands.
She didn't lift her head when Riven approached.
Didn't plead.
Didn't even flinch.
Just stared at the dirt in front of her like she was waiting — not for forgiveness, not for mercy — but for the inevitable.
Riven stopped a few paces away.
His heart was quiet. Steady. But something in his chest twisted uncomfortably.
This was… Mira. The quiet girl who cleaned his room. The one who refolded his robes when he was out. Who moved like a ghost through the garden paths, always present but never visible.
They'd barely talked. They didn't know each other well.
But he was sure — he hadn't mistreated her. He hadn't done anything at all.
So...
"Why?" he asked softly.
No response.
"I've never done anything to you."
His voice stayed calm, but it came from somewhere raw — something deeper, wounded not from the attack, but from what it meant.
Since losing his family, he'd been drifting. First waking in a strange village. Then pushed into a sect trial he hadn't even understood — offered up as a sacrifice, nothing more than currency for the villages survival.
And there he'd met her — Mira.
Quiet, grounded, helpful and maybe — for a moment — kind.
They'd spoken back then.
He didn't really know when it stopped.
She'd seemed… decent.
When his talent had been discovered, when the elder took notice, Riven had pointed her out. Just a name in the crowd. The only familiar face. He thought he was helping her.
He didn't need her gratitude. He didn't expect it.
But this?
He glanced toward Vaern — still standing silently behind him — and then thought of Lumi from the Resource Hall. Mischievous, sarcastic, odd.
Could he even trust them?
Was there anyone he could trust?
Anyone who wouldn't turn the moment his back was turned?
Then — sudden and jarring:
"HAHAHA!"
The dry, cracked laughter tore through the silence like brittle leaves underfoot.
Riven's eyes snapped back to Mira.
She'd lifted her head.
Her eyes were wild. Red-rimmed. Furious.
"Never done anything to me?" she spat. "You killed my brother."
Riven froze.
"What?"
His voice was flat. Disbelieving.
"I don't— I don't even know your brother."
"Oh, I'm sure you don't," she snarled.
She let her head fall back against the tree behind her, laughing bitterly — breathless, almost hysterical.
"He was in the same trial as us. He was there when the elders tested your talent. When you practically made them choke on their own breath with that goddamned elemental affinity."
Her voice wavered slightly, but her glare didn't.
"And he was also there when you singled me out. Only me. Leaving him behind."
She leaned forward, arms still bound, voice lowering.
Riven frowned. Slowly.
He was starting to understand what she was talking about.
It all had to do with the sect's intake trial — the moment he'd tried to push to the back of his mind.
The process was meant to last three months.
A slow evaluation.
Potential disciples would be gathered from nearby villages, tossed into a proving ground with only minimal guidance. If they could show enough improvement during that time — strength, control, intelligence — they would be admitted as outer disciples.
Out of hundreds, maybe ten made it. Usually less.
And then… there was him.
Riven hadn't even lasted a full month.
He'd broken through.
Reached the threshold of the Inner Essence realm before the first full moon. A feat so absurd the elder overseeing the trial — Kael — had frozen on the spot.
A monster. That's how they saw him.
So they tested his elemental affinity next.
Not to doubt him.
But to measure exactly how fast he might grow… and in what direction.
And that's when everything went from promising to wrong.
Because too much talent was a problem.
He didn't just score high.
He broke the instrument.
The measuring disk — a relic meant to gauge even prodigies — had flickered once, pulsed twice… and then cracked straight down the middle.
Riven still remembered the look on Elder Kael's face.
Awe. Excitement. Calculation.
And then that genial voice, warm and kind like he was speaking to a lost child.
"Is there anyone here who's your friend?"
At the time, Riven had smiled.
He was still overwhelmed. Still confused by the trial, by the sect, by the fact that just weeks earlier, a dirt-poor village had tossed him into this place as their 'offering.'
And Mira — she had been the only one who helped him understand what was going on. Maybe it was out of pity.
She'd talked to him. Explained things. Calmed him down when the others mocked his ignorance.
So, when the elder asked… Riven thought it was kindness.
He pointed her out.
He wanted to do something good for her.
He thought… maybe she could be brought along too. Maybe they'd let her skip the rest of the trial.
Instead, she was guided over to the elders — led gently to stand by his side.
And then — one gesture.
Just a wave of Elder Kael's hand.
And like mist caught in wind, every other trial taker in the courtyard vanished.
No screams. No blood. No fight.
Just ash and smoke and silence.
Disintegrated. Not even bones left behind.
Mira's breath hitched.
"My brother was there."
Her voice shook — not from fear, but from the violent tightness of holding herself together.
"He died right there. He vanished with the rest. All because that elder—" her voice broke, "—wanted your talent hidden. To keep you safe."
Riven's chest tightened.
Before he could speak, she laughed — a fractured sound.
"And you… you can't even win the Newcomer Trials."
Her voice pitched upward, nearly hysterical.
"He died for that? For someone who surrenders?"
Riven opened his mouth.
But the words didn't come.