Night fell over Varnholt Manor like a leaden cloak, extinguishing the day’s colors and leaving only the flicker of torches in the hallways. Emilia, her body still sore from training with Gavril, prepared for another trial: the family dinner. If lunch with Lord Falke’s envoys had been a minefield, the dinner promised to be an open war. Dinners at the manor were a ritual where Baron Dietrich evaluated his daughters like a general inspecting troops, and Celeste, with her history of tantrums, had never been the favorite.

  Emilia looked at herself in her room’s mirror, adjusting the blue velvet dress a servant had brought her. It was less constricting than the one from lunch, but it still felt like ill-fitting armor. Her knuckles, now hidden beneath lace gloves to conceal the marks from training, throbbed with a dull ache. Each strike against the dummy that afternoon had been a step toward strength, but also a reminder of how far she was from being ready for the dungeons lurking beneath Eldoria.

  A knock at the door made her tense. “Celeste, move it!” It was Freya, the second sister, whose voice always carried a mix of mockery and challenge. “Father’s in a foul mood, and I don’t want us all punished for your tardiness.”

  “I’m coming,” Emilia replied, forcing Celeste’s haughty tone. She opened the door and found Freya, her chestnut hair swept into an elaborate updo, wearing a red dress designed to steal every glance. Freya looked her up and down, a smile not reaching her eyes.

  “Well, you’re almost presentable,” she said. “Though that dress is last season. Trying to anger Mother again?”

  Emilia swallowed a sigh. “Not all of us live to impress, Freya.” She brushed past, ignoring the giggle that followed her down the hall. The manor buzzed with the activity of servants rushing about with trays of food and pitchers of wine. The aroma of freshly baked bread and roasted meat filled the air, but there was an undercurrent of tension, as if everyone knew the dinner would be anything but peaceful.

  The dining room was smaller than the main hall but no less luxurious. A roaring fireplace at one end cast dancing shadows over walls adorned with tapestries of hunting scenes. Baron Dietrich was already seated at the head, his weathered face and neatly trimmed gray beard fixed in a mix of disdain and expectation as he regarded his daughters. Lady Isolde, beside him, toyed with an emerald ring, her expression as cold as ice. The sisters were in their places, except for Elara, who entered a moment later with the air of an exiled queen.

  Emilia took her seat next to Mina, the youngest, who gave her a nervous glance before returning to her plate. The dinner began in uneasy silence, broken only by the clink of cutlery and the murmur of servants pouring wine. Emilia kept her head down, trying to go unnoticed, but the baron had no intention of letting her off.

  “Celeste,” he said suddenly, his voice like distant thunder. “What’s this I hear about you training in the courtyard? Have you decided to make a fool of yourself now that you can’t even conjure a spark?”

  Every eye turned to her. Lysa smirked maliciously, Freya raised an eyebrow, and the twins exchanged a giggle. Emilia’s stomach knotted, but she stayed calm. She couldn’t afford a misstep now. “I’m just exploring options, Father,” she said, mimicking Celeste’s defiant tone. “If I can’t be a mage, I can at least learn to defend myself.”

  The baron let out a dry laugh. “Defend yourself. As if you’ve ever deigned to put effort into anything besides yelling at servants. Don’t make me laugh.”

  Emilia clenched her fists under the table, feeling the heat of anger. She wanted to shout that she wasn’t the spoiled child he thought, that she had worked herself to death in another life, that she knew what it meant to struggle. But that would be a disaster. Instead, she forced a smile. “Maybe I’m changing, Father. You should be glad one of your daughters wants to be useful.”

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  The silence that followed was so heavy it seemed to crush the room. Lady Isolde raised an eyebrow, clearly amused, while Lysa let out a scoff. The baron stared at her, as if trying to discern whether it was insolence or something else. Finally, he grunted and returned to his food. “Don’t waste my time, Celeste. If you want to play at being a warrior, do it in private.”

  Emilia nodded, relieved the attention had shifted. But the dinner wasn’t over. As the servants brought dessert—a honey and walnut cake—Freya seized the chance to land another jab. “I heard Gavril’s wasting his time with you. Poor man. Have you already thrown something at his head, or is that coming later?”

  The twins laughed, and even Mina seemed to suppress a smile. Emilia felt a spark of irritation but also an opportunity. If she was to be Celeste, she could use her reputation to her advantage. “Gavril’s a good teacher,” she said, her tone dripping with arrogance. “And unlike some, I don’t need to flaunt myself to prove my worth.”

  Freya opened her mouth to retort, but a scream from outside cut her off. It was shrill, desperate, followed by the clash of metal against metal. The room froze. The baron stood, knocking over his chair, and the guards at the door drew their swords.

  “Stay here!” Dietrich ordered, striding out. Lady Isolde rose but didn’t follow; instead, she gathered her daughters like a hen protecting her chicks. Emilia, however, couldn’t stay still. Her instincts, forged through years of responsibility at the orphanage, urged her to move. She slipped toward a window, ignoring Mina’s protests.

  Through the fogged glass, she saw chaos in the courtyard. A group of guards battled a creature that looked like it had crawled from a nightmare: a wolf the size of a horse, with black fur and fangs that gleamed like knives. But it wasn’t an ordinary wolf; its body was covered in jagged scales, and its eyes burned with an unnatural red glow. A dungeon beast, Emilia thought, recalling descriptions from the library. How had it reached the manor?

  Gavril was among the guards, wielding a longsword that sliced through the air with deadly precision. But the creature was fast, dodging blows and knocking men down with a single swipe. Emilia felt a chill. This was the world she’d read about, a world that spared no mercy for the weak.

  “Celeste, get back here!” Lysa hissed, tugging at her arm. But Emilia didn’t move. Her mind raced. If a creature like this could reach the manor, nowhere was safe. She needed to become stronger, and fast. The aura, martial arts, even the idea of taming a slime—everything took on new urgency.

  The fight ended as quickly as it began. Gavril, with a move that seemed impossible, drove his sword into the creature’s neck, and it collapsed with a groan that shook the ground. The remaining guards cheered, but Emilia noticed the blood on Gavril’s arm and the bodies of two men who didn’t rise.

  When the baron returned, his face was pale but composed. “A dungeon vermin,” he said, as if it were a minor inconvenience. “The guards will handle it. Return to your rooms.”

  Emilia obeyed, but not before catching Gavril’s eye through the window. He nodded slightly, as if he knew what she was thinking. Tomorrow’s lesson wouldn’t just be about strikes and stances; it would be about survival.

  Later, in the solitude of her room, Emilia sat at a desk covered with parchments. She had stolen a book from the library before dinner, a dusty tome titled Beasts of the Depths. She opened it to the section on slimes, reading eagerly. They were simple, almost pathetic creatures, but versatile. They could absorb objects, dissolve into puddles to hide, even mimic basic shapes with enough training. They weren’t strong, but in a world where brute strength wasn’t her forte, a slime could be the edge she needed.

  She closed the book, gazing at the moon through the window. The manor was silent now, but the echo of the creature’s scream still lingered in her mind. She wasn’t Celeste, not the cruel girl everyone expected. She was Emilia, and every day in this world was a fight to claim her place. Tomorrow, she would train harder, learn faster, and someday, she would find a slime to help her face the shadows lurking beneath the earth. Until then, she would wear her mask and press forward, because giving up was not an option.