The moment Whitehall's fist connected with Aunt Charity's jaw, Mercy knew she was in trouble.

  And when he yelled "Spy!" for the second time at the top of his lungs, she nearly panicked.

  For one terrifying second, she thought he meant her.

  But then she caught it—the slight delay in his reaction, the careful way his gaze swept the surroundings. His stance, tense but measured. He wasn't looking for the Sage. He knew exactly that she was gone.

  He's acting.

  Mercy stayed perfectly still, hoping no one would notice the way her stomach twisted.

  "She's gone!" Whitehall shouted again, turning his head sharply from side to side. "Anyone see her?"

  The Skysworns around them sprang into action. Swords were drawn, madra flared. Half-dressed Sacred Artists stumbled out of tents, some gripping their weapons, others just looking confused.

  The Skysworns looked around, and some shrugged as they saw nothing. It didn't take them long to realise that the "spy" was no longer there.

  Then the shouting started.

  "What just happened?"

  "Where did they go?"

  "Who sounded the alarm?"

  "I'll alert the Truegolds!"

  He's covering for me.

  Mercy swallowed hard. She knew Whitehall well enough to understand what that meant. He wasn't ignoring what he'd overheard. He wasn't letting this slide. He wanted answers. But he was just making sure it happened in private.

  Her fingers clenched around the hem of her cloak. She felt the weight of his stare long before she finally forced herself to meet his eyes.

  She almost wished she hadn't.

  Whitehall wasn't angry—not yet. But his expression was colder than she'd ever seen. Detached. Suspicious. Betrayed.

  She tried a nervous smile. "Um…"

  "You're coming with me, young lady," he said flatly. "You have a lot to explain."

  Her stomach dropped.

  She knew that look. It reminded her of her mother's. During times when her mother had been truly furious, Akura Malice would have confronted whoever had caused it already. This, though? This was worse.

  Because it was the same look her mother would give someone when she was disappointed.

  "…Okay," Mercy mumbled.

  She had to work not to sigh in relief. If he was keeping it quiet, she still had a chance to explain before things got out of hand.

  But before they could move, a Brightcrown medic hurried over.

  "Truegold! You're wounded. Let us clear a tent and tend to you."

  Mercy blinked, confused—until she looked down.

  Whitehall's right sleeve was gone, torn to shreds, revealing what looked like new gold signs of coloured pulsing scars. His elbow was bent wrong, and the angle was unnatural.

  He barely glanced at it before grabbing his own forearm and snapping the joint back into place.

  Mercy flinched at the sharp crack.

  Even the medic recoiled. "Truegold..."

  "I'm fine." Whitehall's voice was cold. He barely gave the Brightcrown a glance before continuing. "The spy was dressed as one of your attendants. Verify your members. Make sure they are who they claim to be."

  He had said it so coldly that the Brightcrown could only nod nervously and bowed to his back. "Yes, Truegold."

  Whitehall didn't wait. He turned back to Mercy and gestured for her to move.

  She obeyed without argument.

  As they walked, she felt the weight of eyes on them. A few Skysworns exchanged glances. It wasn't every day a Truegold looked like he was marching an Akura somewhere against her will. But since they were from the same squad, the other Skysworns ignored them.

  Mercy risked a glance at him. His expression was still unreadable.

  "…Whitehall," she tried carefully. "I can explain."

  "Not here," he said. His voice was low and sharp. He gave her a light shove to signal her to keep walking.

  As they continued their walk, Mercy suddenly felt Whitehall grip her arm and drag her to the side between two tents.

  "We're not being watched here," he whispered, his masked face shrouded by the shadows.

  Mercy did not know what to say. She wanted to protest, but did she really have a leg to stand on in this case?

  "Umm," she hesitantly began. "So..."

  Whitehall said nothing. He only lifted an eyebrow, waiting.

  Her heart pounded.

  He deserves the truth. They all did.

  Mercy shut her eyes and took a deep breath.

  Then she let the words spill out.

  "My mother is the Monarch of the Akura clan, and I was a Truegold before she gave me a chance to leave and suppressed my advancement. I wanted it because my mother can be cruel, and I didn't like how our clan encourages us to keep power over those beneath us and look for approval from those above us."

  She paused, gulping for air before pushing forward.

  "My mom thought there was plenty of time, but since circumstances had changed, they want me back. Yet she had given me her word, and she's a monarch, so she can't take it back. However, my aunt is not so subtly trying to convince me to go back and is trying to get me to do so by getting to my friends. My younger brother feels that I have abandoned him, and I know that I should feel lucky for being the heir of a Monarch's family..."

  Her chest tightened.

  "But I..." Her voice faltered. She shook her head. "I don't want to go back."

  The words came out small. Weak.

  She forced herself to say something she already knew but had never admitted it out loud.

  "I didn't like my Underlord revelation because it meant I was no different from the thing I hate most about our clan. Seeking approval from those above us."

  A breath.

  A whisper.

  The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Nothing.

  "I know I'm being selfish, but I just...can't."

  The silence stretched.

  Too long.

  Too heavy.

  Too quiet.

  She hesitated, then cracked open one eye to see his reaction.

  Whitehall didn't look angry. He didn't look disappointed.

  He looked... sad.

  He sighed, glancing away, his expression unreadable. "Sometimes I forget how young you, Yerin, and Lindon are," he muttered.

  Mercy blinked. She had not expected his reaction.

  He shifted his gaze to meet hers.

  "You've been bottling that up for a while now, haven't you?" he asked softly.

  Her throat closed.

  She nodded rapidly, her lips trembling with a frown.

  He gave her a small smile. There was no pity. No condescension. Just... understanding .

  "It's been hard, hasn't it?"

  That was it.

  There was no judgement in his voice. No lectures. No orders. No encouragement. No advice.

  Just acknowledgement.

  And something inside her cracked.

  At that moment, Mercy felt that the emotions she had been holding tightly inside her began to burst through for the first time.

  The guilt.

  The pressure.

  The exhaustion.

  For the first time since she left home , she let it spill over .

  Painful tears welled in her eyes, and she didn't fight them.

  "Yes," she whispered.

  And the damn broke.

  Yerin stared at her Blood Shadow, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside her bed.

  Eithan had brought them a feast—platters piled high with roasted meats, fragrant rice, and golden elixirs strong enough to fuel a dozen fighters. Despite herself, Sadi, and Lindon stuffing themselves full, they hadn't even managed to finish half of it.

  Now, the tent smelled of spice and cooked fat, a comforting scent under any other circumstances. But the tension sitting in Yerin's chest wasn't so easily drowned out by warm food.

  Lindon had been gone for hours. Eithan had taken him for something about Dross's gift. Mercy had asked if she was all right, then left just as quickly. And Whitehall…

  He hadn't come at all.

  Fair, Yerin thought. The man had spent the last few days knocking on death's door and had even managed to help her right after it. And by some unfortunate miracle, he'd come out worse than anyone else.

  "But he is Truegold now," Eithan had said, his ever-present smile giving nothing away.

  She wasn't sure if that was meant to be reassuring or not.

  Now, Yerin watched her Blood Shadow, its crimson form hunched over the remains of their meal, its long fingers moving more carefully than she had ever seen. Normally , it would tear into food like a beast, shovelling whatever it wanted into its mouth without thought.

  But tonight, it hesitated.

  Because of Sadi.

  "Like this," Sadi corrected the Blood Shadow's fingers, adjusting its grip on the chopsticks with patient hands.

  Yerin frowned. It wasn't just the fact that Sadi was touching the Blood Shadow, her touch sure and unbothered, like it was just any other student under her guidance. It was the fact that the Blood Shadow was listening.

  It had never listened to Yerin like that.

  Yerin could feel the hunger vibrating inside of it, clawing for release. It wanted the food, wanted to devour it all, but it held itself back.

  "There," Sadi said, sitting back, satisfied with how the Blood Shadow held the chopsticks between its fingers. "Now, try to pick up the food."

  The Blood Shadow moved slowly, awkwardly angling the chopsticks toward a cube of beef . Its grip faltered, the meat slipping back onto the plate.

  A low growl rumbled from its throat, and it raised its hand, fingers flexing, chopsticks ready to snap.

  "Hold it," Sadi said, her voice sharp.

  The Blood Shadow paused.

  "Try again."

  And it did.

  Yerin narrowed her eyes. Watching this felt…wrong. Like watching someone train a wild dog to sit and fetch.

  Except the dog had her face.

  The scars along the Blood Shadow's body were hers. Its frame, its stance, its movements—all hers. And yet, Sadi was teaching it like it was some stray that needed housebreaking.

  Yerin's temper flared, and the question that had been gnawing at her for days burst out before she could stop herself.

  "Why didn't you end me?"

  Sadi's hand froze mid-air.

  The Blood Shadow's head snapped toward her, its pupils dark pools of blood. It let out a low growl.

  "You could've ended me," Yerin said, her own voice sharpening to match. "So why didn't you?"

  The Blood Shadow didn't answer with words. Instead, it stabbed its chopsticks into the beef, lifted a piece, and shoved it into its mouth.

  "Oh, heavens," Sadi muttered in the background, feeling that her efforts had gone to waste.

  It didn't chew. Just swallowed it whole.

  That made Yerin's fingers twitch.

  The Blood Shadow had been draining her. It could have bled her dry from the inside, made her into a hollowed-out husk.

  Instead, it had let her go. Fought beside her.

  She wanted to know why.

  The Blooshadow grinned as it took another bite of the meat, letting out a satisfied purr.

  The Blood Shadow's sound disgusted Yerin, but she could sense it. Annoyance. It wasn't disgusted with itself. It wasn't ashamed. It was annoyed at her. As if it thought she was the one being unreasonable.

  Yerin gritted her teeth, "You want us to live, huh? Then you listen to me like the voice of heaven. I say frog, you jum-"

  The Blood Shadow slammed its chopsticks into the plate with a crack. A voice, raw and nightmarish, scraped out of its throat.

  "I got it."

  That surprised Sadi, and the woman's eyes widened in shock.

  Yerin clenched her jaw tighter. But before she could reply, Sadi spoke first.

  "Let's hold on for a moment," the older woman said.

  If Yerin had her sword, she would have unsheathed it.

  "You could've killed me!" Yerin yelled.

  The Blood Shadow snarled right back. "I protected you! Nearly died myself, didn't I?"

  Yerin's hands clenched into fists. This is ridiculous . She was arguing with herself .

  "You slaughtered my whole family!"

  "They wanted to kill me! How many Irons did you kill when they tried to do the same?" the Blood Shadow yelled back .

  "Peace!" Sadi's voice boomed, and the tent was swallowed by blinding gold light.

  Yerin flinched away. She had experienced weaker versions of the Blindingwrath when Sadi was Highgold during their spars, but now that she was a Truegold, the light lived up to its name.

  Once her vision returned, she noticed her Blood Shadow had also flinched away from the sudden light.

  "Now," Sadi ordered, and Yerin felt like a child being disciplined by their teacher. "Nothing productive is going to come out of this. Let's just agree that you guys are fighting the same fight, yes?"

  Silence.

  The Blood Shadow moved first, giving a stiff nod.

  Yerin felt a sharp pang of irritation—but she wasn't about to let her own bloody imitation be the more reasonable one here. So she nodded too.

  Sadi's shoulders loosened just a little. "Good." She let out a slow breath. "I just hope you both remember this," she said softly. "You're one. Whether you like it or not. And alone, you are weak."

  She met Yerin's gaze, then the Blood Shadow's.

  "Together, you are strong ."

  The words settled in Yerin's chest like a weight. She didn't like it, But she didn't disagree . Inside her spirit, she felt her Blood Shadow felt the same.

  The next moment, the flaps of the tent burst open. Mercy walked in first, Whitehall a few steps behind her. Whitehall's face was unreadable. Mercy...

  "Mercy, why do you like you just put down a sick puppy?"

  Whitehall watched as Mercy explained her story to Yerin and Sadi. Mercy had made the decision to tell the others herself and needed no word of encouragement from him. He felt that deep down, buried beneath her uncertainty and smiles, she had always wanted to.

  "And my aunt has been saying that my mother needs me..."

  His fists clenched.

  But the oath he was forced to swear remained tight, and in the form he was currently in , he didn't dare to take the risk.

  "Mercy," Yerin muttered. She rose from her bed, still dressed in her medical gown, the fabric hanging loose over her shoulders. Then, without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around Mercy, pulling her close.

  Whitehall couldn't hear the words Yerin whispered into Mercy's ear. But he saw the way Mercy squeezed her eyes shut , the way her shoulders trembled for just a moment before stilling.

  He tore his gaze away, and his eyes landed on Sadi. Even with the dim candlelight flickering against the tent walls, in his sight, she remained bright.

  Her gaze caught him, and she gave him a small smile.

  Without a word, he flicked his head toward the exit. They needed to talk. No. He needed to talk .

  Sadi nodded.

  They left the two women in the tent, stepping into the cool night air.

  The war camp stretched in rows of canvas and quiet suffering. Fires burned low in the distance, casting long shadows across the ground. The sharp scent of blood and medicinal herbs clung to the air, though the battlefield itself was far behind them now .

  Whitehall led the way, his pace slow. He turned a corner when he was sure no Sage's owls lurked nearby.

  He met her golden eyes and opened his mouth. He wanted to tell her his pain. His hurt . Wanted to spill it all out into the cold air between them.

  But it wasn't fair.

  Sadi had been there for him since they had left Sacred Valley. Had always stood beside him. Had always been steadfast, always strong .

  And now, when he had nothing left to give, he wanted to lean on her again?

  "I know," Sadi said softly, her voice cracking slightly. Tears shimmered at the edges of her eyes.

  "You don't need to tell me," she whispered. "I know ."

  And he believed her.

  She rushed and held him tight against her chest, putting her hands around his shoulders.

  For a second, he didn't move. His breathing was unsteady. His body still ached.

  Then, slowly, shakingly, Whitehall lifted his hands and placed them gently around Sadi's waist.

  ----------

  Lindon asked the question everyone had been wondering. "So what should we do?"

  The others had found him while he was soul-smithing new weapons for the upcoming battle. What Eithan had gifted Dross had already begun to pay off.

  Now they were back in Yerin's tent, where Mercy had revealed the truth: Lindon, Yerin, and the Wasteland pair were being explicitly targeted by the Sage.

  No one had an answer. But no one looked ready to run, either.

  "We don't even know how much time we have left," Mercy said. "Whatever we plan, it needs to be flexible. My aunt will make this fight happen."

  "Dross, any ideas?" Yerin asked.

  Dross popped out of Lindon's spirit. [Well], he began, [the dream tablet didn't exactly have much on war tactics.]

  "Whitehall?" Sadi asked.

  All eyes turned to the small man in the corner. He hadn't spoken a word so far. And only now did they see his eyes staring at nothing while rubbing his chin.

  [Wow. Such deep think he is having.]

  "Might be worth getting all of us to Underlord first," he finally said.

  "Bleed and bury me, isn't that obvious?" Yerin rolled her eyes, though her voice lacked any real bite.

  "It'll make it a more even playing field," Sadi agreed with a shrug.

  Then—

  "Follow your fear!" Mercy's voice rang through the tent, abrupt and loud enough to startle everyone.

  Dross tilted his head. [Follow my fear?] He rubbed his head as if sorting through his memories. [Well, maybe getting stuck alone in the dream well again. But that place doesn't exist anymore.]

  Mercy waved her hands frantically. "No, no! It's a trick one of my tutors taught me. It helps you figure out your Underlord revelation." She straightened, imitating her voice into a low, authoritative tone. "To know the world, you must first know yourself. You must deepen your connection to your own soul if you wish to command the world. Underlord is the end of the path you walked for others and the beginning of your own path."

  The others nodded, still unsure but listening.

  "Follow your fear!" Mercy repeated. "It worked wonders in helping people figure out what they care enough to die for."

  Lindon considered the advice. "I'm afraid of a lot of things," he admitted. "Too many things," he added after a second.

  Mercy thumped her staff against the floor. "Let's try it now! We won't advance here—it would take weeks with the few natural treasures available. But in Night Wheel Valley, we can advance just like that!" She snapped her fingers. "But we can figure out our revelations now. What do we have to lose? Cycling positions, everyone!"

  Then—

  "Before we get to that," Whitehall cut in.

  He moved without sound, placing a hand on Mercy's shoulder.

  She turned her head slowly and saw his lips curled into a sly smile. His fingers pressed down, firm.

  "Akura Mercy," he said, her name like a blade sliding free of its sheath. Low and slow. His voice left no room for misunderstanding. "Choose."

  A pause.

  "How would you like to reach Truegold?"

  A heartbeat.

  "Paralysed or unparalysed?"

  House of Blades

  Iteration requested. Amalgam.

  Date. Denied

  Report Complete.

  Dayang sat on the porch of her home, the one Mang had built with his own hands. She couldn't eat. She couldn't drink. All she could do was watch. The sun had long since set, leaving the world bathed in the pale silver glow of the moon. Its light was enough to illuminate the scene before her, and yet it felt like a cruel spotlight, exposing her trembling hands and chattering teeth. Despite the warm night air, she felt cold—a deep, bone-chilling cold that no fire could dispel.

  One by one, she watched. A shimmering blur of steel sliced through the air, and trees fell like matchsticks. Patches of land were cleared in the forest, each space wide enough to hold a small temple. She had tried to count at first , but she lost track after the four hundredth. By her reckoning, her son still had hours left. Hours to complete the impossible task she had set before him.

  She couldn't do it. Perhaps she was cursed. Cursed to be born as the daughter of a concubine, traded like cattle by her father. Cursed to lose the man she had loved. Cursed to cling to the fragile hope that she might not be alone forever. And now, cursed to find comfort in the arms of her own son, twisted into something unrecognisable.

  She looked up, her breath catching as she noticed something was amiss. The trees had stopped falling, and now the rocks themselves seemed to scream. The sound of stone breaking echoed in the distance, like thunder rolling across a stormy sky. Her fists clenched the fabric of her skirt tighter, her knuckles white.

  "He'll succeed," the doll said, her voice calm and measured as she sat beside Dayang. "You know he will."

  Did she? Maybe she did. Or maybe she was clinging to the last shred of hope, desperate to believe that this nightmare could still have a happy ending.

  "He might not," Dayang whispered, her voice barely audible over the distant cracking of stone .

  Cornelia sighed audibly, the sound heavy with unspoken words. More stones were being carved from the earth, the sharp , rhythmic cracks a testament to Valiar's relentless determination.

  "It wouldn't be the worst thing for you to do," the doll continued, her tone almost casual. "You've married a monster before. At least your son is kind."

  Dayang wanted to ignore the insult, but it stung too deeply . "Mang was not a monster," she retorted, her voice sharp.

  "So that was his name," Cornelia replied. "Mang."

  Dayang didn't respond , her eyes fixed on the shimmering steel that danced in the moonlight, raising shattered stones from the ground with each precise movement.

  "You know nothing of the Hound," Cornelia said, her voice cold. "Just be grateful your son did not grow to be his father." And with that, she fell silent, leaving Dayang alone with her thoughts and the distant echoes of breaking stone.