The sultry temperature was the first thing the mercenary Maria noticed as she knelt before the head of the Noble Opazyr family, Fia Opazyr. It was odd to her, considering how unbearably cold Opal City usually was.

  "Red Wind Maria..." The noblewoman played with every syllable of the mercenary's title, her ruby-red eyes soaking in every detail of Maria's tattered, barely maintained armor. She didn’t even bother to hide her disgusted expression. "I've heard no end of your numerous achievements throughout the years. Although, I'll admit I expected someone of such high acclaim to be a bit... cleaner."

  Maria was thankful her head was bowed, her unkempt curly locks concealing the amused smile on her lips. "Apologies, my lady. I had just come off a job. I had little time to freshen up, lest I kept you waiting."

  Fia averted her crimson eyes from the mercenary, preferring the pristine gray of her throne quarters' walls over the rusted silver armor and muted crimson cloth that draped Maria’s body. "Right, well... Your diligence will not go unrecognized. I will return the gesture by keeping this matter swift."

  "But of course," Maria replied. It didn’t take a psychic to see how much Fia despised having her in her presence, but Maria didn’t mind one bit. Every chance she got to irritate the nobility was a victory in her eyes.

  Fia awkwardly cleared her throat, becoming blatantly aware of the mutual hostility between them. A part of her wished the mercenary would act out of line so she could prosecute her, but she knew Maria was too much of a professional for that. "Recently, we've made a discovery in the Ashen Canyon up north. We’ve found powerful crystals brimming with mana. If the Opazyrs were to acquire these crystals for ourselves, it would greatly increase our political power within the greater Ilefirn Empire."

  "So, I’m assuming there’s something in the way of securing the goods?"

  "Precisely. We sent out some women to retrieve a larger haul for testing, and none of them returned." The noblewoman stood up, picking up a bottle of pure white wine and a small glass from a nearby table. "These mana crystals must be secured for the sake of our humble little city. Whatever is disrupting our operations must be exterminated."

  Lady Fia stepped down from her throne, the sound of her heels echoing through the vacant chamber as she approached the ragged mercenary. "The truth of the matter is, I already have two people set up for this job. But one of them I don’t know very well, and the other isn’t ready for this kind of mission."

  "So why put them on it in the first place?" Maria raised an eyebrow, her gaze drifting over the intricate gold patterns that decorated Fia’s white robes. The fact that the noblewoman’s attire likely cost more than every coin Maria had earned in her lifetime was almost enough to make her reconsider the worth of living.

  Fia poured the wine into the glass with careful hands and sharp eyes, ensuring not a single drop was spilled. "Well, the first girl is a member of my family. She’s a little upstart knight. The only problem is, she’s still green." Fia turned toward the wall, her stare lingering along a long trail of meticulously painted portraits. Her gaze settled on one—a lone young woman in beautiful steel plate armor. Disappointment tinged her otherwise practiced smile. "Your second ally will be a herald from the Hoary Church. The church insisted on meddling in this business, but I know exactly what they’re trying to do."

  "Basically, you don’t trust either of them," Maria stated flatly. She loathed the politics and tiptoeing of the nobility.

  "I wouldn’t call it mistrust, exactly. It’s more that I don’t have faith they’ll get the job done." Fia gently extended the wine glass toward the mercenary. "Have you ever had Opal Wine?"

  "Is that some kind of joke?" Maria chuckled. "It’s far too expensive for my ilk."

  "Well, then consider this a sample of your future." The head noblewoman swirled the liquid with a casual flick of her wrist.

  After a brief hesitation, Maria took the glass from the noble’s pristine fingers and took a small sip. It was smooth, almost sweet to a fault. Like liquid candy.

  "I’ll get to the point," Fia continued. "I want you to join those girls and ensure my niece returns with her head on her shoulders. On top of that, I want the canyon secured. My niece will have a few soldiers with her, but considering the fate of the retrieval unit, I doubt common foot soldiers will be of much help."

  "And I’m supposed to make a difference?" Maria scoffed. The job sounded more like a glorified suicide mission.

  "Don’t act so humble, Miss Maria. I’ve heard of the things you’ve done. The people you’ve killed outside these lands. I also know that you mostly take jobs for the riffraff. For a woman of your skill, I find that simply unacceptable."

  "I’m just staying in my lane. Just a common street wench—"

  "Nonsense!" Fia rebuked. "Those with great skill should serve the nobility! Your talents are wasted, and wasting talent is a sign of poor leadership. Do you take me for an incompetent leader, Miss Maria?"

  Maria bowed her head and gritted her teeth. "Of course not, my lady. I would never..."

  The noblewoman returned to her throne, approaching a small lockbox beside it. It was ornately decorated and carved from pure opal. She retrieved a small crest from within, its face bearing the image of an opal jewel replacing the sun, illuminating a vast sea of what looked like sand. Fia strolled back to the mercenary, towering over her with a malicious grin.

  "A woman of your skill should be recognized. Take this." Her voice wavered somewhere between a harsh command and a self-indulgent song.

  Maria’s eyes widened. She swallowed hard. The usually calm sellsword reached out with a trembling hand, her grip feeble as she took hold of the crest.

  “M-My Lord…”

  "I need good women in my family, Maria. If I don't lay proper claim to the talent in my own city, someone else is bound to snatch up your loyalty sooner or later."

  Fia poured herself another glass of wine and circled back, watching with quiet amusement as Maria stared in shock at the crest. The mercenary could barely keep hold of the wine in her off-hand. It took everything the noblewoman had to keep from laughing.

  "A toast, to Maria of House Opazyr!"

  "To House Opazyr," Maria echoed weakly. She couldn't muster the strength for enthusiasm—she was too busy fighting the urge to vomit on the head noble's pristine floors.

  Maria stepped out of the grand noble castle, its white marble walls nearly blinding beneath the cold sun’s grayish rays. She eyed the crest in her hand with disdain.

  To the bootlickers, it was an honor—proof of recognition, an official mark of nobility. For those born into the bloodline, it was a birthright. But for common women, it could only be earned through extreme and rare excellence. It was usually reserved for the most pristine soldiers and scholars, those whose work had proven invaluable.

  But for Maria, it was a leash. Declining the offer would have been a grave insult, and disrespecting the House of Opazyr was a crime punishable by death. Fia Opazyr knew that well. She had leveraged the power gap between them, trapping Maria into service with the illusion of nobility.

  Her reputation had grown beyond her control. Maria was a sellsword, willing to take on any job for a peasant’s wage. Sometimes, she’d accept perilous work just to stockpile favors. She had slain many women in her time, along with the occasional beast. And she had rescued just as many from death’s door—as many as a seasoned priest. She was the people's soldier.

  Her mother always warned her: "What you do will come back to bite you." Maria had always assumed that meant dying in some nameless ditch. Instead, she had been shackled by wealth. A rich woman’s slave.

  She dragged herself home, her steps growing heavier with each descent from the polished, pristine streets of the Noble District. The deeper she went, the more her heart ached. The dirty roads, the young girls playing with whatever scraps they could shape into toys—it was all she had ever known. Her home. And now, just holding the crest in her hand felt like a betrayal.

  The nobility never cared for them. They imposed their taxes, feigned ignorance, and turned their backs on any problem that didn’t threaten their gilded halls.

  Maria’s home was no grand estate. It was run-down, old, barely livable. In truth, it wasn't even hers. The woman who had owned it before her had died of illness, and the kind-hearted neighbors had allowed Maria to squat there. It was a token of trust.

  She lit the candles in the living room, shedding her battered armor and slipping into a ragged but comfortable tunic. Moving through the rustic space, she prepared for the setting sun. Her candles had burned down to their final hours. She picked up her coin purse, prying it open to reveal only a few silver coins.

  The work she took on never paid well. After all, she was a soldier of the peasantry, and peasant coffers were always light—no matter who you worked for.

  For a moment, she considered the potential payout from the nobility. Her mind wandered to all the things she could buy. But those lavish dreams were shattered by the memory of Fia’s face—disgusted, repulsed at the sight of Maria’s worn armor.

  Maria sucked her teeth.

  She couldn't begin to fathom what went through the minds of people like Fia—those who looked at the very source of their wealth and power with such contempt.

  Maria’s smoldering anger was interrupted by a knock at the door.

  She froze in place, her gaze locked on the rickety wooden panel. Another knock followed. Her fingers instinctively tightened around the hilt of her well-maintained, single-edged curved sword.

  "Who is it?" she hollered. She never received visitors this late.

  "We’re here on word of Lord Fia Opazyr. Please open the door, Lady Maria," called a stern voice.

  "What in the hell…?" Maria muttered, lowering her blade. Moving swiftly, she cracked the door open just enough to see. The dim candlelight from her home cast flickering shadows across the faces of two female soldiers standing stiffly in the night.

  "Can I help you?"

  "We’ve been sent by Lord Fia to relocate you to a more appropriate dwelling," one of the soldiers explained. "The Lord has graciously made you a member of the noble house. As such, you cannot be allowed to live in such squalor."

  Maria struggled to process what she had just heard. The battle to maintain a neutral expression, the bone-crushing grip on her door handle—so tight the metal knob whined under the strain—the overwhelming instinct to start barking profanities like a feral dog… All of it fought against her ability to think clearly.

  She took a deep breath. Throwing a fit would get her nowhere fast. With deliberate control, she set her sword down, knowing that wielding it in her current state would only escalate matters.

  "Look," she rasped, her voice barely staving off a growl. "I don’t pretend to understand nobility, but whatever superficial problem you see with my home can wait. The Lord has assigned me to a mission first thing tomorrow morning. Even if I wanted to leave, I can’t just pack up all my belongings and let myself be whisked away to some unfamiliar place the night before an important job."

  The second soldier hesitated before stepping forward. "Please, my lady. The Lord was quite insistent that you be moved to a dwelling befitting your accomplishments. Someone as powerful as you shouldn’t be living among such… filthy peasantry."

  She moved to push the door open.

  Maria barely had time to process the sheer audacity before the words left the soldier’s lips.

  "I mean, this place is practically crumbling. Why would you want to stay in such a worthless—"

  "WATCH YOUR MOUTH!"

  Maria’s fury erupted like a thunderclap. She flung the door open, sending both soldiers stumbling onto their rears. The sellsword stood firm in the doorway, silhouetted against the dim candlelight. Her black eyes burned, dark and seething, as if summoning the abyss itself.

  "This house belonged to a good woman, and I was graciously allowed to live here when I had nowhere else to go!" she snarled. "Speak one more slight against my home, and I will consider it the highest insult! You wouldn’t dare disrespect the background of a newly appointed noble, would you?"

  A vile red miasma seemed to seep from her very core.

  The guards immediately prostrated themselves, their foreheads nearly smashing against the ground in panic.

  "A-Apologies! We meant no disrespect!" they stammered in unison.

  "Now, return to wherever it is you came from. I will handle the transition after my mission, and not a moment sooner. If anyone so much as touches my home while I am away, there will be hell to pay. Is that understood?"

  "Y-yes, ma’am! We will inform the Lord that you wish to maintain your environment until after your assignment. Please forgive us!"

  "Good," Maria spat. "Now leave me be. I need all the rest I can get."

  The two soldiers scrambled into the darkness like wounded hounds. Watching them struggle to suppress their urge to run did wonders to quell her rage.

  She shut the door, releasing the metal handle—now engraved with the imprint of her grip.

  Maria exhaled sharply. She felt as if the gods were punishing her, forcing her to endure the whims of pompous nobles.

  But she would prevail.

  She had to.

  For her mothers' sake.

  ***

  When the sun rose, Maria stood at the city limits, waiting patiently for her new “comrades” to make themselves known.

  If it were up to her, she’d have been long gone at the sun’s first glimpse over the land. But she figured noble types were slow-going folk.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Her fingers idly toyed with the ornate brooch that bore the Opazyr family crest. She turned her gaze toward the expanse of gray, rolling hills stretching endlessly before her.

  The Opazyr ruled over some of the least fertile land in all of the Ilefirn Empire. Most of their resources were used for survival rather than trade. Their only real exports were stone, metals, and jewels ripped from the earth through relentless mining—an endeavor that did more to tear up what remained than to build it.

  Maria reckoned that within a century, the city would be a shell of itself. Once the mines bled dry and the crops withered in their final winter, everyone would pack their bags and move on. The nobility would retreat to their next gilded home, and the common folk would be left to wander, hoping for a kinder fate elsewhere.

  Her thoughts on the city’s bleak future were interrupted by the rhythmic clatter of a rolling cart, accompanied by the measured stomp of marching feet.

  Maria turned to the cobbled road behind her. Sure enough, a small formation of fifteen women in chainmail approached, their shields and spears gleaming in the morning light. At their center, a decorated carriage rolled forward, drawn by a fine white steed.

  The convoy pulled to a halt before her, and two women stepped out of the carriage.

  The first was unmistakably Fia’s niece. Her nearly pure white hair was pulled into a tight bun, and vibrant red eyes met Maria’s with a youthful curiosity. Her steel armor gleamed, intricately decorated, and her breastplate bore a lengthy oath, etched in fine print—a declaration of duty, honor, or whatever nonsense the nobility held dear.

  The second woman was dressed far more modestly. She wore a steel half-plate over a gray gambeson, draped in a pristine gray cloak that billowed lightly in the breeze. Her blonde hair framed a pair of deep blue eyes—eyes that held an exhaustion far beyond her years.

  This was in stark contrast to Maria. Her cuirass was battered and bruised, its surface marred with dents and scratches. Tears and punctures had been crudely patched with scrap metal, amateurly welded and sanded down just enough to keep it from falling apart. Her ragged merlot-colored cloak was torn and singed at the edges, fraying like an old war banner. Beneath the cuirass, she wore a simple, dust-stained tunic.

  She felt like a rusted copper coin sandwiched between two gold ingots.

  The blonde woman cast Maria a cautious gaze, while the Opazyr practically skipped over to her, full of boundless energy.

  "You must be Red Wind Maria!" Lucy hooted with delight. "I am Lucy, famed knight of our beloved family."

  Our?

  The denial shot from Maria’s soul before she could stop it. The mere thought of being lumped in with their ilk disrupted all logic in her mind.

  Lucy, oblivious, pointed to the brooch between Maria’s fingers. "My aunt told me she ratified you as the newest member of our house. It’s rare for someone to join outside of birth or marriage."

  "Rare is an understatement," added the blonde woman dryly. "The last time it happened was well over two hundred years ago—when Knight Commander Azylith was made an honorary member for fending off a god who cursed the city with a blight."

  "Sounds like quite the hero." Maria was genuinely impressed by the tale. A cheeky smile crept onto her lips as she held up the brooch. "Let’s hope this isn’t a red herring. I’m not ready to die so young."

  Lucy tilted her head, then leaned uncomfortably close to Maria’s face. "I mean, aren’t you in your forties?" she asked, eyes full of curiosity. "That’s a really good run for a warrior. Most usually retire before then."

  Maria recoiled in horror, her whole body pulling away as if struck. She patted her face in a frantic search for wrinkles—a fruitless endeavor, considering she was still wearing her gauntlets.

  "Excuse me?! I'm only thirty-two! I’m way off from retirement!" she cried.

  Lucy blinked slowly, confusion plain on her face. "Huh. You seem to carry experience well beyond your age. How is that so?"

  Before Maria could respond, the blonde woman smoothly pulled Lucy away from her personal space.

  "I've heard it’s because she takes on low-paying jobs for gutter rats," she said. "But rest assured, Lady Lucy, she could have a hundred years of mud-fighting and it still wouldn’t compare to a real knight’s training."

  Maria scoffed at the blatant pandering. "And who might you be?" she asked, her voice laced with apathy.

  The blonde woman smiled, bowing with practiced grace. "I am Anise of the Hoary Church." There was deep pride in her voice. "I am accompanying Lady Lucy on this mission to strengthen the relationship between our two institutions."

  "Right, right," Maria muttered, letting everything that came after her name flow in one ear and out the other. She turned her attention back to Lucy.

  "So, Lucy," she drawled, "this your first real job?"

  Lucy blinked, dumbfounded by the question. "Yes, it is. How did you know that? Do I look that inexperienced?"

  Maria shook her head. "No, you look fine, girl. Your aunt told me you were still green. It’s just good to know since I’m the one in charge of getting you back alive."

  "Oh, well, I promise you I’m more than capable of taking care of myself," Lucy said, straightening with confidence. "I’m a knight, after all."

  A gentle, knowing smile tugged at Maria’s lips.

  "Ah, the amount of times I’ve heard shit like that," she mused, clapping Lucy on the shoulder. "Just make sure you keep your head on straight."

  She turned toward the road ahead.

  "Now let’s go. We’re wasting daylight."

  The path to Ashen Canyon was long, if uneventful. The harsh, gray wasteland surrounding Opazyr territory was always an eyesore. Maria relished any excuse to leave it behind for greener pastures—even if it was only to paint those pastures crimson. She pulled the collar of her cloak over her face, shielding herself from the crisp, cold morning air.

  Unfortunately for her, Ashen Canyon lay well within the reach of this dreary, colorless expanse.

  Maria led the convoy while the soldiers clung to their rigid formation. One woman, in particular, stood out to her. She walked at the front of the formation, just behind Maria. Her skin was nearly as gray as the cobbled road beneath their feet. Countless scars marred her otherwise delicate features, so many that Maria wondered how she’d survived that many blows to the head.

  “Oi, what’s your name?” Maria asked.

  “...Veronica,” the woman croaked. She spoke slowly, as though she had to dig up the answer from some distant, buried memory.

  “Shit, girl, how many concussions have rattled that brain of yours?” Maria slowed her pace until she was walking right alongside her.

  “I’m still alive, so… not enough.” A small chuckle escaped Veronica’s lips, her tired obsidian eyes flashing with brief amusement.

  Maria snorted, grinning at the dry humor. “Well, well, a survivor with a sense of humor. I like that. How long you been in the rank and file?”

  Veronica’s eyes widened slightly, her expression shifting into a more thoughtful gaze. “I’m twenty-five now, so… about ten years.”

  Maria whistled. “Sheesh. Signed up as soon as you had the chance to wrestle with the idea of being a woman. That’s tough.”

  “What about you?” Veronica asked.

  “Didn’t start racking up bodies until I was twenty, but I’ve been a little thug since I was about sixteen.”

  “You should be careful… it’s bad for a noble to call themselves that.”

  Maria waved off the comment. “Oh, bite me! I know what I am. I’ve killed women for the coins in a whore’s purse. I’m anything but noble.”

  Veronica hesitated, then asked, “Do you regret it? All the things you’ve done?”

  “Not for a second.”

  There wasn’t even a flicker of hesitation in Maria’s response. To Veronica, she almost looked proud.

  Another soldier, one of the two marching behind Veronica, nervously tapped Maria on the shoulder. “Um, excuse me, Ma’am… don’t you think you’re better off in the cart with Lady Lucy and Anise?”

  “Pfft. And do what? Sit in awkward silence the whole ride?” Maria scoffed. “You girls are more my style. Besides, it’s easier to spot danger when you’re not boxed in by wood.”

  A head poked out of the carriage window above them—Lucy, peering down like a perched bird.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she huffed. “These carriages help preserve our strength for the mission ahead. What if I get tired from walking and we’re ambushed?”

  Maria wagged a finger. “Sounds like you need to work on your long-term stamina, little princess. Long treks are part of the job. Better get used to it.”

  Lucy pouted. She opened her mouth to argue but snapped it shut when she realized Maria had a point. With a defeated sigh, she slunk back into the carriage.

  Veronica had to stifle a snicker. Maria, delighted, shot her a knowing grin.

  The group continued along the cobbled road, veering off from the main path that led to the next big city. Instead, they took a route that gradually climbed in elevation. Though the incline was gentle, the illusion of steepness was exaggerated by the landscape around them. The road remained level, but the land around it did not rise with them.

  What had once been a wide, open path now felt cramped and precarious. The further they ascended, the more the terrain dropped away on either side. Sheer cliffs yawned beside them, stretching tens of feet below. It wasn’t a drop that would kill instantly, but it was one that would ensure a slow, painful death for the unfortunate.

  For the weak-hearted, it was a terrifying realization.

  “This road… it doesn’t feel natural,” Veronica murmured, peering into the distance.

  The white, rocky wasteland was giving way to what looked like an endless desert of pale sand. She found the sight absolutely mesmerizing.

  “The Ashen Canyon is anything but natural,” Maria admitted. “They say it was created by a violent rupture of the earth. Fire came roaring from the land, then froze over, carving out the canyons as we know them—burning everything to ash in the process. That’s why the desert looks so pristine.”

  Veronica’s brow furrowed. “Wait… you mean to say… that’s not sand?”

  Maria shook her head. “It’s ash.”

  Veronica leaned in slightly, her eyes bright with curiosity. She looked like a child hearing a fairy tale for the first time. “What used to be here?”

  “Who knows? Could’ve been a forest, maybe a beautiful plain. Whatever it was, it’s been gone for at least two centuries.”

  Maria followed Veronica’s gaze toward the horizon, but her own eyes settled on the distant sun.

  “It’s strange, really. From Opal City to the Ashen Canyon, the sun doesn’t give off the slightest bit of warmth. Maybe that’s why the land is so bad.”

  Veronica tilted her head. “What do you mean the sun doesn’t give off warmth?”

  She squinted up at it, only to wince and curse softly as she shielded her eyes.

  Maria smirked. “I’m guessing you’ve never left Opazyr territory, huh?”

  “No, never.”

  “Not surprising. Judging by all those scars, you’ve spent most of your life hunting Descended.”

  Veronica nodded. “Whenever a new mine opens, a lot of Descended show up. The knights only come when things escalate. But by then…”

  “It’s already too late for people like you.”

  “Exactly.”

  Her fingers brushed over the scars on her face, her expression heavy with exhaustion.

  Maria placed a hand on her shoulder. “Chin up. You’ve lived this long, and that’s what counts.”

  She let her words settle before adding, “Besides, the Descended are probably what wiped out the retrieval team.”

  “How many of those monsters have you killed?” Veronica asked.

  Maria sighed. “Sorry to disappoint you, but only five or so. None of them were particularly powerful. My work usually involves more… human-related problems.”

  Veronica nodded. “I see… Well, either way, I feel safer with you than the two in the carriage.”

  Maria felt the heat creep up her neck. The soft, purple hue of a blush dusted her chocolate skin.

  “Ahh, that kind of praise does the heart good,” she said with a grin.

  Maria's attention suddenly sharpened.

  Coming down the path from the Ashen Canyon was a woman draped in dusty gray robes over deep purple linens. Her hood was down, revealing wild violet locks framing sharp, analytical blue eyes. She studied the soldiers with quiet intensity, her gaze like a blade honed for scrutiny.

  In her grasp was a satchel that hummed—a faint, unsettling vibration, like a distant swarm of insects.

  Tied at her hip, like a blade in its sheath, was a wooden staff. A mage.

  Their eyes met. Abyssal black clashed with fracturing cobalt.

  The mage’s attention flickered toward the carriage, then snapped back to Maria. The mercenary returned her wary stare, though her curiosity shifted to the satchel. It was glowing.

  Interesting.

  The mage’s fingers curled tightly around the bag, betraying its importance.

  No doubt about it—she had some of the mana crystals. The very same ones the Opazyrs wouldn’t take kindly to being scavenged from under their noses.

  As they closed the distance, Maria instinctively reached out. It was subtle, the kind of movement that preceded authority—a silent command for inspection. Her lips parted, ready to call the mage out, to demand she open the satchel.

  The mage’s eyes went wide.

  Terror flickered across her face as she shuffled the satchel behind her, shielding it like a lifeline.

  Maria hesitated. Then, she smirked.

  She mouthed, "Just kidding," and waved the woman off.

  The mage lingered only for a moment before hastening her pace, doing her best not to run.

  Maria knew that if Lucy or Anise had been outside walking with the soldiers, the mage would have been detained, her precious stolen cargo seized on the spot. But Maria?

  Maria was hired to secure the canyon.

  The mage was outside the locale. Not her problem.

  Or at least, that was the excuse she told herself.

  She did wonder, though—how had that woman made it past whatever took out the retrieval team?

  Maria entertained the notion that the mage might have been responsible for their disappearance, but… no.

  Not likely.

  Not with the way she looked like she was about to piss herself from their wordless exchange.

  Not ten minutes later, the cart arrived at a natural bridge.

  It was a strange strip of land. The inclined road leading to the canyon, though unnaturally elevated from the rest of the world, was solid ground. Maria peered over the edge, narrowing her eyes at the raging river far below. The water cut sharply between the road and the canyon, yet the arch of the bridge beneath them was so extreme, so unnatural, that she struggled to wrap her mind around how such a stream had carved it.

  The bridge itself was no more than twelve feet thick at its center—barely more than a sliver of rock keeping them from tumbling into the depths below.

  But what was even more curious was the woman standing at the other end.

  She was shrouded in dark blue robes, her form obscured by a heavy cloak. In her hand, she held a single dagger, its design hauntingly intricate. The hilt bore the carved skull of the dead, with grasping hands forming the crossguard. The blade itself was so pure, so unnaturally white, that it seemed to reject reality itself.

  The soldiers instinctively tightened their formation around the cart, shields raised, spears at the ready.

  Maria and Veronica, however, remained motionless.

  They locked eyes with the enigmatic roadblock, a silent standoff stretching between them. Maria kept one calm hand on her curved sword, but her instincts screamed that she might need both.

  The shrouded figure did not speak.

  Her silence spoke volumes.

  She stood alone, weapon drawn, in front of a fully armed convoy. That kind of boldness wasn’t the mark of a fool. It was the mark of someone who had already weighed the odds… and did not care.

  Would she turn this silent threat into reality?

  Maria’s musings were cut short by the heavy clang of metal greaves against stone.

  Lucy stormed from the carriage, annoyance flashing in her crimson eyes. Anise followed, practically glued to her side, looking less like a herald of a religious order and more like Lucy’s personal butler.

  "Why have we stopped?" Lucy demanded, her gaze snapping to Maria.

  Maria didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she tilted her chin toward the end of the bridge.

  "She’s blocking the path," she said plainly. "I’m gonna take a wild guess and say we’re not welcome here."

  Lucy cocked a brow, leaning forward in genuine confusion.

  "What? But this is our territory!"

  Her head snapped toward the cloaked woman, a sneer forming on her lips. She raised a vindictive finger.

  "You there! You dare stand on my family’s land and bar my passage? Step aside or be branded a treasonous wench!"

  The bridgekeeper tilted her head. Slowly.

  "You must be mistaken," she murmured. "Traitors are those who betray their own. I am not Ilefirn, nor is this land yours. It belongs to the past, right and proper."

  Lucy blinked.

  Her lips pressed into a thin line as she processed the words.

  And then—"You're speaking gibberish. Ilefirn-born or not, you need to respect our authority and step aside!"

  The shrouded woman’s grip tightened on her dagger, fingers curling with such force that Maria swore she saw the skull on the hilt silently scream.

  It was impossible.

  She was too far away to see such detail, yet… she swore it moved.

  The bridgekeeper took a slow, rocky breath, as though struggling to keep herself in check. Her voice, when she spoke again, trembled with restrained fury.

  "And if I do not step aside?" she hissed.

  Her free hand disappeared into the depths of her cloak.

  "Then you shall be executed under my rightful authority as a knight of House Opazyr."

  Lucy enunciated each word carefully, making her meaning crystal clear.

  At her command, the soldiers began shifting into an offensive formation.

  But before they could even take a step—

  "NO!"

  Maria’s voice roared through the canyon, sharp and unyielding.

  The soldiers froze mid-step. Lucy jumped, spinning toward Maria with shock plastered across her face.

  "What is the meaning of this?!" she demanded.

  The shrouded woman reached into her cloak and pulled out a white crystal.

  It hummed—that same low, insect-like drone that had filled the disgruntled mage’s satchel.

  Without hesitation, she crushed it in her palm.

  A thunderous shockwave erupted from her hand as raw mana surged into her body.

  "I said get back!" Maria shoved Lucy backward while reaching for her blade, but Anise caught her wrist.

  The herald’s glare could have cut steel. How dare a mere mercenary lay such a forceful hand on real nobility?

  Maria ripped free from her grasp, but there was no time for another attempt at saving their hides.

  The cloaked woman dropped to her knees, slamming her dagger deep into the stone beneath her.

  The blade howled.

  A blood-freezing, ghostly wail tore through the air, its unearthly shriek burrowing into Maria’s very marrow.

  Her body locked up.

  Her mind screamed at her feet to move, but they wouldn’t budge. A deep, primal fear had her in its grip.

  Then—cracks ruptured across the bridge.

  Magic surged from the dagger into the stone, sending splinters of rock into the air like shrapnel. The bridge groaned—a sick, splitting roar of destruction—before it gave way beneath them.

  They fell.

  The soldiers could do nothing but stumble back in horror as the carriage lurched toward the abyss.

  The beautiful white steed let out a pitiful cry as it was dragged down with its passengers. The cabin followed, the polished wood splintering apart as it plummeted into the raging rapids below.

  The remaining women turned to the one who had caused this disaster.

  She did not acknowledge them.

  The enshrouded woman’s gaze remained fixed on the river.

  She watched as the last bits of loose rock tumbled into the depths, listening to the final, hollow splash before turning her back on them.

  A thousand-foot chasm now separated them. There was no pursuit.

  “If you were wise,” she said, voice steady and unshaken. “You’d return home. Those women who fell are surely dead.”

  She disappeared into a storm of ash and soot.

  But as if to spite her, a ragged, gloved hand gripped the ashy riverbank.

  Maria hauled herself onto solid ground, panting, soaked to the bone.

  In her other hand, she dragged Lucy up beside her, the young noblewoman limp and unconscious.

  Ahead, Anise and Veronica coughed and sputtered, working to expel the water from their lungs.

  Maria pushed herself up, glaring at the chasm behind them.

  The thousand-foot cliff wall loomed, its surface so unnaturally smooth a spider would have slid off.

  No climbing back.

  No way home.

  Only one path remained.

  The narrow ash-strewn beach curved into the depths of the canyon.

  Maria wiped the soot from her face and forced a rasping breath through her aching chest.

  “I hope there’s an exit on the other side,” she muttered, voice hoarse. “Because we damn sure aren’t leaving the way we came.”