By the time the dinner had ended, Hadassah’s cheeks had been stretched into that polite, pleasant smile for so long that they ached if she even spoke. She woke up after only two hours of sleep—definitely not enough, but it would have to do. Dragging Rahn off her waist, she went out in search of one of the servants, requesting warm water. Once she was ready, she got to work teaching Rahn to write, giving him a script to copy. There wasn’t much time, and when dawn broke, only two hours had passed.

  Then she took him to the barracks.

  Zarek was already there. She hadn’t heard him wake up or leave, and by the time she arrived, he was shirtless, practising with a wooden staff. He stood in a steady stance, staff pointed forward, legs apart, his head facing forward, and his body to the side. He controlled his breathing and slowly moved one foot in a circular motion around the other, turning slowly before striking the wooden dummy with one solid blow. Despite how restrained it appeared, the dummy shattered on impact, pieces flying in multiple directions. Zarek then straightened up and turned to face the two of them.

  “I’m surprised you managed to wake up on time. Last night was rather long,” he remarked as they approached him. “Rahn, right?”

  Rahn’s head turned slowly towards Zarek, whose muscles glistened in the morning sun. For someone who had been in numerous battles, Zarek had no scars. It made Hadassah wonder if he had simply never lost a fight or if his regeneration was exceptionally good. Rahn, though strong, had a much leaner frame in comparison.

  “What weapon would you like to learn?” Zarek asked.

  “Teach him the sword,” Hadassah instructed. “His strength is good, so focus on hand-to-hand combat as well. If you can teach aerial combat, that would be useful too…” She rattled off her list of expectations, and Zarek crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow.

  “You seem to know your way around military arts. How come you don’t want to learn?” he asked.

  Hadassah smirked. “I don’t think my strong suit lies in fighting in such a… straightforward way.”

  Zarek rubbed the back of his head. “I know rabbits are weak, but just look at the Vortigern family. You can do it if you try. Besides, their regeneration is pretty good, so you should be fine if you get seriously hurt.”

  ‘Right, he still thinks I’m actually a rabbit,’ Hadassah thought to herself, amused. She shook her head. “Don’t worry about me. In the meantime, do you know where I can exchange shell cores for shells? Any reputable shops? I don’t want to be scammed.”

  Zarek thought for a moment, the rising sun highlighting his white hair. “Well, you’ll get the best prices in the underground market, but it’s only open at night.”

  “Underground market?” Hadassah repeated, curious. She didn’t quite understand the concept.

  “They sell things without legal restrictions,” Zarek explained, his eyes darkening slightly. “You’ll find stuff there that you wouldn’t normally see—like human artefacts.”

  Hadassah frowned, confused. “And the Vortigern family allows this to exist? I thought artefact trading became illegal after the fall of Emeris.”

  “Well, shells are shells for them,” Zarek replied with a shrug.

  ‘Ah, I see,’ Hadassah thought, piecing it together. The Vortigern family must have turned a blind eye in exchange for a fee.

  “So anyone can go?” she asked.

  Zarek shook his head. “You’ll need a pass to enter. As for how to get one, you might want to ask Kaladin later.”

  Hadassah nodded in understanding, then pulled Rahn forward, placing him between her and Zarek. “Have fun! I’ll see you in the afternoon.”

  She tried to let go of Rahn’s hand, but he didn’t release hers. She shot him a sharp look, and only then did he reluctantly let her go. “I’ll be back soon. Don’t waste this opportunity, understood?” she said firmly.

  Rahn nodded.

  Hadassah thanked Zarek once more before leaving the barracks, straight to the awakening morning markets.

  After meeting Vivian Vortigern, a thought had firmly rooted itself in Hadassah’s mind—humans were renowned for their ability to craft weapons, so shouldn’t she do the same? If her strength wasn’t enough or her speed fell short, then she would have to find a way to level the playing field. When she was younger, her father eventually gave up trying to teach her swordsmanship, but he had been insistent on her studies. No matter how much she tried to slack off, the wisps would drag her back to her books if she didn’t complete her work on time.

  She was grateful for that discipline now. The dungeon had been filled with Emerian, and she suspected any artefact manuals she found in the future would be the same. Her father had always warned her—words needed to be written perfectly for any Emerian artefact to work. Any mistakes would invite heaven’s wrath. What he meant by that, she wasn’t sure, but she had no intention of finding out the hard way.

  She spent her morning studying, carefully writing each alphabet and letter she could think of; she couldn’t afford to make any mistakes tonight. Once she was done, she burned her study papers, leaving no trace of her practice. To create an artefact, three things were essential; an instruction manual, a proper vessel, and unwavering mental fortitude.

  By the time she was supposed to go for training, she decided against it. She wasn’t prepared yet. Sleep was a better option, and so she rested, leaving the task for another day.

  When Rahn returned, the sun had already retreated, and darkness settled outside. He approached her, silent as always, but she could sense his frustration. He grabbed some papers and sat at the table, quickly scrawling his thoughts.

  ‘You lied.’

  Hadassah smiled, a touch of guilt tugging at her. “I’m sorry, I was exhausted from last night. I fell asleep. Don’t worry; I’ll go with you tomorrow and stay with you all day.”

  Rahn’s lips pressed into a thin line before he nodded. He was clearly disappointed, but Hadassah had her reasons. She stood to get dressed, and immediately he stood up too.

  She glanced back at him. “I’ll be back in a few hours. I need to prepare for tomorrow.”

  His eyes asked the question his lips couldn’t form—‘prepare for what’—but she had no intention of explaining herself. “Wait here. I’ll return soon,” she said as she tied her hair back and secured it into a bun, dressing in all black.

  He quickly held her hand, wanting a proper explanation. She noticed the desperate look in his eyes, and she took a deep breath. “Trust me,” she started, her free hand holding his face. “I will be back soon, I promise. I will not abandon you.” Only at her promise did he let her leave.

  She left him standing alone, and all he could do was sit down at the desk and practice writing. She had written her name for him to practice, and so he wrote her name, over and over again, until it looked befitting of its owner.

  Hadassah headed off to find Kaladin, assuming that if Zarek had already mentioned the underground market to him, Kaladin would likely know what she wanted.

  True to her expectations, when she knocked on his door and entered, Kaladin was sitting leisurely, a tea set arranged before him. He held a cup in his hand, and another sat ready for her. He paused at the sight of her, a smile tugging at his lips.

  “Ready?”

  Hadassah couldn’t help but laugh. Kaladin was honestly a breath of fresh air. Instead of being suspicious of his intuitive nature, she admired it. He always seemed to know what she needed before she even asked. Whatever his reasons were for helping her, she didn’t care. Everyone had their secrets, and if Kaladin turned against her in the future, she would deal with it then. For now, she simply nodded and sat across from him, taking a cup in hand.

  Seeing her sit down, Kaladin felt his heart finally settle. A normal person would’ve held him at knifepoint by now, demanding answers, but she didn’t. She might not trust him completely, but she had accepted his goodwill. That was enough for him.

  “I didn’t see you at training today. Verena was looking forward to sparring with you,” Kaladin said, watching her over the rim of his cup.

  Hadassah’s eye twitched behind her teacup as she took a sip. “Aren’t you afraid she’ll kill me if we spar?”

  Kaladin’s smile shifted into a smirk. “She would make a great matriarch one day. Her skills are quite good.”

  Hadassah scoffed, amused by his words. Of course Verena’s skills were good—she looked like she could decapitate her with a single swing of her sword. “Don’t worry. I’ll be there tomorrow,” she muttered before taking another sip. Then a thought crossed her mind. “Did the black-haired Vortigern come?”

  “Vivian Vortigern?” Kaladin raised an eyebrow.

  “Yes, her. I met her at the party. She said she would try to join.”

  Kaladin gave her a strange look. “How did you meet her?”

  Hadassah frowned, setting her teacup down. “She manipulated the corridors, so I had no choice but to meet her. I thought I was lost, but she just moved things around without me knowing.”

  Kaladin’s initial confusion faded, and his face lit up before he burst into laughter. The sound of it made Hadassah flush.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  “What? Did I say something funny?”

  “No,” Kaladin chuckled, his laughter dying down. “It’s just that I heard something interesting just now.”

  “What? That I got lost?”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “That Vivian Vortigern can control the Vortigern tree.”

  Hadassah’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Can the tree not be controlled?”

  Kaladin set down his cup and stood, his amusement still evident. “No, it can be controlled. But until now, it was thought that only the Vortigern Lord had that ability.”

  Her eyes widened in realisation, but a slow, mischievous smile spread across her lips.

  Kaladin noticed her interest and continued, “Vivian Vortigern is the Vortigern Lord’s bastard, so I find this quite interesting.”

  “So… there’s going to be a succession war soon?”

  Kaladin’s smile mirrored hers as he stretched out his hand towards her. A gentle breeze drifted in through the windows, causing his hair to flow in the wind. “Maybe.”

  Without hesitation, Hadassah reached out and took his hand.

  ˋ?-?-?ˊ

  In the depths of the outer city, far from the splendour of the Vortigern tree, Hadassah and Kaladin stood before one of twelve mysterious doors. These doors were simple, small, and unassuming—wooden slabs barely tall enough for a human to pass through. They blended seamlessly with the damp, shadowed alleyways that snaked through the city’s underbelly. The only sign of life in this forgotten corner was a rat-like figure sitting in front of the door, wearing a large round hat that covered its eyes. The creature sat unmoving, neither attracting attention nor inviting investigation. Bloodhounds and curious eyes wouldn’t even glance down a place like this.

  Kaladin, standing tall beside her, was cloaked in dark robes. His face was obscured by a smooth, glossy, haunting mask that was unsettling to look at. The mask was ivory, with tall horns that curved upward from the top and sharp features carved into the face. It had unnerving hollowed eyes and short, delicate tusks protruding from its mouth.

  Hadassah, beside him, wore a mask of her own in black, simpler in design yet similar enough to suggest their affiliation. It lacked the tusks but retained the long, protruding horns.

  Without a word, Kaladin produced a token from within his robes. It was black, rectangular, and carved with the same dragon emblem she had seen before, embellished with a red and gold tassel. The rat bowed its head upon seeing the token and stood aside, revealing the door.

  Kaladin entered first, the door creaking open slowly, its hinges groaning in the stillness of the alley, revealing a dimly lit passageway that descended into the hidden depths of the outer city. Without a word, Kaladin stepped forward, and Hadassah followed as they vanished from the sun’s domain.

  Through the tunnel, a bright and lively market opened up before them. The roots of the Vortigern tree formed a natural canopy over the space, with walls made of dirt and stone encompassing the space. Instead of houses or proper buildings, makeshift stalls lined the winding paths, each one filled with strange and exotic items—herbs, weapons, rare gemstones, and mysterious artefacts that gleamed under the soft glow of lanterns. Masked beastmen moved from stall to stall, their identities hidden beneath unique masks just like theirs.

  At the heart of the market stood a large wooden structure, a gazebo of sorts, formed from the tree’s roots and towering over the market. It drew the attention of the crowd, many of whom moved towards it, either alone or in small groups.

  “That’s the auction house,” Kaladin explained, gesturing towards the gazebo. “Anything too valuable for the stalls will be sold there.”

  He extended his hand once more to Hadassah, who took it without hesitation, staying close to him as they weaved through the market. Kaladin led her from stall to stall, showing her the hidden treasures of the underground market, and finally they came to a particular stall that seemed to sell shell cores.

  “Welcome!” an elderly woman with fox-like ears greeted them. Despite her age, she stood straight, clad in leather armour, a staff strapped to her back. “You must be young Kesmes. I’ve got some fresh cores for you.”

  Hadassah had a look; she supposed she could be considered a Kesmes, people who studied human history and artefacts; naturally, who else would understand humans more than her—a human?

  Hadassah let out a quiet gasp when she saw the prices of the shell cores; her shock was clearly audible. The merchant noticed and quickly moved to explain. “Young Kesmes, you must understand that shell cores have become especially valuable after the recent research. They’re not cheap any more. Though no official announcement has been made, all the shops are marking up their prices! This is already a bargain!”

  When the merchant said ‘cheap,’ she meant something along the lines of one thousand shells. But these cores were selling for ten million!

  “What’s made these shell cores so valuable?” Hadassah asked. She thought about selling her own core, which could bring in a fortune, but if the core had some other use, it might be worth keeping.

  The woman’s beady black eyes darted around cautiously before she leaned in. “Well… it’s a bit tricky to say.”

  Kaladin quietly placed fifty shells on the table, the small, iridescent, cone-shaped objects clinking against the wood.

  The merchant’s face lit up. “You’ve likely heard of the Veres-expedition, young Kesmes?”

  Kaladin nodded, encouraging her to continue.

  The merchant’s voice dropped. “Well, Lord Vortigern discovered something remarkable. Not many know this, but about a year ago, the Vortigern tree… moved.”

  Hadassah furrowed her brows. “What do you mean, moved?”

  “One of its roots uprooted,” the merchant whispered. “A few beastmen were killed. The Vortigerns claimed it was due to an explosion, but soon after, all the living witnesses vanished. And then, suddenly, the Vortigerns started buying up shell cores by the thousands.”

  Hadassah’s mind raced. If this wasn’t a coincidence, it meant shell cores could supply energy to something as massive as the Vortigern tree! Could it be possible that the Vortigern tree was indeed a human artefact?

  “Thank you for the information,” Kaladin said politely before guiding Hadassah away from the stall. Hadassah’s decision to sell the shell core dissolved instantly. She couldn’t possibly part with it now, not after what she had learned.

  Glancing up at Kaladin, she found his black eyes observing her closely, as if waiting for her next move.

  “I need to find a stall with old books,” she said finally, her excitement germinating in her and sprouting at an alarming rate.

  Kaladin nodded, a smile playing on his lips as his ears twitched gently. “Very well.”

  Finding a stall that sold books proved to be more difficult than Hadassah had anticipated. After winding through the market’s busy pathways, they finally discovered one tucked away in a quiet, isolated corner. A child, wearing a plain wooden mask and dull brown hair, sat huddled against the wall with a few books spread out in front of her. Her clothes were little more than rags, and her ears were noticeably absent, making her appear even more vulnerable. Despite her pitiful state, no one paid her any heed, passing by without a second glance.

  Hadassah crouched down in front of the stall and began sifting through the pile of books. The girl jolted as if she did not expect a buyer.

  The books were worn, their covers aged and fraying at the edges. The girl hesitated for a moment before speaking, her voice small and unsure, seemingly insignificant amidst the noise from the busier stalls.

  “Don’t bother… I don’t even know what language most of them are in,” the girl mumbled, her hands clutching the rags she wore.

  Hadassah looked up; her curiosity piqued. “Where did you get all these books?”

  The girl’s eyes dropped. “They were my mother’s. She passed away. These are all she had left.”

  Hadassah smiled sadly, feeling a deep sympathy for the girl. She held up one of the books and glanced at Kaladin before asking, “How much for all of them?”

  The girl’s hands trembled slightly as she wiped away the dust from a few covers. “Ten shells… ten shells should be enough.” She had tried to sell these books for two weeks; she knew their worthlessness first-hand.

  Hadassah glanced back at Kaladin, who didn’t hesitate. He reached into his robe and pulled out a small pouch, placing fifty shells on the table with a soft clink. The iridescent cones gleamed in the dim light, casting a multicoloured glow on the girl’s mask.

  The girl stared at the shells in disbelief, her hands covering her mask as though she were covering her mouth. “I… I can’t take this; it’s too much!” she stammered, her voice breaking.

  Hadassah held up a finger to her lips as if to quieten her. “You can go home now. Don’t let anyone know, and be careful.”

  The girl’s sobs grew louder as she bowed, knocking her mask against the dirt floor three times. “Thank you, thank you so much,” she whispered, clutching the shells as if they were her lifeline.

  Without another word, the girl scurried off, her small figure disappearing into the shadows of the market. Hadassah felt her heart soften. Half castes were tragic beings, bearing all the appearance of humans but none of their beast heritage. They couldn’t manifest beast traits, create artefacts, or wield the innate abilities granted by their bloodlines. It was as if the heavens had entirely forgotten them. Born without strength, they seemed destined only for death. She couldn’t help but find it bitterly ironic: when two beasts of different kinds procreated, the child always inherited the mother’s traits. But with humans, everything was different. Whether her mother was human or her father, that child would still look this way.

  How infuriating.

  Taking the books in hand, Hadassah flipped through a few pages. The script was unmistakable—they were all written in Emerian. Fifty shells was far too little for what these books were truly worth. She still owed that girl a great sum, a debt she intended to repay one way or another.

  She turned to look at Kaladin, who had accompanied her without complaint. “I owe you quite a lot of shells, but I’m afraid I have nothing to offer.”

  Kaladin’s lips curled into a slight smile beneath his mask. “There are other ways you can pay me back.”

  She tilted her head to the side, wondering what someone like her could possibly offer him. “Like what?”

  He extended his hand for the third time, “Loan me your time; accompany me to the auction.”

  “That can’t be all you want.” She was stunned. How was that worth all the shells she had eaten?

  “Well, there is nothing else I find of value.”

  Kaladin was dangerously charming, and she reveled in every moment of it, so for the third time, she took his hand.

  “Alright.”

  The auction house was a large, open structure with no doors and no walls, only wooden columns supporting the roof above. Seats were arranged on a flat plain, and people sat casually wherever they chose—there were no reserved places for those with more shells or status, at least as far as the auctioneer was concerned. A heavyset brown bear stood at the front, balanced on his hind legs, conducting the gathered crowd.

  One by one, from the centre of the auction house, items were raised by a platform emerging from a hole in the floor, each sold to the highest bidder. Hadassah watched curiously as item after item was auctioned off in seconds; a harness that gave the ability to fly, a corset that made the wearer effortlessly slender, translucent eye protectors that enhanced eyesight to match that of an owl, ear guards that enabled communication within a certain radius, and so on.

  They were all fascinating and all expensive. Hadassah thought Kaladin might place a bid, but even after twenty items had been presented, he hadn’t raised his hand once.

  “Our next item is this beautiful jade hairpin!” The bear auctioneer gestured towards a thin, plain-looking hairpin on the platform. “From our records, it is used to change hair colour.”

  The crowd murmured, and a few young men started bidding. It wasn’t a particularly practical item, and the price reflected that.

  “100 shells.”

  “120.”

  “125.”

  “127.”

  “200!”

  A clear voice cut through the crowd, drawing everyone’s attention to a girl near the back. Her raven-black hair was loosely tied behind her, and a white jade mask graced her face. At her hip hung a beautiful, gleaming sword—a sword Hadassah instantly recognised.

  “200 going once!” the auctioneer called, clearly pleased. 200 shells was far too much for such a trivial item, but he was more than happy to collect his commission.

  The hairpin was sold to the woman, who sat back down and began speaking with a man beside her. He wore a matching mask, a white fan covering the lower half of his face as they quietly conversed.

  “That’s her,” Hadassah muttered to Kaladin, who smirked as if he’d known they would run into someone intriguing.

  “Who is the man by her side? Her supporter?”

  Kaladin remained silent, either because he didn’t know or chose not to tell her. Hadassah’s curiosity only deepened as she watched the pair, wondering what Vivian intended to do with a colour-changing hairpin.

  ‘Could she possibly want to change her hair colour to white?’ Hadassah wondered, watching her. Vivian’s black hair stood out like a sore thumb against the snow-white hair of the Vortigern family, a clear marker of her status as a bastard. ‘But how would changing her hair colour alter her position?’ Could something as simple as appearances shift her standing in the eyes of her family?

  Hadassah mused to herself, intrigued by Vivian’s motives. The idea of meeting her again during the upcoming expedition training filled her with a strange sense of anticipation. What would the girl be like in a real test of skill? What other secrets did she hide behind that mask and sword? Who was bold enough to supposedly support a bastard to take a title that did not belong to her?