The sound of jade against wood forced Hadassah awake. Her eyes snapped open, and there he was—her father, sitting before her, dressed in white, his hair tied back in a neat bun. He held the jade flute in his hand, the one he had always kept close.

  “Next time, when I tell you to go to sleep on time, at least consider it,” he said calmly.

  Confusion swirled in Hadassah’s mind. ‘What is happening right now? Am I dreaming?’

  He sighed, looking at her bewildered face, and sat across from her. Her gaze lowered to the low table in front of her, then shifted to the side. She knew this room.

  The doors were open wide, letting the daylight spill in. Beyond the open hallway, the lush green forest of Valdemar stretched out in front of her.

  She glanced down at the desk, her eyes landing on the familiar sight of her Emerian scripts, her human history lessons, the beast continent studies, mathematics, basic anatomy, and the common languages. Being back in this place, with him here, felt too overwhelming for her to think straight.

  Her father sat patiently, writing from an open book, as he always had. She couldn’t see what he was working on, but she had never bothered to ask when he was still alive.

  She blinked down at her book, and her vision became blurry, her eyes stinging as tears welled up. A sob escaped her, and tears dripped onto her parchment, smearing the ink. Her father’s ink brush paused. He lifted his sleeve and set the brush down.

  “Why are you crying?” he asked.

  “Father, I—” she choked on her words, her throat swollen with emotion. She couldn’t continue, only sobbing harder. The weight of it all—the grief, the loneliness—poured out of her, and he didn’t move to comfort her. He merely waited for her to finish.

  “You know better than to cry like this,” he said gently. “You knew I could not accompany you forever.”

  Hadassah nodded, sniffling, even though understanding it didn’t make the reality any less painful.

  “But why? Why did you leave?” she asked, her voice trembling with the weight of her grief. Her father was not one to die so easily, and yet…

  He smiled, though his eyes were hidden in shadow. “It was time, don’t you think? Would you prefer if I stayed a few more years?”

  She nodded, desperately. She wanted him to stay forever, for the both of them to remain in Valdemar.

  “But I told you, I would return. Did I not?”

  She nodded again, though it did nothing to dull the ache in her chest.

  “I left you a present,” he said, his smile growing fonder. “Do you like him?”

  Her heart clenched.

  Rahn.

  What could she say?

  That she had failed to protect him?

  That she had let him get injured to the point of unconsciousness?

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice fragile and broken.

  Her father leaned forward, resting an elbow on the wooden table, his gaze soft and filled with doting. “You should take care of him well. In this world, the only person who will stand by your side is him.”

  She nodded again, her heart heavy with guilt and sadness. She wanted him to keep talking, to keep lecturing her like he used to. She wouldn’t complain or get tired of it. She just wanted him to stay.

  “A Harbinger is made for you; in this lifetime you must not abandon him.” She sniffled, nodding and listening patiently.

  “I do not recommend getting another Harbinger,” he continued, his tone gentle. “One alone is hard to control. So, do not get greedy, alright?”

  “I won’t,” she promised, her voice a quiet whisper.

  For a moment, silence filled the room. Then, for the first time, her father’s calm and kind smile faltered, his lips trembling as though he were on the verge of tears.

  “Do not cry any more on my behalf, Hadassah,” he said softly, but his voice gave away his sorrow. “It was an honour raising you.”

  His words were like a key, unlocking the floodgates she was trying so hard to keep closed. She broke down, crawling across the floor until she could bury her face in his thigh, sobbing uncontrollably. She cried, and cried, and cried.

  ˋ?-?-?ˊ

  Hadassah opened her eyes to find herself still alive. Death had yet to claim her. The pain that had wracked her body had subsided significantly, but she felt an overwhelming heaviness, as though something was pressing down on her. Slowly, she raised her head and saw a dark head of hair resting against her stomach. Rahn was asleep, his bandaged torso barely hidden beneath the covers, yet even in his sleep, he held on to her tightly. Guilt stormed through her heart as her tears dripped down onto his head.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice shaking. The pain she had felt had been crippling; if that pain had been enough to bring her to her knees, then the pain Rahn must have experienced was unimaginable.

  She made a vow to herself—she would never put up her barrier again. Not until her death. It was the least she could do to feel his pain; after all, she was his master, and he belonged to her.

  Rahn stirred, waking up slowly. He thought Hadassah’s anger would be the first thing he’d face upon waking. After all, they had lost because of his incompetence. He braced himself for it, expecting to feel her disappointment any moment now. But when he looked up at her face, his eyes widened in surprise. She was… crying?

  Why?

  He couldn’t understand. Did rage drive humans to tears? And if so, did they always have this kind of expression? Her face wasn’t twisted in fury; instead, seeing him awake caused her lips to form a soft, trembling smile. Rahn felt his heart stop.

  She was smiling.

  Humans didn’t smile when they were angry, did they?

  “I’m glad,” she said, her voice so small it was nearly a whisper. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

  He did not know that tears could look so breathtaking.

  ˋ?-?-?ˊ

  Kaladin was the first to visit, crouching at the window ledge like a thief in the night. “A mighty general sneaking around; if the others saw you, what would they think?”

  “It’s good to see you alive, though I didn’t think you sustained anything physical,” he said, slipping into the room effortlessly.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Hadassah sighed as she watched him sneak in, casting a glance towards Rahn, who had already drifted back to sleep. She felt a pang of guilt. Perhaps she hadn’t given him enough time to sleep. Sleeping seemed to be his method of recovery.

  “Here.” Kaladin pulled out a small object wrapped in parchment. “I struggled to find this, so enjoy it.”

  She accepted the object, slightly heavy and warm; its delicious aroma instantly made her stomach growl. She gasped, looking up at Kaladin in excitement before unwrapping it quickly.

  Braised pork.

  “How did you know?” she asked, her eyes lighting up.

  “At the banquet, I heard you asking the server for meat. I found it hilarious, but you probably didn’t know that asking for meat is considered disrespectful here.”

  Her face flushed at the memory. She hadn’t forgotten that the brown rabbit settlement was vegetarian, but for some reason, she thought she could try her luck in Vortigern. “You better eat it before Rahn wakes up, or you’ll have to share.”

  Nodding quickly, she unwrapped the pork and found a small stick beside it, which she used to pick up the perfectly cut cubes and pop them into her mouth.

  “It’s so delicious,” she murmured between bites, savouring every moment. This was so much better than the bland food she had endured on her journey, and so, so much better than vegetables.

  Kaladin watched her with a content smile. Only after she had finished did he ask, “Was it bad?”

  She laughed dryly. “It felt awful, but I’m just weak. If it was Zarek, the pain wouldn’t have affected him at all.”

  “Well, Zarek is a beast. You’re human. You can’t expect both of you to be on equal footing,” Kaladin replied gently.

  Hadassah gripped her sheets tightly, her lips thinning. “I know.” Her voice was cold. She didn’t need the reminder. She knew full well, but she couldn’t just blame her humanity. The truth was, she had skimped on training when she was younger, and now the consequences were right in front of her.

  “When is the expedition due?” she asked stiffly.

  “In six months.”

  “I’m guessing if we want to earn a spot, we must pass a test of some kind.”

  He nodded.

  There wasn’t a shred of her heart that believed she could secure a place, but if she couldn’t even fight against rabbits, what chance did she have in Veres? She had no choice; she needed to keep up with the others or acknowledge her incompetence and give up.

  “I will go with you all to Veres. I have no plans on being left behind.” Her eyes locked with his, unwavering and determined. Fear was nowhere to be found.

  “That’s my girl,” he muttered under his breath, too quiet for her to hear. “Train hard. I want you to go to Veres.” This time louder, so she heard him clearly.

  His words struck her as odd. “Why?” she asked.

  Kaladin tapped a finger on his cheek, as though contemplating. “Because I like humans?”

  ‘What does that have to do with anything?’ Hadassah thought but refrained from asking. Everyone had secrets, and if Kaladin didn’t want to reveal his, she wouldn’t press him.

  “By the way, you serve the Dragon Queen, right? I know this northern area is under her jurisdiction. Will they be sending reinforcements?”

  Her question, though innocent, caused a shadow to flicker across Kaladin’s eyes. “…Yes,” he said after a pause. “Your final exam will probably happen after they arrive. It is them you need to impress, not me. You can do that, right?” Kaladin’s voice was like her father’s, as if there was no doubt in her abilities.

  Hadassah’s hand instinctively touched the beads at her waist; she had a duty to protect a Harbinger and to follow her father’s instructions, and for that reason, she would do whatever was needed. “That is the only future.”

  The wind picked up for a brief moment, tugging at Kaladin’s hair, making it flutter behind him like the night’s very deity had come to life. She blinked, pulling herself out of her thoughts. He was a little handsome, but she had seen better. Still, good things should be complimented.

  “You know, you’re kind of handsome.”

  Kaladin froze for a moment, his usual composure slipping into some strange sort of shock; it wasn’t bad, almost like in his wildest dreams he did not expect to hear that from her. His eyes widened slightly before a sly smile crept across his lips. “I know,” he said, the surprise fading into a pleased tone.

  Hadassah rolled her eyes at his smug response, bursting into contagious laughter. For just a second, they could both laugh freely.

  ˋ?-?-?ˊ

  Kaladin closed the doors to his room, only to hear the light sound of nails against wood.

  “Why are you here?” he asked, not turning to see who the person sitting at the low table was.

  The tapping continued, “I was merely curious.”

  “About what?” Kaladin asked.

  “How long you planned to keep up this charade for.” Kaladin did not reply, as if he were unsure of what to say. The woman continued, “why don’t you turn around Kaladin? I can see you either way; even you cannot hide from the eyes of heaven.”

  Kaladin turned, and a confident smile graced his face like a finely crafted mask. A mask that was useless to a Seer. Neveah kept tapping the table; she was sitting crossed-legged, her palm supporting her chin, and her eyes were glowing a terrifying gold.

  “I have nothing to hide from you; nothing in this world can be hidden from you,” he said casually, as if he were talking to an old friend. He walked up to her, sitting across from her at the table.

  She remained tapping her finger, her gold eyes seemingly staring off into the distance. Kaladin poured them some tea; as long as she was extending her sight radius, she would not be able to move.

  “Who are you watching?” he asked as he took a sip himself.

  “… The Vortigerns,” she replied in a slow drawl, as if it were a tremendous effort to reply. “Verena was eyeing Hadassah during the spar, so I was curious what that little snake was planning.”

  Kaladin listened absent-mindedly as he enjoyed the aroma of the tea. “And the other one?” he asked.

  Neveah took a moment to find her. “She’s at the auction house; she’s bidding for a jade hairpin.”

  Kaladin’s teacup paused at his lips. Didn’t she bid for one already? Unless she needed two? “Did she manage to acquire it?”

  “No, she seems frustrated.”

  Kaladin thought for a moment, then his smile deepened. “So, who bought it?”

  “Do you really want to know?” Neveah asked, since when was he interested in the Vortigern’s affairs?

  “I surprise myself,” he replied, chuckling softly. “I’ll tell Hadassah later.” He took another sip of tea.

  Neveah frowned, her fingers tapping rhythmically against the table. “Be careful, Kaladin. If they find out she’s human—”

  “They won’t,” he cut her off, his tone firm. “No one will find out. No one will tell them. Besides, the last ‘human’ died that day in Valdemar.”

  Neveah’s frown softened, her glowing eyes dimming until her natural green irises were visible again. She held Kaladin’s gaze; despite her cold expression, he could see the intensity of her stare, as if trying to peer into the very depths of his soul. “Helping her won’t appease your guilt.”

  “… I know,” he said quietly, his voice carrying more weight than his words. “I don’t want my guilt appeased.” His eyes darkened, revealing a deeper sorrow. “I am content with this. And after this? It is appointed once—”

  “It is appointed unto man once to die, and then judgement,” Neveah finished, her voice a near whisper, echoing the words of the Mother of Ferals. Kaladin’s lips tugged into a faint, melancholic smile, barely visible, almost as if it hurt to express it.

  “Once I die, I will be judged,” Kaladin said, his voice distant, resigned. “But until then, I will live with my sins.”

  Neveah’s tapping finally stopped. She took a deep breath and, with compassion rarely heard from her, said, “It’s not your fault. You can’t blame yourself for something that was never in your control.”

  He didn’t respond, but the slight tremor in his fingers, still gripping the porcelain cup, spoke volumes. A Harbinger without their master is as good as dead. Kaladin knew that more intimately than anyone.

  ˋ?-?-?ˊ

  Zarek was genuinely shocked to see Hadassah arriving for training the next morning. The sun had yet to rise, and he was already covered in sweat. He stood shirtless, a real sword in hand as he panted while watching the both of them approach him. He hadn’t expected her to return so soon, especially not after how things had gone the last time.

  “Hadassah… you are well?” his voice was low and careful, almost as if he was unsure how to ask.

  She gave him a tense look but didn’t seem angry; her arms were crossed and her muscles stiff as if she were forcing herself to swallow her own ego. “I’m fine. I was weak. The weak are killed; I should not have been so shaken.”

  Zarek didn’t know how to respond to that. His guilt still gnawed at him, but her bluntness left him a little lost for words. Before he could say more, she continued.

  “I want you to train me alongside Rahn.”

  He hesitated, glancing over at Rahn, who was standing a little distance away, stretching and preparing for the day’s sparring as if his organs hadn’t ruptured the day before. His regeneration was terrifying. “Are you sure? It’s… It’s not going to be easy.”

  ‘Easy’ was as mild as he could put it. With Rahn, he could be rough, but with Hadassah, he had to constantly hold back. Her bones were fragile, and her skin cut too easily. Her body felt like glass when they fought; if he mishandled his strength even a little, she would die.

  “I don’t expect it to be easy,” she retorted. “I expect it to destroy me, but I need this. If I can’t learn to fight you, I’ll have no chance against ferals. I’ll never be able to defend myself, and I’ll remain a lamb waiting for slaughter.”

  Zarek rubbed the back of his neck, still unsure, but she wasn’t backing down. Hadassah refused to remain the child who avoided training just because it was hard; that was a mistake she could never take back, but she knew better now. ‘When you are a child, you speak like a child, you understand like a child, you think like a child: but when you become a man, you must put away childish things.’

  Among her human history books were the words of the Queen of Emeris, words that came to her in that moment.

  “Alright,” Zarek finally said, though reluctantly. “Every morning, before dawn. Don’t be late.”

  Just like that, from dawn to dusk, she dragged her body through gruelling sparring sessions, learning how to use basic weapons for more than just decoration. With the meagre energy she had left, when she returned home, she continued to push herself. From reading artefact manuals to teaching Rahn to write to tirelessly trying to modify the beads and fixing her Wyre, she fought to make sense of the nonsensical, struggling to keep pace with those miles ahead of her. Hadassah never won a fight, nor did she expect to.

  But now, at the very least, she knew she wouldn’t die so easily.