“Guess we’re both no strangers to tragedies,” I say softly. For a second, I catch a glimpse of familiarity, but I can’t quite put my finger on it, and then it's gone. I break the silence, the urge to get out of there rising. “You know how to turn the water back to your liking? Great. I’ll let you clean up and update the Institute that we’ve arrived. I’ll also ask about your dad.”
"Thanks," she murmurs, halting me mid-step.
"No need for thanks, Princess," I reply, eyes still locked ahead as I start walking. "Just doing my job."
Getting to the kitchen,I pour myself a glass of fire whiskey. Placing a feather in the center of the table, I drown my drink in one swift motion. Letting the burn devour everything in its wake, and for that, I don’t wince—I relish it.
Contacting the Institute, I say ‘Glao.’ The feather rises, crumbling into dust that swirls and shapes itself into Isolde’s face.
“Corporal Brackwell, I was starting to worry.”
“Apologies, Sergeant,” I say, standing at ease. “We encountered norous on route. The situation’s contained. No casualties.”
“Understood. And the girl?” she asks, her tone all business.
"I can confirm that she's a promising candidate,” I report. “Despite her limited knowledge of our protocols, there are no flagrant red flags. She shows a strong connection to Kvirr. Off the charts, actually.”
Isolde nods, her expression slightly brightening.“That’s good news. Good work, Corporal. Report to the Institute at 0600. Until then, stand down and get some rest, you’ve earned it.”
The call ends, leaving behind a low hum of silence. I sigh, long and heavy. Rubbing my temples like it’ll scrape off the weight pressing behind my eyes.
Tomorrow’s the full moon, always a damn delight. Means I’ve gotta stay sharp and keep my unit tighter than my grip on a dangerous turn riding my Panigale.
Comes with the stripes, I guess.
If there’s one thing Kallahan’s General loves more than killing enemies, it’s duty. With that cheery thought, I pour myself another glass. Too bad it doesn't last long, emptying it within a matter of seconds. I repeat the motion.
9
Avilyna
THE INSTITUTE
By dawn,we’re already on our way to the Institute. As much as it pains me to admit it, I have to give Kai some credit. He actually had the sense to summon horses. Practical andlate, which pretty much sums him up. Naturally, I pointed out the obvious. Maybe think of thatbeforewe trek halfway across the kingdom on foot, next time?
But magic has a funny way of keeping the scales balanced, and I got the charming reminder that there are rules to follow. No shortcuts without consequences, and Kai didn’t have anything remotely horse-related on him. Luckily, the lookout post came through.
I’ve only ever ridden ponies at the fair. The kind that walk in tired little circles, so this was hardly a comfortable upgrade. The saddle creaked with every step, and my spine felt every jolt.
But the landscape…
It was unnervingly calm, as if the world had taken a deep breath and refused to let it out, peaceful.
Neither of us says much. Turns out we share the same disdain for mornings. And I’m in desperate need of coffee. Fuck, I’d kill for the shittiest mug of bean water right now.
We ride in silence, half-asleep, surrounded by the soft rustle of autumn leaves and the distant caw of birds. Then, through the dense tangle of branches, an iron gate emerges tall, ancient, and entirely out of place in the forest.
“Welcome to the Institute,” Kai says, like he isn’t unveiling a fortress.
Behind the gate, soldiers in black tactical gear walk hurriedly to their tasks. Those who cross Kai’s path salute him like he’s someone important. He might command respect here, but whatever spell he cast on those people, it clearly doesn’t extend to me. And when their gaze lands on me, they don’t say welcome.
An old, familiar sensation crawls up my spine. The weight of not belonging, good thing I have years of practice. And at least the lookout post had what I needed to somewhat make me pass for a local. I even managed to wrangle my hair into a braid down the middle of my back. Though a few rogue curls still cling to my face like they’re plotting an escape. Honestly, the whole mess is in desperate need of conditioner and maybe divine intervention. Adopting what I’ve picked up every time my dad and I moved, I square my shoulders, lift my chin, and look straight ahead like I belong here. Even if every bone in my body knows I don’t.
And there it is, the Institute.
A towering gothic monument. Spires stretch skyward, their tips hazy from the change in atmosphere. Their corners are graced by statues that I thought were gargoyles, but now that I’m closer, I see they’re stone-carved wolves. Each of their faces varies; some are howling at an unseen moon, and others are growling in warnings.
Guardians.
