《Aconitum》


 Chapter 1

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

 Chapter 2

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

 Chapter 3

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

 Chapter 4

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

 Chapter 5

    "Are you a boy or a girl?"


    The question in common language hung in the air, filled with surprise and confusion. It was early afternoon, and Nita, who was passing through the stalls in the goblin village market, froze when she heard it. She turned around, her eyes meeting the gaze of a stranger ¡ª a human. He was standing tall among the surrounding goblins, whom she had only recently started to outgrow. The man was slender, with a beard and tanned skin that seemed unusual to her. He wore a tattered cloak over his shoulders, and his shirt, once white, was now gray and torn as if it had weathered many storms. His dark hair was damp and matted from saltwater. Nita stared at him silently, her heart beginning to beat faster. Thoughts raced through her mind ¡ª should she run? Should she stay? Was he really human? Why was he talking to the goblins? Why was he talking to HER?


    The man took a few steps closer and bent down slightly to get a better look at her. He was clearly confused, maybe even a little shocked, to find a human child in such an unusual place among goblins.


    "A girl!" he exclaimed, with a mix of surprise and amusement.


    Nita didn¡¯t wait for his next words. She cautiously stepped back, then quickly turned and ran. The man reached out, but she was too quick, darting away before his fingers could grasp her. She heard him call after her, but the words were lost in the blur as she sprinted up the narrow path leading home. The faster she ran, the more she feared someone was chasing her. Her short hair stuck to her forehead as her bare feet silently struck the stones and hard ground beneath them. Like the goblins, she had long since given up wearing shoes, and now her feet felt light and agile¡ªshe barely noticed the scrapes from the rough terrain. She was too scared to slow down or look back to see if he was following. It didn¡¯t matter. She had to get home.


    She barely paused when she threw open the gate and rushed into the garden. She would have kept running straight into the house if she hadn¡¯t collided with Rem, who was carrying a basket of herbs. She felt a solid impact and then a flash of light as she fell backward to the ground.


    "What¡¯s gotten into you?!" he snapped angrily as he bent down to gather the scattered plants.


    "Human!" she gasped, trying to catch her breath.


    Rem stood up sharply, his eyes narrowing. "Where?"


    "At the harbor!"


    He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to her feet. "Was he chasing you?"


    "I don¡¯t know!" she sobbed, distraught.


    Rem muttered something unintelligible. She could see his eyes flashing with so much an anger and hatred she hadn¡¯t seen in a long time.


    "Go wash up and treat those¡ª" he pointed to her scraped feet, "¡ªthen clean up this mess."


    He turned away from her abruptly and ran out of the garden.


    He needed to see for himself.


    Maybe he would have reacted more calmly ¡ª he might have even laughed at the girl¡¯s silly fear ¡ª if it hadn¡¯t been for the letter that had been burning a hole in his shirt pocket for weeks. With every step towards the harbor, his worries grew¡ªworries that had plagued his mind since the moment he read those lines and refused to leave him.


    His hand touched the pocket where he kept the letter. Old acquaintances had described the situation on the other continent so darkly that even Rem himself hadn¡¯t expected something like that could happen. The Elders, once powerful beings who were the foundation of all traditions and magic in this world, were now in danger themselves. The letter mentioned conflicts that had broken out between the Elders and humans. There had even been pogroms against the wolf riders¡¯ nation, with elves and fairies siding with the humans. Fairies! Those small, kind souls had taken part in the killings and land grabs?


    His old, wrinkled hand clenched the parchment through the fabric of his shirt as if he could stop all the ominous thoughts swirling in his head. Who was this man who appeared just now, here of all places? A messenger, a spy, or even a harbinger of a larger invasion? He had seen Nita, and Nita¡ª


    He stopped short and looked up at the sky, his thoughts interrupted.


    The heavens were clear, a brilliant blue, far from the color of the girl¡¯s eyes. Sometimes he felt a strange fondness and gratitude toward that small human chick, but...


    Nita was human.


    He sighed deeply and continued to the harbor. Even from a distance, he could see that an unfamiliar ship was docked at the pier. It was a sturdy, mid-sized sailing ship with a dark wooden hull that showed signs of many months at sea. It was undecorated, except for a faded flag flying from the mast. As he got closer, he could make out the emblem of a human kingdom on the flag ¡ª a shield with a crown. Unconsciously, his lips twisted into a grimace of disgust.


    There was a lot of activity on the pier. Several goblins were carrying wooden crates and sacks to the ship, which human sailors were taking from them. A burly man on deck barked orders at them, directing where the goods should be stored.


    "-bring wealth to all who are ready to trade."


    Rem caught a snatch of conversation, and a shiver ran down his spine. In a daze, he approached one of the goblins who was leaning against the wall of a house, watching the commotion on the pier with narrowed eyes.


    "Kerd, what do they want?"


    The other goblin spat. "To establish a colony. They¡¯re sailing along the coast to the north, looking for the best spot."


    "And these?" Rem gestured toward the goblins on the dock, his voice dripping with disdain.


    "Trading." Kerd glanced at Rem. "You can¡¯t forbid them. We can¡¯t avoid humans in this world, and you know it."


    Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    Rem growled.


    "They asked about your little one," Kerd continued mockingly.


    "What did you tell them?"


    "The truth. That you dragged her here from who knows where. They plan to come back for her."


    Rem froze, staring at Kerd¡¯s face.


    "Don¡¯t look at me like that. Did you think that teaching her a few words would make her accepted here? They¡¯ve left her alone so far because they found her amusing."


    Rem¡¯s eyes narrowed. "She hasn¡¯t done you any harm," he hissed angrily through clenched teeth.


    "But she doesn¡¯t belong here. She¡¯ll never be a goblin."


    That sentence struck Rem harder than he expected. She doesn¡¯t belong here, but... but!


    "Tomorrow, a ship heading to Harvena will arrive," Kerd placed a hand on Rem¡¯s shoulder and added quietly, "Think about it."


    It was well-meant advice, but with a sting of venom.


    The ship was ready to depart. The sails were unfurled, and the crew was finishing the final preparations. Memories of seeing similar ships filled with people who came as traders but left as conquerors surfaced in his mind. Every ship that departed knowing about the goblin village was a danger. And worse¡ªhe realized that Nita could be the very reason humans might return. Not as friends, but as a threat.


    "Gwaech."


    Kerd chuckled at his curse.


    The ship began to move away, the sails straining under the wind¡¯s pressure. Rem suddenly felt very old. Without a word of farewell, he turned away from Kerd and began the slow walk back home. The sun was sinking toward the hills, and shadows accompanied him on the road, not just in his mind. That little foolish human girl. If only she hadn¡¯t been so curious and stayed out of the village...


    Nita was sitting at the table, looking like a bundle of misery when Rem opened the door heavily. She looked up at him, and in that single glance, she understood. She couldn¡¯t stay here.


    "Pack your things," he said simply. There was none of his usual sarcasm.


    The girl just nodded silently, grabbed one of his travel bags, and disappeared into the storeroom. Rem followed her. She was packing her spare shirt into the bag.


    "I¡¯m giving you a choice. We can move higher into the mountains. Or head south, beyond the marshes."


    She hesitated, then pulled a notebook from a hiding place beneath the straw and tucked it into the bag.


    Rem smirked inwardly at her hesitation, which revealed that she didn¡¯t want him to know about her hiding spot. But his voice was tired as he continued. "Or we can board the ship to Harvena tomorrow. It¡¯s a neutral city, and someone there owes me a favor. They can get you to Rovisk."


    She stopped packing and straightened up. "To the Kljatvolo?ecs?"


    He nodded. "As I told you, the decision is yours. But we have to leave tomorrow."


    He tapped his foot on the ground and frowned as if he wanted to say something more. Nita watched his hand as it briefly touched the pocket of his shirt. The goblin took a deep breath but then let his hand drop, shaking his head, and walked away.


    Nita collapsed onto her straw bed, staring at the shelves lined with flasks and herbs. Why do I have to decide? she thought. If we leave together, he¡¯ll have to abandon all of this. I¡¯m a burden to him.


    She covered her eyes with her hands and took a shaky breath.


    If I went to the humans...


    She was scared. After spending so much time with Rem, she had lost all ties to humans. The human lands were enemy lands to her. And yet, if she left, she could become someone... someone strong...


    Her heart pounded with tension, and as night fell, she managed to sleep only in a restless, exhausting slumber, waking up repeatedly. Even in her dreams, she was constantly haunted by thoughts, weighing the pros and cons of both possible decisions. Dawn felt like a release.


    She found Rem sitting by one of the bushes in the garden. His vacant gaze was fixed somewhere among the blooming herbs.


    "Rovisk. I want to go to Rovisk."


    Rem closed his eyes and nodded. "Do you have everything packed?"


    She murmured in agreement.


    With a sigh, he stood up and headed towards the house. "We¡¯ll leave right away and wait at the harbor."


    "How long will the journey take?"


    "To Rovisk? A long time. To Harvena, a few days."


    "Will you sail to Rovisk with me?"


    "No."


    She hesitated. She had expected this answer but hoped for a different one.


    "Eat something-" he waved towards the table, where a few slices of bread lay. "¡ªand let¡¯s go."


    She quickly ate, grabbed her things, and then left the house with Rem. He didn¡¯t lock the door ¡ª there was no lock on it.


    That morning was stifling. The sun¡¯s rays reflected off the sea¡¯s surface, making Nita squint whenever she looked out over the water. They walked in silence, the only sounds were the calls of waking world ¡ª the hum of insects, the rustle of leaves, and the distant cries of birds. She looked back several times. She felt sad about leaving. But in the village, her sadness faded ¡ª something was different. She could sense that the other goblins¡¯ gazes had changed when they looked at her. She couldn¡¯t describe it, but despite the heat, it made her shiver. It felt as if the scent of seawater, mixed with the stench of seaweed and fish, was suffocating her today.


    Rem sat on a low stone ledge lining the edge of the pier, while Nita paced nervously, waiting for the ship.


    "Sit down," Rem growled at her. Her nervousness annoyed him.


    She obeyed but still fidgeted.


    The sun was starting to burn. When the ship¡¯s outline appeared on the horizon around noon, she jumped to her feet. As the ship drew closer, the activity around the pier also changed ¡ª the goblins began preparing barrels of salted fish and carried crates of handicrafts onto the pier.


    The ship approached, and Nita found herself breathing shallowly and quickly. Rem remained seated calmly until the ship docked and the goblins exchanged goods. Only then did he get up from his spot.


    "Stay here," he ordered Nita and headed towards the ship.


    The wooden gangway leading to the deck looked unstable, but Rem moved across it with confidence. Nita watched as he spoke to someone on deck. It wasn¡¯t a goblin or a human ¡ª it was a tall creature with large, pale eyes and an expressionless face. Sunlight occasionally reflected off scales on its arms. It accepted a few coins from Rem and began calling out melodic orders to the goblin crew.


    Rem waved at her to join him. She cautiously walked up the wooden plank onto the ship. Rem grabbed her by the arm and led her to the stern, where the cabins were.


    "They have space. If the weather holds, we¡¯ll be in Harvena in six days."


    "What is that?" she whispered, nodding towards the creature Rem had spoken to.


    "Nokken. And the ship¡¯s captain, who¡¯ll drown you if you keep asking questions."


    Rem looked serious, and Nita swallowed her other questions.


    Their cabin was tiny, with only two narrow bunks made of wooden planks suspended on chains. The cramped space made her uneasy, and she asked Rem if they could stay outside on the deck instead. He agreed. When the ship finally set sail from the shore, Nita stood by the railing, watching as the goblin village slowly faded into the distance. Rem stood silently beside her, frowning. She could read worry and something she didn¡¯t understand in his expression.


    "You look sad."


    He nodded. "I was thinking about my third name."


    "Refugee? But you¡¯ll come back, won¡¯t you?"


    "For a time, yes," he said quietly.


    She wanted to ask more, but something in his expression made her hold her tongue. So they stood together in silence, watching the village until it disappeared from view.

 Chapter 6

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

 Chapter 7

    She¡¯s beautiful! Nita thought.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    Humiliating, Nita thought. Rem had taught her that word and explained what it meant, but she had never used it. Not until now, when she saw the sailors mocking an old woman who struggled to climb aboard. When she fell, no one tried to help her. Nita looked away, her cheeks burning with heat. She wished they would just set sail already so this spectacle would end...and someone would explain why she felt so awful.

 Chapter 8

    The city stretched endlessly in a tangled maze of stone and wood buildings, with towers rising above like silent sentinels bearing proud banners of the human kingdom¡ªa shield with a crown. The smell of seawater and fish mixed with the stench of the canals and the aroma of food and incense.


    There were people everywhere, and Glen held her roughly by the wrist, dragging her behind him. They passed the most diverse groups of people ¨C jugglers, street musicians, children wearing colorful masks, and women with wreaths of wheat on their heads. In smaller and larger squares, fires burned in metal baskets, and couples with flushed faces danced to the rhythm of drums or sat by tables full of fruits and various pastries. People bumped into each other, laughed, shouted, called out to each other to make toasts, and poured intoxicatingly fragrant drinks from barrels.


    The whirl of sounds and colors made Nita''s head spin. The joy radiating from the groups of people was contagious, and for a moment, the girl felt an urge to break free from Glen and join their dance. But Glen held her tight, weaving through the streets of Rovisk with a swift stride. Her feet were filthy from walking the dusty stone streets, and her legs ached, stumbling over each other.


    No one stopped them, no one paid them any attention. Who would notice a sailor leading a small child during the Autumn Equinox celebrations?


    They had docked two nights ago, but Glen had forbidden her to leave the ship without any further explanation.


    He brushed off her questions and simply told her there would be time to journey to the warlocks the day after tomorrow. So, Nita waited on the ship, her restless young mind filled with all sorts of imaginings. In her mind, the figures of the warlocks often resembled Rem, only they were taller, cloaked, and without the greenish skin.


    She had pieced together Rem''s vague stories of the Elder''s magic and their grand residences into a vision of a large and beautiful temple, where people would patiently answer her questions just like Rem did. A place where she would feel welcomed and learn to use magic¡­ She was so close to fulfilling her dream of magic! She, a mere human child, as she often heard. This was her chance to no longer be "just" human.


    She had been planning to slip off the ship and find the way to the warlocks on her own without Glen. She thought that since she was born in Rovisk and had lived here as a child, it couldn¡¯t be that hard to find way through city. But when she watched the bustling port, resembling a giant anthill, she quickly reconsidered her plan. In the end, she was glad she waited for Glen and didn¡¯t leave the ship alone ¡ª she was lost and disappointed in the first streets they walked through. She had thought that once they arrived in Rovisk, the city would feel familiar to her. She even hoped a little to find something deep inside that would remind her of "home," some place among humans where she belonged. However, what she saw was entirely different from her memories, and Nita felt only loneliness ¡ª she was returning to her own people, yet she was a stranger. But then Glen led her into a crowd of celebrating people, and Nita''s curiosity made her forget both her feelings of disappointment and her restless anticipation of the end of her journey.


    Occasionally, they passed groups of soldiers who stood aside from the main festivities with serious expressions. Every time she saw them, it stung her heart ¨C the sight of soldiers triggered vague memories of her father and the old refugee''s stories about the war. But apart from the presence of soldiers, there was no indication that there was a war anywhere.


    Humans wouldn''t be celebrating like this if they were at war with the Elders, would they? she wondered. And suddenly, she realized that they hadn''t encountered any of the Elders or seen any symbol of the circle during their entire walk.


    Out of nowhere, Glen turned sharply into a narrow alley disappearing between two tall stone buildings. The alley was dark and narrow, the kind that would make most people take a detour. But Glen led her on, and the houses changed from open and well-kept to dark, silent buildings, and even the music and joyful shouts were fading away. Nita instinctively pulled her cloak tighter around her body. They reached one of the city¡¯s canals, which collected sewage from all over the city. No one was rejoicing here. The sailor continued leading her upstream along the canal until a view of a small square opened before them.


    The square was surrounded by old stone buildings, some with peeling walls and overgrown roofs. Nita felt that the air here was suddenly colder and heavier. A few people stood on the edges of the square, but unlike in the main quarters where joy and celebration reigned, the people here were quiet and kept to the shadows.


    Glen led her to one of the buildings, from which an older man with a frowning face was just exiting.


    "We¡¯re here."


    Nita looked up at the sign above the door, with nearly unreadable writing that said "Rat¡¯s Nest" in the common tongue.


    The building, with its walls of dark stone blocks and a low wooden roof, looked more like a half-collapsed warehouse. Three stone steps, worn smooth by generations of visitors, led inside.


    Inside, Nita was greeted by dimness and the smoke of a smoldering hearth. The dull light coming in through the windows was muted, and combined with the flickering flames, it created deep shadows in the corners of the room. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of burnt wood, mustiness, and sourness.


    It wasn¡¯t the radiant temple of her childhood fantasy ¡ª judging by the few figures in hooded cloaks sitting around with tankards in hand, she realized she was in a tavern.


    Right behind the entrance was a long bar where the innkeeper stood ¨C probably the tallest person Nita had ever seen. He leaned his massive arms on the bar and observed the newcomers with a gaze that had something peculiar in it, but Nita couldn''t quite pinpoint what it was. Something in his pale eyes...


    Glen tugged her further inside, and Nita nearly slipped on the straw that covered the floor. In the back of the room, among benches and tables covered in layers of grease, stood a few people and children. The children were of various ages, but Nita noticed that they were all younger than she was. Some were crouching, others were whimpering. One girl knelt on the floor, crying. The warlocks were indeed cloaked as she had imagined, but otherwise, they bore no resemblance to Rem at all. She frowned in disappointment. Nothing she saw ¨C the apathetic and crying children, the figures indifferently standing around, the stench and filth of the tavern ¨C resembled the joyful atmosphere she had expected.


    "Are you here with a child?"


    The voice was tinged with bored indifference, and Nita looked up at the young woman who had spoken. She quickly turned away ¨C like the innkeeper, she also had something unsettling in her eyes.


    Glen shoved Nita into the group of other children.


    "She''s a bit older and looks like a boy, but she''s a clever girl. She should fetch a better price than the others."


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


    One of the warlocks chuckled. "You should be glad to get rid of her. The price is the same for all."


    Glen grumbled something and reached out his hand. "I want her belongings," he nodded toward Nita as he took the money from the warlock.


    A chill ran through Nita, and she looked at Glen, alarmed. Why does he want her things? Humans are cruel and greedy animals, Rem¡¯s voice echoed in her head.


    She clutched the strap of her travel bag tightly. It held all her possessions, her memories of life with Rem.


    "Have it your way. Their things and clothes get burned anyway. We don¡¯t want their lice."


    Glen sneered and stepped toward Nita.


    "No¨C" she shook her head and backed away. She bumped into the wall.


    "Hand it over," he growled, reaching for her bag.


    "No!"


    She tried to kick him, but Glen was quicker. He swept her other leg out from under her, and Nita hit the floor hard, knocking the breath out of her. But she didn''t let go of the strap of the bag.


    "It¡¯s mine!"


    "Let go, you brat!" he shouted, trying to wrench the bag from her grip.


    He gave a sharp pull, but Nita clung on with all her might. The bag opened, spilling its contents - her spare clothes, several pouches of herbs from Rem, her diary...


    She let go of the bag and lunged for the diary like a wild animal. She clutched it tightly, desperate to protect it¡ªit was the most important thing she had with her.


    "Tsk," one of the warlocks hissed angrily. "We don''t have time for this." Then he spoke a word in a foreign language that Nita didn''t understand.


    A flash of red light burst forth, and suddenly the girl felt sluggish and sleepy.Her hands went limp, and she dropped her diary.


    In her head, she heard whispered words like a sweet melody, and she willingly succumbed to them. The other children also fell silent. The honeyed voice beckoned them, coaxing them to follow, and they willingly went after its lure.


    As if in a dream, she noticed the innkeeper pulling back a heavy tapestry on the wall next to the bar, revealing a corridor leading into the depths below. They descended further and further down a winding path. Nita felt the air grow colder and heavier around her, and her feet ached from the cold, damp stone. Her heart pounded in her chest, but she still had no control over her mind or body - her feet obediently continued to move in rhythm with the soft footsteps of the other children.


    The voice led them into an underground room with a low ceiling, lit by strange, reddish-glowing orbs. There was a wooden bench with piles of clothing of an indeterminate color.


    Change, the voice commanded in Nita''s head.


    She obeyed thoughtlessly, shedding her beloved cloak and her old clothes and slipping into the coarse, plain attire. She could feel the rough fabric scratching against her skin, but she didn''t care ¡ª the haze still clouded her mind.


    After they changed, a few warlocks led them down another corridor with many branches, further and further, deeper into the underground labyrinth. They stopped in a dimly lit and narrow hallway with many drapes on the walls.


    The fog in Nita''s head suddenly lifted, and she began to fully feel her body freezing in the underground cold and her burning eyes. A wave of anger, disappointment, and disillusionment washed over her. She had just lost everything she had. But wasn¡¯t this what she wanted? She felt ashamed of herself for the tears welling up in her eyes.


    The warlocks, with cold, indifferent expressions, divided the children into smaller groups and led them to the curtained sections. Nita was led by a gray-haired man with a beard. He pulled back one of the drapes and pushed Nita to step into a small room. The word "room" might have been a generous description for the niche in the wall, which held only a narrow bed and a small table.


    The space was illuminated by another of the reddish orbs, like those that lit the hallways and the entry room. Nita finally got a closer look at one of the orbs and, with a mix of surprise and mild fear, realized that the orb was looking back at her ¡ª fiery eyes stared out from within. The face inside the orb was certainly not human, grinning at her in a grotesque mockery.


    "This-" the man gestured toward the glass orb on the small table, "-is now your source of light and warmth. It''s an imp, the lowest of all demons. Make it serve you."


    He turned to leave. Nita stared speechlessly at the glass orb, where a tiny face was grinning mockingly and sticking its tongue out at her.


    "Tomorrow morning, you will start with basic training."


    Nita tore her gaze away and looked at the man, but he had already disappeared behind the curtain in the hallway.


    She sat down on the bed ¨C it was made of roughly hewn, creaking boards and a straw mattress. The orb emitted warmth and light, which gradually dimmed as the imp inside slowly closed its eyes.


    She realized that if it went out, she would spend the night in complete darkness and chilled to the bone. Her anger gave way to sheer hopelessness. She tried to speak to the orb, but the imp was slowly falling asleep and paid her no attention. In desperation, she began to threaten it, and eventually even begged, but the orb went completely dark, and Nita was plunged into pitch-black darkness. Stars danced before her eyes as she stared into the darkness where the reddish glow had just been. Her eyes filled with tears, and she chose to keep them tightly shut and curled up on the narrow bed in the stone alcove. She felt for the cold, damp blanket and tried to cover herself with it. The cold crept into her body from the walls, icy and relentless. She felt it seeping into her bones, and her whole body began to ache. She crossed her arms over her chest, shivering as her body tried to generate even a small amount of warmth for itself.


    From the adjacent alcove, she heard a quiet sobbing. She didn¡¯t want to listen; she was struggling not to cry herself. She tried to cover her ears, but the cold quickly forced her to put her hands back under the blanket.


    She vaguely sensed that she should somehow comfort the crying child next to her, but she didn¡¯t know how.


    If only Rem were here... she thought. If he were here, he''d probably force me to drink something awful and laugh at me.


    Another sob, louder this time. She took a deep breath and gripped the edge of the blanket with her fists as she tried to muster her courage. Then she got up from the bed and cautiously stepped out into the dark hallway.


    Feeling her way, she found the curtain of the neighboring alcove and entered. The imp¡¯s orb here was also no longer glowing.


    "Don¡¯t cry. It¡¯ll only get worse," she whispered into the darkness.


    The sobs quieted for a moment, and then a faint voice asked, "Aren¡¯t you scared?"


    Nita moved toward the voice and bumped into the bed. "I am. Can I come in?"


    There was only a faint rustling in response. Nita took it as a yes and slipped onto the other girl¡¯s bed, which creaked just like her own. "We¡¯ll be warmer this way."


    "What¡¯s your name?"


    "Nita. And yours?"


    "Ellie."


    Nita hugged her.


    "Why are you here?" Ellie asked in a trembling voice.


    "I want to learn magic."


    The girl whimpered. "I don¡¯t. I want to go home."


    "Then why are you here?"


    Ellie started crying again. "There were too many of us at home. We didn¡¯t have enough to eat."


    Nita regretted that she didn¡¯t have any herbal tinctures or salves that could soothe Ellie. She wondered what to say to calm her. What if I say something wrong, and she starts crying even more? She wished once again that Rem was there with her. He could at least tell a story... A story!


    "Would you like me to tell you a story?"


    Nita sensed the other girl¡¯s movement, which might have been a nod. She thought for a moment and then began to tell Ellie about her journey by ship to Rovisk. She described the ship and the voyage along the coast ¡ª but she decided to leave out any mention of the undine and the war. She wasn¡¯t sure if she could confide such things to anyone at all.


    Ellie¡¯s breathing gradually calmed until it became a steady wheeze, and Nita realized the girl had fallen asleep. Her own eyelids were as heavy as stones. Her mind slowly drifted into a dream, and her last thought before falling asleep was that Ellie¡¯s skin felt far too warm.

 Chapter 9

    Nicholas was ambitious. Every decision he made was driven by his relentless desire to succeed. Nothing in his life held as much value as power over others and the sweet, intoxicating recognition that came with it. Everything else ¡ª relationships, morality, humanity ¡ª were merely tools for him to fulfill his ambitions. The worst part was that he realized his best years were slipping away through his fingers like sand, and he had achieved nothing.


    He was furious. He had just returned from a royal council meeting, and if he had allowed even a small outburst of his true feelings, his entire study would have gone up in flames. But Nicholas considered such displays a weakness, so instead of letting his anger consume his study, it only scorched his soul.


    Bunch of hypocrites!


    Once again, he had been forced to stand, humiliated, amongst the servants - not seated at the table with the council members, but on the sidelines! The king had deliberately left no seat for him at the table, and the final blow to his pride was the smug grin on Sepp''s face, that self-satisfied ass, who had mocked him the entire time. For hours, Nicholas had stood there, breathing in the mix of perfume masking the stench of sweat and piss, completely ignored. No one cared about his opinion. Only at the end was he dismissed with a wave of indifference.


    Scum! One day, I will-!


    Nicholas took a deep breath and collapsed into the chair behind his desk. Though he didn''t want to admit it, he was exhausted, tired. For so long, he had schemed, manipulated, betrayed, even bribed his way into becoming the warlocks'' representative on the council¡ªand what had it earned him? Sore feet and wounded pride.


    His eyes fell on a worn, ragged notebook, peeking out from beneath the pile of scrolls. He picked it up, turning it absentmindedly in his fingers. He recalled how that little girl had desperately tried to protect this dirty booklet. Some kind of heirloom? he had thought at the time. He had picked it up off the tavern floor without thinking, then laughed at himself and tossed it onto the table amid the other papers. He never read it ¡ª had completely forgotten about it. It wasn¡¯t worth his attention, after all, the girl was bound to die anyway.


    Four times a year, they would purchase orphans, starved and sickly children as new apprentices. The situation had grown worse in recent years. They were so desperate, they¡¯d started taking the crippled ones, kids who didn¡¯t stand a chance. There were fewer and fewer warlocks, and those who had fallen into addiction made matters worse. They would sit together in dark cellars, drinking belladonna mead ¡ª a drink originally meant to train the mind before a first demonic pact. It was brewed with a special concoction of herbs, including belladonna and wormwood, and more and more warlocks began abusing it, drinking even after their pacts were sealed.


    Nicholas blamed the king. If they weren¡¯t confined to this damp underground, but instead enjoyed their power over the world outside, they wouldn¡¯t feel the need to escape into hallucinations. They could have already dominated all the Elders! But that ridiculous figure on the throne was a cowardly old man, frightened of his own shadow. That¡¯s why he left the warlocks ¡ª his mightiest allies ¡ª rotting in these catacombs like the lowest of the low.


    But disobeying the king meant death thanks to the blood bond, a safeguard the Elders had put in place ages ago with their magic. How much Nicholas hated the Elders for their smug superiority! He blamed them too for wasting his life among lost souls who barely resembled the once-proud warlocks.


    He called them "the Seekers," searching for some impossible enlightenment they would never find. With vacant eyes, they mumbled incoherently, trembling with fever. In their moments of euphoria, they transformed into dangerous beasts, drunk on power. But when the high wore off, they were left as shattered husks, their minds lost, their lives consumed by the very demons they sought to control. Sometimes, a warlock would take his own life in a final flicker of free will ¡ª but most of them faded into nothingness. Their minds broke, leaving only empty shells staring into the void. Nicholas had seen several of these ¡ª puppets that occasionally twitched, speaking forgotten languages. But it wasn¡¯t human who spoke through their mouths.


    In this state, the most merciful thing was to burn the body, otherwise, it died very slowly. Nicholas wasn¡¯t even sure if a body possessed by demons could truly die. He had heard stories from older warlocks about necromancy experiments conducted on such remains ¡ª long ago, deep within the lower levels of the catacombs, which were now collapsed and inaccessible.


    The belladonna mead, the scorn of the royal council, the king¡¯s indifference, the weak and useless apprentices ¡ª all of it caused the number of warlocks to dwindle, along with their status. And now, here he sat, angry and weary, dark thoughts swirling in his head as he stared at the crazy girl¡¯s notebook. What else could she have been but a mad wildling?


    Just two days after the children were taken in, the first of them died. Normally, Nicholas wouldn¡¯t have cared, except for the rumors that spread about the child in the neighboring bunk, a child who had caused quite a stir with a small incident.


    A minor incident, he thought with a grim chuckle.


    Most children crawled in the dust before the masters, broken by fear, and those who didn¡¯t died quickly. But this girl was different. She did something that caught everyone¡¯s attention. She bit Langar?


    A rabid, mad animal!


    Animals ¡ª that¡¯s what all the children were to him. Perhaps not even that¡ªmore like tools, toys that broke long before they were worth noticing. But this child? She wasn¡¯t just a desperate, whimpering animal. She attacked. Apparently, they were about to drag a corpse in a sack to be burned when the furious child pounced on them, fighting. They had to knock her out to stop her. After that, she never spoke again. They saw her at meals with the other children, but then she¡¯d disappear somewhere in the corridors. Like a rat.


    Nicholas allowed himself a moment to wonder what might become of her if she survived. He quickly pushed the thought aside, shaking his head. Even if she managed to control the imp and complete the initiation, voices were already calling for her to be dealt with. A child that wandered where it pleased, didn¡¯t attend lessons, and disrespected her superiors? Unthinkable! The loudest of these voices, of course, belonged to Langar, who couldn¡¯t swallow his humiliation.


    With a bitter smile, Nicholas pushed the filthy notebook back among the other documents and leaned back in his chair.


    She¡¯ll probably be the next one dragged to the pyre, he thought, dismissing her from his mind.


    He was wrong. In the end, she was one of only two children left alive. The rest had fallen to the fever, and one had tried to escape ¡ª only for his body to be found deep in the labyrinth, gnawed by rats. No matter what they did, they could never rid the catacombs of those vermin.


    That morning, Nicholas expected them to carry her off for burning as well. The day before, he had encountered her in the hallway ¡ª she didn¡¯t look well. Barefoot, her eyes were feverish, her lips blue, and her breath ragged. He didn¡¯t give her much chance of surviving the night. She had fled before he could say anything. So, as he walked toward her cell, he merely wanted to confirm his expectations¡ªshe was too weak to survive.


    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    And yet, when he pulled back the curtain to her bunk, the heat hit him in the face like a wave. She sat on the bed, an imp spinning furiously inside its sphere, radiating warmth.


    Nicholas stepped back. He stared at the girl, confused thoughts swirling in his head.


    She should have been dead!


    He frowned at her, his voice shaking with a mix of anger and bewilderment as he barked at her.


    "How did you do that?"


    She lifted her swollen, tear-streaked eyes, the red glow of the imp¡¯s sphere reflected in them. It was clear she had spent part of the night crying. "I insulted him."


    She insulted him?


    He stood in silence for a moment before realizing what she had said. He laughed, though his laughter was sharp and derisive. Insulted him ¡ª such absurdity. Imps, though the lowest of demons, were creatures of pure malice. Such a thing should have been impossible.


    How could an ordinary girl insult something that knew no mercy and had no soul?


    His laughter died down, but Nicholas¡¯s lips still curled into a smile¡ªat least, his mouth resembled a smile, though his eyes were cold.


    "Your task was to control him. To gain his obedience. And instead, you¡­ you simply failed." His voice dripped with icy mockery. "Insulting a demon isn¡¯t an accomplishment."


    The girl lifted her head defiantly, frowning at him.


    "What did you say to him?"


    She hesitated.


    "Nothing. It was¡­ an accident."


    Nicholas narrowed his eyes, and the girl looked away, biting her lip.


    Liar, he thought. What did she say that she didn¡¯t want to admit?


    He looked at her more closely. She was a scruffy, disheveled bird, clearly struggling with fever. Only the warmth of the imp¡¯s sphere had saved her from certain death during the night. And yet, despite her weakness, she stood there, defiant. Her defiance both disgusted and intrigued him.


    Could she surprise me again?


    He chuckled to himself. By the rules, he shouldn¡¯t intervene, but what if he gave her a small push, guided her just a little? It went against the unspoken principles.


    A weak mind quickly crumbled under the influence of demons; only those with the strongest will could achieve anything. Guiding children through the imp¡¯s trial was forbidden because dealing with a half-mad warlock was far worse than cleaning up a few bodies. But what if¡­? Her survival would be his success. All thanks to him.


    "If you want to control him, you need to be able to sense his essence. The fastest way is to learn how to leave your body with your mind. Then you¡¯ll sense it quickly."


    With that, he let the curtain fall and left.


    But she didn¡¯t learn. She failed. And though he had anticipated it, her failure irritated him. The others had given up on her ¡ª when they came to her cell a few days later, she was gone. Her blanket and the imp¡¯s sphere were missing.


    She was hiding in the labyrinth of underground corridors, and since no one wanted to waste energy on one insignificant child, they eventually left her alone. They stopped paying attention to her, though she was occasionally spotted dashing for food before vanishing into the halls, dirty and wild-eyed. She looked like a feral creature retreating into the shadows.


    But Nicholas hadn¡¯t forgotten her.


    The last child ¡ª a boy ¡ª had survived, managing to control his imp the very next night. Nicholas wondered if it was mere coincidence, or if the wild girl had helped him. He was sure only several months later ¡ª when during the next rites, more than half of the new children survived. Far too many for it to be mere chance.


    How dare she?!


    He felt betrayed, and her audacity in breaking the rules made his blood boil. He was angry not only at her but also at himself for having shown her the way.


    If I ever get my hands on her¡­!


    But she eluded him, and he had so much other work that even searching the labyrinth of tunnels would be a waste of precious time. Days turned into weeks, and his anger dulled, sinking into the depths of his mind. He didn¡¯t want to keep raging over such an insignificant child. She wasn¡¯t worth his attention ¡ª though a small flicker of rage still stirred every time he thought of her.


    He came across her again when early spring came to Rovisk. He was returning, tired, from a night of negotiations and arguments, making his way back to the Rat''s Nest. It was early morning, that moment when the birds timidly begin to sing, though no trace of the sun¡¯s first rays could yet be seen in the sky. The tavern''s fire was still burning, and a few oil lamps flickered softly as the innkeeper eyed him with a piercing gaze. Nicholas couldn¡¯t resist a disdainful smirk as he passed by silently, heading for the hidden corridor - when he saw her. She stood behind the tapestry, leaning against the wall, watching the innkeeper through a gap.


    "You think you¡¯ll escape this way? Foolish girl."


    She frowned but didn¡¯t take her eyes off the innkeeper.


    "Is he human?"


    Nicholas shook his head. "Homunculus."


    The girl looked at him, curiosity gleaming in her eyes, and for a moment, Nicholas felt a chill.


    He saw in her a reflection of himself ¡ª a hunger, a thirst for knowledge, an insatiable desire... In that instant, he forgot all his anger.


    "What¡¯s a homunculus?"


    He found himself answering without hesitation. "A creature made through alchemy and magic. One of the kings had the Elders make him long ago, to keep watch over the warlocks."


    "Did someone want to harm the warlocks?"


    Nicholas burst out laughing. "No! It watches us to make sure no one under the influence of mead leaves the catacombs. It protects the people from us."


    She frowned even more, which amused him so much that, in a fit of generosity, he gestured to her with a wave of his hand.


    "Come with me."


    She didn¡¯t move. Nicholas shrugged and walked away, tossing over his shoulder, "I have something that belongs to you."


    He didn¡¯t need to look back to know he had lured her. He sensed, rather than heard, her small, quiet footsteps on the stone floor.


    When they entered his study, Nicholas lit the lamps with with a few gestures. The room was low-ceilinged, filled with the stale scent of damp stone and burned incense, which the narrow ventilation shaft couldn¡¯t fully dispel. The walls were lined with shelves filled with carefully arranged books and the strangest objects. Each item, each trinket, had its exact place. Only his desk, covered in a mess of scrolls and papers he didn¡¯t have time to sort, was in disarray. From the heap, he fished out a small, tattered booklet and tossed it at the girl.


    She caught it quickly, clutching it tightly in her fingers. Her disbelieving gaze flickered between Nicholas and the notebook. She mumbled something that sounded like a thanks.


    He watched the pale knuckles of her fingers, gripping the book tightly, and smirked. "That thing seems to mean a lot to you."


    "It¡¯s my diary."


    For a moment, Nicholas¡¯s sneer froze. "You can read and write?"


    A new curiosity sparked within him. Every apprentice who survived their first trial was required to learn to read and write, but it was a slow and painful process. If she already had this skill, then she had value. Even if she hadn¡¯t mastered the imp, he could use her for something else.


    He grabbed one of the scrolls and unrolled it. "Prove it."


    He watched closely as she frowned and began to read. She could indeed read¡ªhaltingly, but fluently. Nicholas looked at her with a mixture of fascination and disdain. She looked ridiculous and out of place, standing in the midst of his organized study, dirty, ragged, with tangled hair, reading softly from a diplomatic report.


    "That¡¯s enough," he cut her off.


    She raised her eyes to him.


    "You¡¯ll never be a warlock. But you do have some skills that I can use. Read, write, and stay silent, and I¡¯ll make sure you have food and clothes.¡±


    She seemed to be weighing her options for a moment, but then she nodded.


    "Good. Do you have a name?"


    She hesitated, licking her lips.


    "Nita."

 Chapter 10

    Trigger Warning: The following chapter includes depictions of violence, emotional distress, and sexual assault. Please proceed with caution.


    Time flowed differently in the depths of the catacombs than on the surface. Days blended into an endless stream of dim, damp stone and shadows creeping along the walls. Days turned to months, and months to years, though Nita was never entirely certain just how many years she had spent in the dark maze of corridors.


    She filled her days in the monotonous twilight in various ways. If she wasn''t helping Nicholas or buried in books, she wandered further and further through the twisting corridors. The tunnel system was vast, clearly built long ago. She often encountered collapsed ends of tunnels or rooms filled with rubble. In some places, water seeped through from above, and Nita knew they were beneath the river canals. Exploring the catacombs felt like the only real freedom left to her.


    Sometimes, she felt as though she had lost herself in those shadows. The curious child who had once sought answers to every question was gone. Now, in her place, a nearly-grown girl wandered the halls, shoulders slumped, eyes hollow. The pointless death of Ellie, the betrayals and losses she had endured, along with the bitter disillusionment with people and her own failures ¡ª these had all etched themselves deeper into her soul than she was willing to admit.


    When she had first accepted Nicholas¡¯s offer, he had given her a bundle of warmer clothing and boots.


    Boots. Those stupid boots!


    She cried when she first put them on. As long as she could feel the cold, damp stone against her bare feet, she felt connected to her past, to her freedom. But the raw cold of the catacombs was unforgiving. And after stepping on countless rat bones during her wanderings, she was glad to have them. Yet, every time she laced them up, there was a soft pang in her heart ¡ª a small, buried memory of warm earth, grass wet from rain, sand between her toes... her childhood, her home by Rem. Those memories had once brought her to tears, now only a resigned sigh. With every step, every tug of the laces, she gave up a part of herself. Somewhere inside, something had quietly and irreversibly broken. In the end, all that remained of her past was her diary and her short-cropped hair.


    She knew Nicholas found her appearance disgraceful, that he often looked at her like she was a dirty servant, something beneath him. Yet, when she had found a pair of old, half-rusted scissors in a forgotten room during one of her solitary wanderings, she had taken them without hesitation. She cut her hair by herself and it was visible - uneven, spiky strands of different lengths covered her head. She still resembled a unkempt, dirty sparrow, but she refused to give up the short hair.


    Aside from the clothes, Nicholas had also assigned her a small room near his study. Nita only stayed there out of necessity; she felt far better when she could vanish from sight and be alone in the corridors. She always took her imp along, though he was unreliable. The mischievous little demon only responded when she spoke in the language of the Elders. That was her secret, one she had never revealed to Nicholas. Because of the imp, she continued to secretly learn new words from the moldy books she found in the forgotten corners of the catacombs, where they had long been abandoned. Sometimes she borrowed them, other times she outright stole them, reading them aloud to the imp. Occasionally, she addressed him directly, and the response was often a mocking grin, but Nita didn¡¯t mind. Pride had long since left her ¡ª what mattered more was that he provided warmth and light. Several times, she had nearly gotten lost in the corridors because the imp decided, on a whim, to fall asleep. Then she would shuffle back along the walls in the dark, inching her way toward the main halls, which were always lit.


    Lately, she had less and less time for her explorations due to Nicholas¡¯s demands. Still, working for him didn¡¯t usually bother her. She had learned how to be indispensable yet invisible. She organized the chaos of his desk, prepared parchment with careful records for him, and even managed to turn his incoherent notes into texts that made sense. She had developed the ability to anticipate his needs before he voiced them. And when he burst into the study, angry, she knew when to light incense to calm him and when it was better to be silent and disappear. Occasionally, he would glance at her with disapproval when she helped shape his scattered thoughts into a sensible plan. He never praised her directly, but when he silently adopted her suggestions as his own, she felt a cold, quiet satisfaction inside.


    However, he never took her outside the Rat¡¯s Nest, and Nita wasn¡¯t sure if the homunculus would even allow her to pass. But more and more frequently, Nicholas took her along to meetings with other warlocks. At first, she was merely a shadow, but over time, the other warlocks noticed that Nicholas was increasingly selecting her, while older, more experienced apprentices remained in the background.


    Nita never dreamed that anyone might be jealous of her. And that was her greatest mistake. The older apprentices silently watched as she gained Nicholas¡¯s favor, and their resentment grew with each passing day. The envy she failed to notice slowly turned into malice ¡ª and from that malice, a plan was born, waiting for the right moment. That moment came one night when, in blissful ignorance, she fell asleep in her small room.


    Pain ripped her from her sleep. There were two of them¡ªthe older apprentices who had always glared at her with such hatred whenever she appeared at Nicholas¡¯s side. The reddish light from the imp¡¯s orb reflected in their eyes, filled not only with anger but something more. They had come to break her.


    "You think you¡¯re better than us?"


    A wave of fear surged through her, and she tried to wriggle free, but it was futile. Life in the catacombs had taken its toll on her body. She had never grown as tall as the others, remaining as small and thin as a reed.


    Panic choked her. Everything around her began to lose shape; her own body felt like nothing more than a shell trapped in a world of pain. She felt every blow, every touch, as if her senses were heightened to an unbearable degree. She tried to focus on something else, but the pain was like a boulder crushing and burning her at the same time. She didn¡¯t want to feel, didn¡¯t want to be.


    This isn¡¯t happening to me!


    She froze and stared at the ceiling.


    This isn¡¯t me. This isn¡¯t my body.


    The world started to blur. With a sob, she inhaled sharply and suddenly felt lighter and lighter. Where there had been pain a moment ago, now there was only a spreading emptiness. The ceiling seemed to be drawing closer, and Nita realized it wasn¡¯t the ceiling that was approaching her - it was she who was floating towards it. Her mind was hovering above her immobile, powerless body. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed something unusual. The orb with the imp, which had until now cast only a dim glow, was now shining with a different light ¡ª brighter, sharper. It pulsed, and within that light swirled something that drew Nita¡¯s consciousness toward it. It was raw energy, writhing and restless, full of power.


    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    The dozing imp opened its eyes and looked at her. Not at her physical body, but at her mind floating in the room. Their gazes met, and Nita suddenly understood what the essence of the demon truly was. She was flooded with feelings of malice, mischief... and loneliness. Its energy called to her, waiting for her mind to seize and reshape it.


    "So, you¡¯ve done it," chuckled a spiteful voice in her mind, and Nita realized the voice belonged to the imp. He spoke to her in the tongue of the Elders.


    Through a fog, she heard the apprentices laughing and hurling insults. The horror of what was happening to her body was everywhere, yet distant, a background fading before the demon¡¯s radiant essence. Pain and revelation merged into one.


    Something tugged at her mind, pulling her back into her body.


    Not yet! Not ye-!


    She blinked, and a wave of pain flooded her senses. She was back, but the room was empty. The apprentices had left.


    She turned her head and looked at the orb. The imp watched her, glowing faintly, but she could no longer hear its voice in her mind. The connection had been severed, and Nita felt lonelier than ever before.


    Cautiously, Nita sat up on the bed, her face twisted with despair, and let out a sob. Words slipped from her lips without thinking, words Rem had once used to comfort her.


    "What else can you expect from people?"


    That sentence was filled with bitterness. Yet, at the same time, it stirred something inside her, forcing her to shake off the numbing humiliation and gather her thoughts.


    This must never happen again...


    She wrapped her arms around herself and stood up. The pain and the wetness clinging to her body made her stomach churn. She only managed a few steps before collapsing to her knees and vomiting up her entire dinner. Tears streamed from her eyes and nose despite all her efforts to hold them back.


    I have to pull myself together. I have to...!


    Her body trembled as she fought off another wave of convulsions, but she forced herself to stand again. Barefoot, she stepped out into the corridor and, relying on memory, made her way through the darkness to a room she had discovered only recently. She stumbled, the cold stone biting at her feet, but she repeated the same thought over and over in her mind.


    I must do this.


    She leaned against the wall, and under her fingers, bits of mortar and cobwebs crumbled. She moved as if in a feverish dream, relentlessly repeating the few words she clung to, until her hand brushed against a set of low, old doors. She opened them. A still darkness radiated from the room.


    She took a few steps inside, feeling deep grooves etched into the floor beneath her feet.


    I must-


    She stepped into the circles, and a faint light flickered in the room, as if responding to her presence. Nita''s breathing quickened. She inhaled and exhaled deeply several times, and the air around her suddenly became heavy and stifling.


    She knew what to do. From the books she had stolen and read over the years, she understood that it didn¡¯t matter WHAT she said ¡ª what mattered was HOW she said it.


    "I summon you!"


    She poured all her despair and longing into those words, spoken in the common tongue. The shadows around her ankles flickered and flared like cold, dark flames, and the air became thick with an acidic sharpness that stung her eyes and throat.


    But no demon appeared.


    "Daara ithra!"


    This time, she called upon the language of the Elders, the first words that came to her mind. Her voice was hoarse, and the words struggled to escape her lips, but she forced even more power into them. The shadows continued to dance around her, but she remained alone. She pressed her lips together, her mind racing feverishly.


    What am I doing wrong?!


    Breathing became harder and harder, the air burned in her lungs. She closed her eyes, trying to recall the feeling from when her mind had slipped from her body. The sensation of weightlessness and connectedness to everything around her, the moment when everything became one, and all it took was to reach out with her mind to make a desperate wish manifest.


    "Paaz z¨©tu!"


    Another tongue of the Elders, ancient and nearly forgotten. She wasn¡¯t even sure if she was speaking the words correctly or if her mind was merely stringing random syllables together. But the tips of her fingers began to burn and tingle as if they were touching real flames. She sensed she was no longer alone. She inhaled, but it felt like she was breathing fiery coals that constricted her chest.


    She opened her eyes. From within the black flames, a pair of glowing eyeballs stared at her. The demon''s face, however, remained shrouded, hidden in the shadows that writhed and fluttered around it. The entire space around it twisted and shifted constantly, making Nita¡¯s stomach turn as she tried to peer through the darkness controlled by the demon, which cloaked him like a trembling veil.


    "Little one," the demon addressed her, tilting its head. The shadows rippled and revealed a crooked smile. "Why did you summon me?"


    "I don¡¯t want to-" she faltered, swallowing hard. She was no longer sure what to say - there was so much! Waves of helplessness, anger, shame, fear, and emptiness crashed against her mind like a stormy sea. She felt them overwhelm her, realizing that all these emotions were now leading her to one conclusion: "I don¡¯t want to be weak."


    "And what are you willing to sacrifice for that?"


    The demon¡¯s question caught her off guard. It was supposed to be simple - command the demon, impose her will upon it, take its power. But this creature resembled nothing she had read about.


    The demon whispered, as though coaxing a small child. "Name for name, soul for soul."


    "You want my name?" she tried to sound confident, though she could hear her own voice tremble.


    The demon chuckled softly, a sound like metal scraping across glass. "You know nothing, and yet you toy with such things. Name for name, service for service. I will tell you my name first, since you do not know what to do."


    He leaned closer, and Nita felt as though the space around her was shrinking, pulling her nearer to the demon¡¯s face. A painful sob escaped her lips.


    "Flaethrun."


    As the name left the demon¡¯s lips, the air around it shimmered as if the single word had transformed into heat. White flames burst from the darkness that surrounded him, blinding Nita for a moment.


    "But for you, your name is not so simple, is it?" the demon pulled away, his eyes piercing into her like daggers, waiting for her response.


    She gasped for breath as the pressure on her chest eased slightly. "My old name... I don¡¯t know it."


    "Yes. That is true."


    "Nita."


    The demon made a sound like a dissatisfied click of the tongue. "A lie."


    A lie? She blinked in confusion. Her head spun, and breathing the hot, acidic air became more difficult with each passing moment.


    "I¡¯m not lying!"


    He leaned closer again, and Nita¡¯s breath caught in her throat. She was certain her blood was boiling beneath her skin, her heart pounding erratically.


    "You lie. What is your true name?"


    She felt on the verge of losing consciousness. Panic surged through her.


    "Nita is my name! My name that I chose! Rem called me Aconitum!" She tried desperately to shout, but only a rasp escaped her throat.


    "Yes. THAT is the truth."


    The demon extended a hand towards her, and Nita grasped it with all her remaining strength.


    Sharp, searing pain shot through her fingertips, as if dozens of needles were stabbing into them.


    "Name for name, soul for soul. The pact is sealed."


    She heard no more. Darkness swallowed her as she fell unconscious.

 Chapter 11

    The sound of her own breath woke her. She blinked and forced her burning eyes open, though it was pointless ¡ª the darkness behind her eyelids and the reality around her were indistinguishable. She lay on her back, unable to tell where her body ended and the void began. Darkness was everywhere, and it seemed to move, almost breathing with her every exhale, creeping closer and pulling away, like it was toying with her. There was nothing ¡ª no light, no point of reference ¡ª just that deep, suffocating blackness.


    Slowly, her awareness returned, and with it came the chill of the stone floor beneath her. She tried to move, but a wave of pain washed over her. Yet along with the pain, something else began to surface. Deep inside her mind, a foreign presence unfurled. It felt like a tingling sensation ¡ª or more like an itch she couldn¡¯t scratch. The more awake she became, the more it writhed, twisted, and mingled with her own thoughts. Clutching her head with her hands, she curled into a ball. It felt as if her skull was expanding beyond its limits, ready to burst like chestnut in the fire at any moment. Each heartbeat sent a spike of agony to her temples, and her skin prickled, strangely sensitive and hot. Her own mind was shattering, replaced by raw images and impressions that stabbed like sharp knives, stripping her of reason.


    Out, get out!


    She struggled to push all the foreign thoughts out of her head, to suppress them. Through the pain, a desperate command escaped her lips.


    "Stop!"


    It was no more than a weak whimper, but even that one word was enough. The foreign consciousness retreated to the corners of her mind, the pain subsided into a mere tugging at invisible threads of thoughts.


    She tried to sit up. Her fingers clung to the stone floor, trembling under the weight of her own body. Her hair stuck to her sweaty skin, her stomach churned as though she were adrift on a stormy sea, and a bitter taste of bile lingered in her mouth and nose. Something alien, restless, had made a home inside her, urging with a whispering compulsion: Call me, let me help you.


    Memories began to return in pieces ¡ª blurred, distorted, as though seen through cracked, dirty glass. Flickers of images and sensations slowly came together ¡ª dancing shadows, the burning in her fingers, moments of helplessness, all blending and confusing her. Among them, a pair of glowing eyes emerged, and a name spoken aloud.


    The realization hit her like ice water: she had done something terribly, terribly wrong. A demon. It was his presence now entwined with her consciousness. His mind. He wasn¡¯t serving her ¡ª he was IN her.


    Another tug, and the echo of laughter, soft as the rustling of dead leaves in the wind. She couldn¡¯t tell if she truly heard it or if it was another figment of her mind. Her hands shook even more. He wasn¡¯t just inside her; he had melded with her thoughts, quietly observing, waiting, and sensing even what went unspoken.


    "You deceived me," she whispered.


    The response came before she could hear it. A wave of rejection rippled through her mind, leaving behind a cold trace of displeasure.


    Bitterness gripped her throat. She could no longer distinguish where her mind ended and the demon¡¯s began. It felt so unfair. She had lost so much over the years, and now even the freedom of her own thoughts? This wasn¡¯t what she had expected. The bitterness mixed with anger, but that too was fading, slipping away, leaving behind only emptiness.


    What do I have left?


    A surge of warmth washed over her, as if someone had wrapped her in a warm blanket. Another tug, another coaxing: Let me help you.


    She tried to move again, to stand, but her body wouldn¡¯t obey. She clenched her teeth. She could feel him waiting ¡ª calm, detached, yet always present. She swallowed all the bitterness like a poison burning her throat. She needed him.


    "Flaethrun-"


    A sudden sense of satisfaction rippled through her, like the soft purr of a cat.


    In the darkness, white, glowing eyes appeared.


    "What service do you ask?"


    She licked her dry, cracked lips. "Light."


    A flickering, corpse-like pale light slowly spread through the room, revealing the demon¡¯s figure ¡ª he seemed smaller now, more defined, woven from shadows into the shape of a man.


    "Help me stand."


    The demon shook his head. "I can¡¯t ¡ª I¡¯m not physical. Accept me. You are still pushing me away."


    Nita took a deep breath. She realized he was right ¡ª she had been fighting against his presence the entire time, as though it were something repulsive. With an exhale, she gave in.


    "Fine," she whispered.


    She tore down the barriers in her mind, and Flaethrun¡¯s presence expanded within her ¡ª not as an intruder, but as a gentle, cooling wave that intertwined with her thoughts. A shiver ran through her, but this time, it wasn¡¯t one of revulsion. It was more like the unexpected touch of something unknown, raw, and mysterious. His power, his essence, caressed and consumed her. She closed her eyes and allowed that sensation to drown out her own will. Flaethrun¡¯s consciousness was full of contradictions ¡ª like night and day, black and white. Hope mingled with despair, gratitude with resentment, admiration with disdain, closeness with alienation.


    She felt a gentle pressure around her waist, almost like an embrace. She froze, eyes wide ¡ª the tendrils of shadow swirled around her, trying to help her stand. But any foreign touch filled her with panic.


    "Don¡¯t touch me!"


    The shadows tightened for a brief moment, then loosened and released her.


    "You asked for my help, didn¡¯t you?" His voice was sharp, mocking her fear. But the taunt quickly shifted into tenderness and care. "You don¡¯t need to be afraid of me."


    She took several deep breaths before she calmed down and nodded. "Help me."


    "Of course, my lady."


    The hiss in his voice was laced with venom, but the shadows lifted her gently, holding her steady so she wouldn¡¯t fall again. Her head spun ¡ª she couldn¡¯t tell if it was from exhaustion or the opposing waves of Flaethrun¡¯s emotions.


    "See? I care for you," he said softly, his voice balancing between ironic satisfaction and something almost nurturing.


    Nita shivered. Why had she summoned a being so full of contradictions? She could feel his amusement.


    "How long¡­ how long have I been lying here?"


    Flaethrun made a gesture that resembled a shrug. "Hours."


    Her throat burned, and her insides twisted painfully. Bruises began to rise on her wrists, and her bare feet were crusted with dried blood. She felt filthy, not just on the outside, but inside as well.


    "I need to wash."


    Flaethrun nodded and helped her out into the corridor with his shadows. His movements mimicked human steps, though he didn¡¯t touch the ground, and his steps made no sound. In contrast, her own footsteps echoed softly with each shuffle. Every movement sent pain through her body, and without Flaethrun¡¯s support, she wouldn¡¯t have been able to walk. She didn¡¯t head toward the shared bath used by the other apprentices ¡ª instead, she went to the abandoned, half-collapsed part of the catacombs, where no one ever went. There, among the old chambers, was a cistern¡ªa simple stone basin, wide and deep, carved directly into the floor. Above it hung large iron rings, from which ropes once dangled with buckets to draw the water. The ropes had long since rotted away, but the water that filled the cistern remained fresh and as cold as death. Nita wasn¡¯t sure where it came from.


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    She stopped at the edge of the basin.


    "Can you warm it?"


    He sent her nothing but a feeling of refusal.


    "Then what can you do?"


    She sat down, disappointed, and gingerly dipped her legs into the water. Tears sprang to her eyes as the cold pierced her skin like needles.


    "I can do many things¡­ like manipulating shadows, space¡­" he let the rest of the sentence hang. "Are you going to bathe fully clothed?"


    She blushed. Flaethrun¡¯s voice was calm and quiet, yet carried an undertone of amusement. She wanted to snap at him, but realized that he had already read her thoughts and sensed her protests. Privacy no longer existed for her ¡ª shame had no place.


    "No," she gestured for his help to rise again and removed her clothes.


    Her dirty, sweat-soaked clothes fell from her, and Nita cautiously and slowly stepped into the cistern. The cold water gripped her body tightly, stealing her breath. The icy pain bit into her skin, but it also cleansed her, as if it were drawing out every trace of her suffering.


    She washed away the blood and filth, along with the remnants of dark thoughts. Finally, she submerged herself completely, allowing the water to fill her nose and mouth. The chill sharpened her mind, and when she resurfaced, she found new strength within.


    She climbed out of the bath, struggling to dress again. Flaethrun watched her in silence the entire time.


    "How is it that I can see you? Other warlocks don¡¯t walk around with their demons trailing behind them."


    Nita couldn¡¯t tell if Flaethrun was smiling or frowning.


    "You see me because I am a part of you. Other warlocks'' demons are...different."


    Nita pressed her lips together. The way Flaethrun answered filled her with frustration and confusion. The demon continued, his voice tinged with amusement, as if mocking her. "I am more than just your demon. I am your shadow. I am your strength. And I am also your greatest enemy."


    "What do you mean by that?" she asked sharply.


    Flaethrun smiled broadly and tilted his head. "Don¡¯t you want revenge? Don¡¯t you want to rid yourself of weakness by ridding yourself of them? I can help you with that. I will destroy them. But in doing so, I will destroy the part of you that still hopes you can be human. And with that, you will gain freedom, power."


    "Get lost."


    Disappointment and amusement. The demon¡¯s form dissolved, but his thoughts lingered, like invisible temptation.


    I can¡¯t leave, I¡¯m a part of you. Think about it. I know you¡¯re tempted.


    "No."


    So you will forgive them?


    Nita froze. Forgive? The word echoed in her mind. Forgive? Could she look them in the eye and forgive them? Just the thought of it made her stomach churn. Her hands balled into fists, nails digging into her skin, but she couldn¡¯t find the answer.


    And then Flaethrun slipped the memories into her mind. Uninvited, sharp, and agonizing like fresh wounds. The hiss of arrows and her brother¡¯s blood. A sword gleaming with her father¡¯s blood. Pain and helplessness.


    Will you forgive even this? Flaethrun¡¯s voice inside her was soft, but carried a faint undertone of triumph. It sounded like he already knew the answer, as if he were waiting for her to admit it to herself. You can forgive, become a suffering martyr¡­ Take their sins upon yourself, forgive them. Be human.


    Human?! She felt something shift inside her, a part of her soul hardening and closing off. She took a deep breath and let the anger grow within her like a poisonous weed.


    You said you don¡¯t want to be weak. To never be a victim again, to have strength... they should fear you. I know where they are ¡ª I can take you to them.


    The demon¡¯s voice fell silent, but his presence still pulsed within her, tempting her.


    She wanted to respond, but the words froze in her throat. Flaethrun felt her hesitation and gently, yet insistently, wove himself into her thoughts.


    I will lead you to them so you can decide.


    Without a word, she followed the subtle pull that led her through the maze of corridors. And then she heard them¡ªtheir laughter echoed down the hall, stirring fresh waves of anger within her.


    Crush their carelessness... or don¡¯t. Let them live and watch their repentance.


    For a moment, she stopped and closed her eyes tightly.


    It¡¯s up to you. You hold their fate in your hands.


    "Shut up," she hissed.


    Flaethrun laughed at her, but fell silent.


    She stepped into the room where they were. It was one of the scriptoria, smaller rooms reserved for working with books and scrolls. The walls were lined with tall shelves filled with dusty tomes, and the heavy smell of old paper hung in the air. In the corner, at one of the wooden tables, sat the two.


    She realized she didn¡¯t even know their names. For a moment, they fell silent when they saw her. She looked them over. Barely older than her, fellows who seemed calm and innocent at first glance, laughing over a half-written scroll.


    "Back for round two?"


    The taller apprentice laughed mockingly, standing up from the table and walking toward her.


    Have you decided? Flaethrun¡¯s voice echoed in her head, cold and steady. Waiting.


    Suddenly, she felt light. She could see in their faces that neither of them regretted what they had done to her. Human corruption and lust twisted their features.


    Yes, she nodded internally.


    The young man reached her and placed a hand on her shoulder. Nita didn¡¯t flinch. Instead, her eyes narrowed, her breathing deepened, and her mouth twisted into a smile. The apprentice tried to say something, but no words came from his throat. She didn¡¯t even need to speak her thoughts; Flaethrun sensed her desire. Her fingers burned, while dark shadows began to creep around the boy¡¯s body, wrapping around him like a cloak. The space around his throat tightened mercilessly, squeezing tighter and tighter. She stared into his bulging eyes, wondering if they might burst like bubbles in sea foam.


    He thrashed, trying to free himself from the invisible grip, and kicked her leg as he fell to the floor. Nita only curled her lip.


    Make it quick.


    Bones cracked, and his limbs pressed tightly to his body. Or what had once been his body.


    "What the-"


    The second apprentice, who had only stared in disbelief until now, squeaked in terror and cringed against the wall. He didn¡¯t even try to summon his demons for help ¨C his fear paralyzed him.


    Do you want to finish him, or will you show him mercy? Flaethrun¡¯s voice sounded malicious.


    "Finish him. "


    Those words were the only command he needed.


    The shadows quickly coiled around the second apprentice, squeezing him like a noose. A choked gasp escaped his lips as he felt his body compressing, as if the very air around him was crushing him. Bones snapped.


    Nita took a deep breath, feeling a strange pleasure spread through her body. Her fingers trembled as she touched her cheeks and realized she was smiling.


    The silence in her mind exploded. Flaethrun said nothing, though she could feel his pleased presence. The two lay still, a heap of oddly contorted flesh wrapped in bloodstained cloth.


    She wiped her forehead and stared in disbelief at her slick fingers, as if she couldn¡¯t comprehend what had just happened. Her thoughts moved slowly, sluggishly.


    Flaethrun¡¯s consciousness tugged at her, and Nita realized there was someone else in the room.


    Nicholas.


    He stood leaning against the shadowed doorway. She couldn¡¯t see his face, but from his relaxed posture and arms folded across his chest, she knew he had been standing there for some time. He had seen everything.


    "Clean up after yourself."


    That was all he said. His voice was filled with anger, but there was something else ¡ª something she couldn¡¯t identify until he stepped away from the door and the light fell across his face.


    She blinked in surprise. It wasn¡¯t just anger. Though he tried to hide his emotions behind a stoic mask, Nita read him like a book. He was angry at her, yes ¡ª for succeeding, for managing to control her first demon and his upper lip curled with contempt for her achievement. His eyes narrowed with mockery, but the furrow between his brows told her he was already thinking about how to use her. He would never accept her as his equal.


    He knew.


    That realization chilled her more than the cold water of the cistern. Her breath caught for a moment, and she straightened. He knew what had happened to her. What they had done to her. Perhaps he had even suspected it beforehand, but he hadn¡¯t bothered to intervene. And now, there was not an ounce of regret in his eyes. In her mind, she dared him to say something, to deny her suspicion, but Nicholas remained silent, his penetrating gaze locked with hers.


    He didn¡¯t deny it. He didn¡¯t play innocent. He was silent, and his silence was a confession.


    Nita felt something inside her break again. Flaethrun trembled with delight as all her rage and frustration morphed into cold hatred... and calm. She exhaled, and all emotions vanished from her face.


    Nicholas¡¯s gaze never wavered, and in that silent duel, his eyes now challenged her. But Nita gave him no reaction. Suddenly, she saw through him more clearly than ever before ¨C his manipulation, his lies, his mockery, and his underestimation of her¡­ And in that moment, she realized that he had lost his power over her, though he was too blinded by his own arrogance to know it yet.

 Chapter 12

    The sunlight timidly fought its way through the morning mist, its tendrils curling lazily over the city¡¯s water canals. Nita squinted, struggling to keep up with Nicholas, though the new clothes weighed her down with every step. Today was the first time he¡¯d brought her along to the royal council, yet instead of feeling proud or excited to finally step out from the underworld, she felt like a clumsy child again. The dress Nicholas insisted she wear was heavy and impractical, its dark fabric hanging awkwardly on her thin frame, while the skirt twisted around her legs with every step.


    A doll dressed up for a ball. A true lady, mocked Flaethrun, his voice hissing in her head.


    Over the past months, she had grown used to his ceaseless presence and sarcastic hum. She no longer pushed him away, though at times it felt as if he wrestled for control. Occasionally, his thoughts pressed so forcefully that her head throbbed, as if unseen hands were squeezing her consciousness into the farthest corner. Then her vision would blur ¡ª light flickered before her eyes until darkness enveloped her. Only the cold or physical pain could bring her back.


    "These clothes aren¡¯t me," she muttered quietly.


    Exactly, Flaethrun purred with a wave of satisfaction washing over her.


    But Nicholas cast her a disapproving look, quickening his pace. Nita tightened her lips. She did everything she could to hide from Nicholas the fact that she heard Flaethrun in her head.


    Other warlocks couldn¡¯t hear their demons like this, and she wasn¡¯t sure what Nicholas might do if he found out. The last thing she needed was to be locked away, some failed experiment under his watchful gaze. He guarded the full extent of his powers jealously, and though she understood Flaethrun¡¯s manipulation of shadows and space was rare and powerful, she had no idea if it was a match for Nicholas¡¯s own abilities.


    They climbed up the slope leading toward the castle grounds, leaving behind the old wooden and stone houses for grander estates with sprawling gardens. The waking city buzzed softly, and Nita¡¯s gaze flicked over people exchanging pleasantries as they passed. She recalled the first time she¡¯d walked through Rovisk for the autumn equinox festival, absorbing every face and color with awe. Today, all she felt was a cold emptiness. By the time they reached the castle gates, the sun had burned off the mist, unveiling Rovisk gleaming in the morning light.


    The castle courtyard was quiet and almost empty, flanked by two ancient yew trees, guarding the main entrance like silent sentinels. Nicholas, however, guided her toward a side wing, up the stone steps still damp with morning dew. A servant opened the door for them without a glance. As they crossed the threshold, Nicholas paused, inhaling deeply as if savoring the air itself, his gaze lingering over the aged tapestries on the walls, and he nodded to himself.


    See him? Flaethrun chuckled in her mind. He truly believes this place belongs to him.


    Finally, Nicholas glanced over at her, his face twisting with displeasure. She could tell he had a plan ¡ª why else would he bring her here today?


    Maybe he just wanted you to get some fresh air. Or maybe-


    Enough! she cut him off before he could drag her into his verbal games.


    "Don¡¯t speak unless you¡¯re addressed," Nicholas commanded coldly. "And believe me, no one here cares who you are unless I say so."


    She nodded in silence, following him to the tall, ornate doors of the council chamber.


    And who are you, Nita? Flaethrun began to whisper in her mind, each word pronounced with exaggerated theatrics. Answer me ¡ª are you a warlock, an ordinary girl, a madwoman?


    Her only response was to tighten her lips.


    Nicholas entered the hall with a stride full of natural authority. Nita hesitated, her eyes drifting across the enormous chamber. A massive, dark-wood table dominated the center, matching the paneling that lined the walls. Heavy iron chandeliers with wax candles hung from the ceiling, now unlit. Bright morning light streamed through large windows, glinting off the jewels adorning every neck and finger in the room.


    Everyone¡¯s but yours, Flaethrun¡¯s voice teased again.


    Nita looked around in wonder as nobles, dressed in vibrant hues of fine fabric, gathered in hushed groups. Muted voices and occasional laughter filled the space, yet no one seemed to notice her, as if she were invisible ¡ª just as Nicholas had predicted. Yet she felt as though every eye was on her. Her new dress, despite being finely made, couldn¡¯t compare to the resplendent gowns of the other ladies.Her hands began to sweat, and the stiff collar of her dress chafed against her neck. As she moved further into the room, the glances were swift, nearly imperceptible smirks flashing across polished faces before turning away. She stood tensely beside Nicholas, who seemed seamlessly at home among the crowd. Yet she noticed how they looked at him ¡ª not with respect, but with contempt thinly veiled behind formal courtesies.


    Look at them, Flaethrun¡¯s voice echoed with a dark amusement that simmered like poison within her. They¡¯re brittle as wax dolls, yet they think they¡¯re better than you.


    Nita bit her lip but didn¡¯t respond. She felt as if her skin was too tight, and the pressure in her chest intensifying with every gaze that passed over her as though unseen ropes constricted around her.


    You could crush them. All of them. Right now-


    A loud click and creak interrupted Flaethrun¡¯s thought. At the opposite end of the chamber, the nobles parted to make way for a very old man. His frail form was like a bent tree on the verge of collapse. Two attendants carefully supported him, waiting patiently for each of his shaky steps. His face, a pale mask of wrinkles, seemed scarcely alive.


    The nobles bowed respectfully, and Nita watched them in bewilderment. Why do they bow to this frail creature?


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    Because he¡¯s the king, Flaethrun¡¯s sneering whisper answered in her head.


    She glanced at Nicholas, catching the restrained hatred in his eyes, though he too inclined his head - just slightly. She mirrored him with a cold nod, devoid of respect.


    The nobles took their seats at the table, beginning their council. Nita stood beside Nicholas, who maintained his usual air of calm superiority, though she could feel the tension radiating from him. His gaze drilled into each noble at the table. They clearly didn¡¯t want him here - and he was very aware of it.


    The meeting dragged on, insufferably dull. They discussed everything from the latest budgets for military supplies to troubling reports of a plague spreading in the border villages near the lands of the Elders. The council debated whether to burn infected villages to prevent the disease from reaching the court. Words of feigned concern for the common folk mingled with cynical suggestions that such a disaster might free land for new settlers ¡ª mainly war refugees, of whom Rovisk had more than enough.


    Occasionally, it seemed the old king had fallen asleep; his head dipped, and his eyelids drooped. Yet whenever anyone spoke too boldly, his eyes sharpening momentarily with an poisonous stare.


    Eventually, she lost track of the conversation, the words around her fading into background noise as her gaze lazily moved from one noble to another. Flaethrun muttered nasty comments about each noble, occasionally suggesting she simply kill them all to relieve her boredom. She had to stretch her back more and more frequently, her legs burning from standing so long. Just then, her eyes met those of a young man sitting near the king. His sharp features and slightly tanned skin stood out, vibrant against a sea of pale faces. Dark hair framed his face with exacting elegance. He was the epitome of human beauty and virtue ¡ª his eyes gleamed with intelligence and kindness, a gentleness that startled her. Her mind froze, caught in his gaze. It was direct, inquisitive, yet kind and somehow familiar. Then he smiled. Barely a hint, but just enough to confuse her and make her quickly look away. She felt her cheeks flushing, fingers instinctively smoothing her disheveled hair - untidy, unlike the elegant styles of the other women. She suddenly felt like a ragged ghost among them.


    Not worth blushing over, Flaethrun sneered smugly. That¡¯s the king¡¯s grandson, Prince Irij.


    How do you know? she snapped.


    Unlike you, I listen, he replied dryly. Just look at how they turn to him ¡ª all the smiles, the lowered heads. The king won¡¯t last long¡­ and then, long live the new king. Flaethrun¡¯s voice dripped with malice.


    She risked a second glance at the prince, but he was already deep in conversation with a companion, paying her no mind.


    Voices around the table rose. It seemed the meeting was ending ¡ª the nobles leaned back in their chairs, and some were already rising to leave.


    "Oh, just a moment!"


    One noble raised a hand, signaling the others to sit. "We almost forgot about Nicholas!"


    Laughter rippled through the room, and the old king¡¯s cloudy eyes settled on the warlock. Nita noticed the twitch at the corner of Nicholas¡¯s mouth, and her stomach twisted. She knew that gesture well.


    "Nicholas dares to join us again, and he brings¡­ something he calls his hope."


    This time, the nobles¡¯ laughter was openly scornful, thick with amusement and disdain. All eyes turned to her, and Nita instinctively clutched her cloak closer.


    Kill them! Flaethrun¡¯s voice screamed in fury. Crush them for their scorn!


    Her hands trembled, but before she could compose herself, Nicholas spoke, his voice as cold and sharp as ice. "Yes. Hope."


    His words echoed through the hall, and the laughter abruptly ceased.


    "Hope?" scoffed an elder noble, leaning towards with a smug smile. "Oh, Nicholas, you and your warlocks¡­ are just relics of the past. Once you protected us, now you¡¯re parasites, clinging to our kingdom with no use and no respect."


    Nicholas¡¯s lip curled in a contemptuous smile as he raised his head. "Did you say something about parasites, Lord La Chaut?" His voice was quiet, yet in the hall¡¯s silence, it thundered. I assure you, these ¡®parasites¡¯ stay where they¡¯re useful. In the catacombs, among books and demons that you and your degenerate kin remember as those that once kept you alive."


    The nobles exchanged uneasy glances, their faces darkening. One younger noble closer to the king cleared his throat, narrowing his eyes. "If this¡­ product of the catacombs" ¡ª he nodded dismissively at Nita ¡ª "is your idea of strength, Nicholas, let her prove it with a proper trial."


    The others nodded in smug agreement, murmuring approvingly.


    Nicholas¡¯s smile was dangerous, like the edge of a blade. "And if she succeeds? What will the crown grant warlocks then?" His eyes remained fixed on the old king, as though he expected a response only from him. The nobles glanced at each other, some sneering while others remained silent without interest.


    Nita suddenly understood why he had brought her. She was a little sacrificial animal, purposefully unrefined and neglected, made to appear pathetic and insignificant. Nicholas had intended this all along ¨C she was his pawn, meant to be overlooked, until she proved herself and made him appear all the more powerful.


    So that¡¯s why he let you look like a stray dog, Flaethrun taunted. To make you an easy target for them to write off¡­ His voice softened as though he¡¯d moved closer, whispering his next words directly into her ear. But sometimes it¡¯s useful to be underestimated.


    Her throat tightened with anxiety as she absorbed the bitter realization. For a fleeting moment, she had dared to hope she was here as an apprentice. No ¡ª he¡¯d brought her as an empty canvas for them to pour out their spite and disdain. And later, when they put her to the test and she succeeded, he would claim he had always believed in her success.


    Pathetic plan, so typical of him, Flaethrun scoffed. He could have chosen a far subtler path. But no, he¡¯d rather parade you as his puppet. Will you let him use you like this?


    "What do you want?" the king¡¯s voice rasped.


    Nicholas¡¯s eyes gleamed with triumph. "What rightfully belongs to warlocks ¡ª dominion over the Elders."


    The king¡¯s wrinkled mouth twisted into a sneer, as if Nicholas¡¯s demand half amused and half offended him. "We shall see."


    Then he turned his gaze on Nita. His eyes were dull and bloodshot, but something primal within her flinched and recoiled. "You will accompany the soldiers to the eastern front. Let your presence prove that you are worthy of your powers."


    Although his creaky, aged voice lacked firmness, the moment he spoke to her, something stirred intensely within her. An invisible grip closed around her mind, agony splitting through her skull. With each throb of her heartbeat, the pain extended from her temples, reaching farther. Flaethrun writhed and twisted.


    Don¡¯t let him! Don¡¯t let him control us!


    His defiance weakened, crumbling under the king¡¯s pressure. She wanted to resist, to run or scream, but her body betrayed her. The pain grew sharper, embedding itself in her consciousness like shards of glass. She gasped and shut her eyes.


    Just then, she felt Nicholas¡¯s hand on her shoulder, a firm grip that could only mean one thing ¡ª a command.


    Her voice shook as she forced out a single word.


    "Yes."

 Intermezzo I.

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

 Chapter 13

    The air was thick with the sickly-sweet stench of blood. The sun sank toward the horizon, its dim light filtering through the misty clouds, casting faint rays on the lifeless bodies scattered around. Nothing moved. Not even the leaves of the stunted shrubs struggling to cling to life in the poisoned soil.


    Nita sobbed.


    She sat slumped against a rock, the chill seeping into her back, stiff and aching from being pressed against the rough stone. The sharp pain from the arrow lodged in her thigh throbbed, shoving Flaethrun''s presence to the edges of her consciousness. She pulled aside the torn fabric of her pants and fought a wave of nausea at the sight of blood trickling steadily down her skin, leaving a dark, sticky trail. Taking a deep breath, she gritted her teeth and grabbed the shaft of the arrow, attempting to pull it out. The pain was immediate and paralyzing - she screamed, her trembling hands falling uselessly to her sides. She shut her eyes, a choked sob escaping her lips - a mixture of agony, despair, and something almost hysterical that, with a bit of exaggeration, could have passed for laughter. Such a pity about the trousers; she''d been quite fond of them.


    When Nicholas brought her to the soldiers, they burst out laughing at her dreadful dress with its puffed skirt. And then he just left her there. With that smug smirk of his and a few quiet words of warning that she shouldn''t bother returning alive if she failed. Then he disappeared, leaving her standing there, confused and alone, like a scarecrow in a field.


    Eventually, one of the soldiers - a teenage boy who seemed even younger than her - took pity on her and gave her his old trousers and a shirt. Nita gratefully changed into them immediately. The trousers were far too loose and needed to be cinched tight with a belt to keep them from falling off. Still, she much preferred being back in trousers, even borrowed and worn ones, over struggling with the cumbersome pile of fabric. Over the following days, she silently thanked the boy many times - she would never have made it to the Cerussite Mountains in a dress. Even in the pants, she struggled to keep up, her leg muscles burning with every step. Blisters grew larger on her heels with each mile. There were over thirty soldiers, and every so often, one would glance back to mockingly yell at her to keep up. Their leader, Symer - she¡¯d learned his name from overheard conversations - eventually ordered her to be placed on one of the supply carts. They¡¯d dumped her onto a sack of grain that shifted with every jolt of the cart, forcing her to cling tightly to avoid falling off. She could feel the soldiers¡¯ gazes on her whenever she adjusted her position - half amused, half contemptuous. When one of the younger men made a comment about a spoiled little warlock girl, and Flaethrun laughed inside her, she didn¡¯t even have the strength to protest.


    The journey wore her down, not just physically. After so many years underground, the open landscape terrified her. That first night, she couldn¡¯t sleep at all, and it wasn¡¯t just the open space that frightened her. The soldiers reeked of sweat, grime, and something worse, a mix of old boots and rancid food. Their loud chatter was full of vulgarities Nita had never heard before, and their unpleasant smirks and lingering glances followed her whenever she had to step away. Yet none of them dared lay a hand on her. Aside from a few snide remarks, no one even spoke to her.


    The only exception was Symer, who called her over one evening.


    "Let me make one thing clear," he snapped as soon as she approached. "I didn¡¯t want you here."


    Nita had no response to that, so she simply nodded. Symer studied her for a moment, as if waiting for her to argue, but when she said nothing, he continued.


    "In a few days, we¡¯ll reach a mining village. That¡¯s where you¡¯ll get to prove what you¡¯re worth." He spat the last word with biting disdain.


    She nodded again, lowering her gaze. She felt drained, convinced that the less she spoke, the better. Flaethrun seemed to agree, remaining unusually silent throughout the journey.


    Something in her expression made Symer shake his head, a low mutter escaping his lips that sounded like, "Damn orders." He looked as though he was weighing whether it was worth explaining anything to her or just sending her away outright. Scratching his beard with dirty, broken nails, he let out a tired grunt.


    "Explain this to me - how does a little scrap like you end up among warlocks? Do you even know where you''re going or why?"


    Nita glanced at him uncertainly. "The eastern line?"


    They stared at each other.


    "That''s it? Nothing else?"


    She shook her head.


    "Bloody hell," Symer growled. "We''re not babysitters!"


    She straightened instinctively. "I¡¯m an adult."


    Silence fell for a moment. Symer looked her up and down, then spat on the ground.


    "An adult... We''ll see about that. No one¡¯s going to hold your hand here. Our job is to protect the miners. According to the reports, small groups of Elders have been causing trouble there. Attacking people, collapsing tunnels, wrecking equipment. Sabotage, plain and simple. So¡­ try not to get in the way, and if you come across any Elders, destroy them. Got it?"


    Nita frowned. "Which Elders? Dwarves?" she asked, earning a smirk from him.


    "Dwarves?" he snorted. "They left this place long ago. The Cerussite Mountains have been almost entirely mined out. They found richer veins elsewhere and moved on, leaving this territory to humans."


    "Why would people stay if most of the ore is gone?"


    Symer shrugged, his response almost indifferent. "People have to make a living somehow. The kingdom still needs lead. Merchants will buy whatever scraps the miners can pull out. But¡­" His voice hardened. "It¡¯s not really about the ore. It¡¯s about principle. The Cerussite Mountains are the last bastion of human territory. Beyond them lies nothing but desert. And that belongs to the Elders. They can do what they like there. But not here."


    "I thought humans lived on the continent, even in more distant places," Nita said, surprised.


    Symer gave her a look that made her feel like a child asking a foolish question. "They do. But those are mixed territories, where humans and some Elders live side by side - or at least try to. Don¡¯t they teach you that among the warlocks?"


    Nita bit her lip. She knew little about the current borders or the kingdom¡¯s state. She was well-versed in dirt on Nicholas¡¯s enemies - intrigues, rumors, and secrets that kept him in power - but she had only a vague idea of how humans and Elders coexisted. Nicholas hated the Elders too passionately to bother discussing anything but their weaknesses or ways to destroy them.


    "Is that all you¡¯ve got?" Symer snapped. "Stop biting your lip and focus on keeping up with the others. At least try not to be useless." His voice carried a note of resignation as he waved her off, dismissing her.


    After that, he didn¡¯t speak to her again for the rest of the journey, ignoring her as if she didn¡¯t exist. Nita couldn¡¯t decide whether to feel insulted or relieved.


    The final days of walking grew increasingly grueling. The path became steeper, the air colder, and everyone moved noticeably slower. The landscape had changed - grassy plains gave way to fields of stone dotted with low, twisted trees. Even the grass here grew sparse, struggling to push through the gleaming black stones. They moved in an ever-deepening silence, so different from the constant shouts and loud chatter of the days before. That silence was why Nita startled and felt a cold shiver run down her spine when she heard the first sharp noises, followed by voices echoing in the distance. She stopped in surprise as the view ahead opened up to reveal a village. She¡¯d seen other settlements along the way, but this... this was different.


    The miners¡¯ village was gray. That was the only word Nita could find¡ªeverything was gray. The miners'' skin, their hair, their clothes, the houses¡­ Even the midday sunlight seemed gray, muted as it touched the ground. Walking a few steps behind the soldiers, Nita took in the misery around her. The houses were small, built into the slopes, and pressed tightly together against the rocky cliffs. They were coated in a layer of lead dust that had blackened over time, leaving the walls grimy and dark. The air was heavy and sour, each breath scraping her throat like she was inhaling metal shavings. In front of some houses - if they could even be called that - stood crude sheds and wooden shelters piled with leftover ore. The ground was dark and barren. Villagers glanced briefly at the newcomers before quickly lowering their eyes. Although Nita didn¡¯t see anyone truly old, they all looked aged - hair streaked with gray, faces etched with deep lines, and hollow eyes shadowed with fatigue. Even the children sitting on the steps of houses wore the same haunted expressions. Nita noticed their fingers were often twisted unnaturally, their nails stained as if permanently embedded with ore.


    Women sat on low benches outside their homes, sorting through broken stones, separating ore from worthless rock. Their fingers and wrists were gray and marked with fine lines that looked like scars or burns. They worked in silence.


    At the center of the village stood a smelter - a low, sturdy building with thick stone walls. The space was simple, filled with rocks and grimy furnaces radiating intense heat that Nita could feel even from a distance. A handful of men, dressed in worn linen tunics, shoveled ore into the roaring fires. Sweat streaked their backs, immediately mixing with the black dust to form dark lines on their skin. The air hissed and popped as the lead melted, and the metallic stench burned Nita¡¯s throat.


    "We don¡¯t have time for this!"


    Nita turned at the shout, but the soldiers around her blocked her view. The argument escalated, and she pushed her way forward to see what was happening. Next to the smelter stood Symer, arms crossed, his expression grim. Opposite him was a broad-shouldered man in a miner¡¯s shirt, gesturing wildly. Unlike the other miners, his clothes were clean - and his boots, made of fine leather, were almost spotless.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    "If we want to find those men alive, we have to go now!"


    "And I¡¯m telling you," Symer snapped, "we¡¯re not going anywhere right now. My men need rest. We leave in the morning."


    "Rest?!" the miner spat, his voice dripping with fury. "Your men aren¡¯t tired - they¡¯re getting lead poisoning. The water, the air, the food - everything here is toxic to them! They¡¯re not used to lead. If you wait until morning, there won¡¯t be anyone left to send!"


    Symer leaned closer to the man, lowering his voice so much that Nita could barely hear him.


    "I don¡¯t care that you¡¯re the mining master, and I care even less about your concern for my men. I¡¯m the one responsible for their lives, and I¡¯ll decide when and where they go. Got it?!"


    "As you said, I¡¯m the mine master. I¡¯m responsible for keeping this village alive. I write the reports to Rovisk! What do you think I¡¯ll say in them? That mining has stopped because you decided to take a break?!"


    Symer¡¯s face flushed red with anger. For a moment, the only sound was the heavy breathing of both men. Finally, the commander straightened and snapped, "Half will go. Half will stay. Satisfied?"


    Nita thought she heard the mine master grind his teeth. "Fine," he muttered at last. "You¡¯ll head to the northern shaft. It¡¯s on the northeastern slope - where they were working before they vanished. It¡¯s less than an hour away."


    Symer nodded, his gaze briefly sweeping over the soldiers gathered nearby. His eyes stopped on Nita. "You¡¯re coming too. If there¡¯s something up there, you¡¯ll be useful."


    He didn¡¯t wait for her reaction, turning quickly to issue orders to the men who would accompany him.


    Oh, what a brilliant plan, Flaethrun growled sarcastically as Symer addressed the soldiers. The front line with tired troops¡­ and you, my dear.


    "Shut up," Nita whispered under her breath as she followed the soldiers.


    Just saying¡­ That brave commander won¡¯t hesitate to sacrifice you at the first opportunity.


    Nita clenched her fists, saving her breath for the steep climb ahead. The path to the shaft was steep, and she struggled to keep up with the others. Fatigue weighed her down, and the mining master¡¯s warnings about lead poisoning gnawed at her mind. She panted as she lagged behind, relieved when the group stopped at a plateau near the mountain pass, giving her a chance to catch up.


    But Symer wasn¡¯t waiting for her. That became clear as Nita looked around the plateau - everywhere were signs of a fight. Bloodstains, scattered and broken mining tools. The soldiers spread out, their faces grim as they silently searched the area.


    Nita¡¯s heart raced, though she couldn¡¯t tell if it was fear or nervous anticipation.


    Flaethrun?


    She reached out to the demon within her, seeking something familiar to steady her panicked heart. She felt him waiting before he replied, his tone dripping with mockery.


    Calling me for advice or comfort?


    Comfort from a demon? She shook her head slightly, tearing her gaze away from the bloodied tools. Can you sense what happened here?


    What do you think happened? Flaethrun replied with feigned innocence. Someone fought. Someone died.


    Her throat tightened. Stop dodging the question. Are the Elders still here? Can you feel them nearby?


    For a moment, it seemed as though Flaethrun hesitated. When he spoke again, his voice was darker, more serious. I feel rage. I feel blood. This was just a game - someone came, played, and left.


    Left-? she repeated in her mind, but Flaethrun cut her off.


    Perhaps remnants of their fun are still here, he added, his tone suddenly light and venomous again. Do you want to play too? Think you can win?


    Nita¡¯s hands clenched into fists. Be silent, she snapped, though her heart was pounding harder than ever. Flaethrun obeyed, but his silence was more menacing than usual.


    Then she saw something.


    Between the boulders at the edge of the plateau, something moved. At first, she thought it was just a trick of the light and shadows - just a rock that looked almost like¡­ a face. A goblin¡¯s face.


    The sight froze her in place. Its large, brown eyes stared straight at her. Memories from her childhood flashed through her mind like distant lightning, too quick to grasp but vivid enough to steal her breath. She wanted to move, wanted to speak, but her body refused to obey.


    The goblin didn¡¯t move, just kept watching her with an unreadable expression. Until more figures emerged from behind the rocks. They were fast - too fast for her to count. And they weren¡¯t just goblins. One of them shouted in the language of the Elders, a harsh, grating sound like stone scraping against metal. Nita understood the words:


    You have crossed the border!


    "Ambush!" Symer¡¯s voice echoed off the cliffs in response.


    The world seemed to accelerate all at once. The soldiers drew their swords, the flash of steel followed immediately by the clash of weapons. The front line collided with the creatures, blood spraying onto the rocks and splattering the gray earth. It was fast, chaotic, terrifying.


    Nita stood frozen behind them, unable to move. Blood. Fresh blood on the soldiers¡¯ swords, on the gray stones, on the ground¡­ This was the first time in years she had seen so much blood. But instead of Symer¡¯s soldiers, her mind conjured the image of a blade glinting in her father¡¯s stomach.


    Panic surged through her. Her chest tightened as if bound by an invisible band, and she couldn¡¯t draw a single breath. She felt like a child again, trembling under her brother¡¯s weight, unable to move. The world blurred, the soldiers¡¯ faces turning into indistinct smudges. Symer was shouting at her, but she couldn¡¯t understand him, as if his words came from a great distance. Sweat dripped into her eyes, though she felt unbearably cold.


    Step aside and let me act! Flaethrun¡¯s urgent roar was filled with fury and malice.


    She surrendered willingly, retreating into the recesses of her soul. Her body was no longer hers. She could still sense what was happening, but Flaethrun had wrapped her consciousness in his like an invisible shroud.


    Shadows danced through the air, lunging at everyone around her. They grabbed and tore apart anyone without distinction, Elders and humans alike.


    One goblin charged at her, and the shadows pierced its body like a phantom blade. The creature slowed, still clawing toward her with a face twisted in rage - face that reminded her of Rem. Until Flaethrun tore him apart.


    Her mind only registered what had happened seconds later.


    Rem!


    The name rang in her head like a deafening crash. That face. That memory, dragging her back to childhood when Rem was the only one who had protected her. A cold dread gripped her entire being, and a new wave of panic pushed Flaethrun aside. The shadows faltered.


    The cacophony of screams and cries reached her ears again, shredding her nerves. She clapped her hands over her ears and stumbled backward. She realized she was screaming only when her throat burned dry. In that moment, she couldn¡¯t see what was happening around her - how those who still survived had realized who the greatest threat truly was.


    Let me lead! LET ME LEAD!


    Flaethrun screamed through their bond, and Nita couldn¡¯t resist the surge of his power that once again overwhelmed her mind. Her consciousness crumbled like a house of cards. A haze enveloped her, and through it, she barely sensed her hands moving on their own, summoning another wave of shadows that lashed out like living tendrils. Another soldier fell, then another, followed by a goblin, a sylph, and other beings she couldn¡¯t name.


    Flaethrun pressed forward relentlessly, guiding her strikes and unleashing the shadows on everyone within reach. The shadows continued to form, now acting without her conscious will, attacking everything around her, killing indiscriminately.The survivors tried to regroup and encircle her, but Flaethrun sensed their movements. With a dark laugh, he sent the shadows spiraling outward, wrapping around their throats and tightening mercilessly.


    You see? It¡¯s a game¡­ and games are meant to be won.


    One of the last Elder beings tried to flee, but the shadows dragged it to the ground, consuming it like a ravenous predator. Flaethrun laughed - softly, but triumphantly. He was savoring his victory, basking in it¡­ until an arrow struck Nita¡¯s thigh.


    Flaethrun shrieked inside her, as though he¡¯d been wounded as well. With one final strike, he impaled the archer with shadows before Nita¡¯s shock gave way to searing pain, abruptly cutting off the demon¡¯s rampage. Nita collapsed, her mind plunging into darkness.


    When she opened her eyes again, she had no sense of how much time had passed - it could have been mere moments or long minutes. The unrelenting pain in her pierced thigh brought tears to her eyes.


    Flaethrun?


    There was no answer. She couldn¡¯t feel him throught all that pain. She was alone. Alone among the dead.


    I have to get out of here. I have to get up.


    She rolled onto her side and inched toward a nearby boulder. Every tiny movement of her injured leg sent fresh waves of agony through her. Her hands trembled as she finally propped herself against the rough surface of the rock.


    She sat there, staring at the steel-gray sky. After her first attempt to remove the arrow, she didn¡¯t dare look at the wound again. The world began to sway, like the ship that had carried her to Rovisk years ago.


    "I thought I¡¯d be stronger¡­" she whispered into the dead silence around her.


    "Strength is useless if you can¡¯t control it."


    Nita flinched, crying out as the movement sent a new surge of pain through her. She turned her head cautiously toward the voice. Standing just a few steps away was a majestic figure - a tall being with arms covered in glossy feathers that extended into powerful wings. Half-woman, half-raptor. A harpy.


    Her face was almost human, but her eyes were piercing, her features sharp and striking. Dark hair framed her pale skin, curling and twisting restlessly. Instead of hands and feet, she had talons like those of a bird of prey.


    "I saw you," the harpy rasped, her voice slow and gravelly. "I saw your fear and your hesitation."


    The harpy stepped closer to Nita and leaned down, tilting her head as she examined the wound. The movement reminded Nita of a predator studying its prey.


    "I¡¯ll help you."


    Nita¡¯s mouth opened in surprise as she met the harpy¡¯s narrowed, predatory gaze. "Why?"


    "You kill from chaos. From pain. Like us."


    "I didn¡¯t mean to-"


    The harpy¡¯s feathers rustled softly as she raised an arm, cutting Nita off.


    "Run away with me. Join us. You can be free."


    She extended her taloned hand and, with an almost tender touch, brushed Nita¡¯s injured leg. Then, in an instant and without warning, she seized the arrow shaft and snapped it in two.


    Nita screamed and arched in agony. The harpy grabbed her firmly and pressed her back against the boulder.


    "Don¡¯t move."


    Using a claw, the harpy carefully probed the wound, gauging how deep the arrowhead was lodged. Nita whimpered but tried to stay still. Blood flowed faster, but the harpy paid it no mind. She dug deeper into the wound, catching the arrowhead with her talon. With her other hand, she grasped the broken shaft and slowly pulled it free. Once the arrow was out, the harpy tore a strip of fabric from the nearest corpse and used it to bandage Nita¡¯s leg.


    "That will do for now."


    "Thank you," Nita whispered.


    "Don¡¯t thank me. Come with me."


    The pain subsided, and Nita could once again sense Flaethrun¡¯s presence stirring in her mind. But alongside him, she felt something else - something sinister that pulsed with every beat of her heart. Her desperate heart yearned to accept the harpy''s offer and never again see those who had sent her here to die. Yet that something bound her to the king and that something was stronger.


    Flaethrun¡­


    He was weak. She caught fragments of his emotions - doubt, frustration, regret, and a cynical resignation.


    You¡¯re choosing between freedom and death¡­ or death and servitude. But you¡¯ve already made your choice, haven¡¯t you?


    The harpy waited, her eyes fixed on Nita.


    Do it quickly.


    Flaethrun was silent, but she felt the shadows stir. She closed her eyes.


    There was a rustle of feathers. A sharp, startled gasp. And then, silence again.


    "I¡¯m sorry," she whispered as tears slipped from beneath her closed eyelids.