Long, long ago, when the lands of men were plunged into shadow—ruled by wicked creatures—and even the most loyal allies fell silent in the face of chaos, death became the inevitable embrace that awaited all.
But when fear took root deep in the hearts of the innocent, and hope seemed to have surrendered to silence… a light was born.
Blazing and pure, it tore through the darkness like a twilight thunder—and beneath its glow rose the one who dared to defy the end.
Thus emerged the first Silver Herald.
CAPÍTULO 1
To awaken, you must burn.
That was the last thing Leo heard before plunging into a void as vast as death itself.
Curiously, she did not remember burning, nor screaming, nor feeling pain—nothing that could justify the grand promise of that sentence. Only that, in the end, she managed to breathe again.
The same could not be said of the other twenty-five candidates that year.
Thinking about it so lightly might sound cruel. But cruelty is only a matter of perspective. And choices always demand a price.
Leo then tipped back the rest of the drink in her mug, the liquid burning down her throat, making her eyes water like a novice unaccustomed to cherry beer—a cold drink with a refreshing flavor and a sharp, spicy finish.
The smell of roasted meat hooked into her stomach, yet Leo refused to give in to temptation.
When a candidate fails their final test—the Awakening—it is tradition among the survivors to honor their souls with extremely strong drinks and a good hunt.
And this time, as in the previous ones, Leo was not granted permission to go beyond the walls, by order of Archduke Monteiro.
Carmelius probably hated her—or something close enough to it—to forbid her even from hunting. It was humiliating to be treated like a child at a moment like that.
All because of the curse.
It seemed she would live trapped in Montreal until she was fifty—assuming she was still alive by then.
The refectory of the Great House was vast, its high ceiling supported by dark oak beams and lit by torches fixed to the walls, their flickering light casting writhing shadows over rustic wooden tables and cold marble.
The air still carried the smell of charcoal and freshly roasted meat, mixed with the stench of sweat and beer.
The surviving candidates entered in small groups, dragging steps echoing through the hall. Bandages covered cuts and bruises; in their eyes lay the weight of trauma—almost as if they were still trapped in the instant when they had nearly died.
Exhaustion and mourning hovered, dense as the smoke clinging to the beams.
Leo, in contrast, did not have a single scratch.
And precisely because of that, she did not go unnoticed.
As the groups gathered in search of tables, whispered voices began to rise—some commenting on irrelevant things, others sharp and aimed at her like barely concealed blades:
— She shouldn't even be here.
— Barely left the walls and already thinks she belongs with us.
— What did she even do in the Awakening? Breathe?
The words were not spoken directly to her, but they were close enough that there was no doubt about the target.
Leo glanced sideways, boredly observing the moving mouths and slanted looks—all poorly disguised, as if they were good at it.
Irritation throbbed, but she kept her expression unshaken.
It wasn't her fault she hadn't bled like they had.
She hadn't written these absurd rules.
And yet she was paying the price for a privilege she had never asked for.
Now, more than ever, she could not be weak.
She could not be useless.
Not many manage to pass. Despite all the sweat, the devotion, the stupid belief… fate is not kind. Nor fair.
If she was here today, it was because she had surpassed all the others—while still carrying a curse carved into her skin as a bonus.
I am alive. They are not.
I am drinking beer. They are not.
Across the room, her new "companions"—the illustrious Heralds—cast meticulous looks her way, as if they had the authority—or the competence—to decide who deserved to survive and who should have died in the ceremony.
Pathetic.
Not that Leo wished them harm. Nothing so banal.
She simply couldn't stand them. Especially Giovani's group, who made no effort to hide their antipathy.
One of them even stopped drinking just to throw her a judgmental look.
As if her merit were not real.
As if, to them, she were not worthy.
Leo did not lower her head; she merely raised an eyebrow in silent reply.
And to her, they weren't either.
There were far better people than him who should have been there.
But unfortunately, they weren't the ones who decided. Only the gods—or whoever was having fun with all of this.
And the stares continued. One, two, all of them… Ridiculous. So predictable it was almost embarrassing to receive so much unwanted attention.
Leo snorted.
It seemed she was already a local celebrity—recognized and discussed—even before officially becoming a Herald.
In her vilest thoughts, she considered tearing out one eye from each of them, just to have her moment without so many nuisances—perhaps then they would learn to use their sight more cautiously and their mouths with greater wisdom. Or better yet, shut them for good.
Apparently, the task was proving heavier than she had imagined.
Taking a deep breath, she chose to refrain from comment.
Leo might be an excellent swordswoman, lethal in close combat, the best among the candidates—everyone knew that.
But even now, on the brink of assuming the role of Silver Herald… could she trust herself in the Forest of the Condemned?
Last time, she had proven little more than dead weight. A mistake that had cost another's life.
— The Archduke's pet, that's what she is.
— I want to see how far that act goes.
Leo almost laughed. A dry, crooked laugh.
In the end, a small portion of those comments was right: she was still in a cage—protected from the Zalmas and the Colossals, like a rare animal, kept safe.
Or rather, under surveillance.
Almost like a princess trapped in a tower.
Perhaps they could have spared the effort of hating her so much over something she despised as well.
Leo turned her face away.
Irony aside, none of that would take her anywhere.
Amid the silence, the voices of a few non-vermin acquaintances passing by sounded like a tranquilizer for her thoughts—not that she had any idea what they were saying.
What mattered was the now.
Because people she trained with died today.
They died confident that they would be alive.