Another entire month had passed.
Arhelia's wounds no longer dictated her pace. She walked without a cane, her body still marked, but obedient. The Stygian fortress had returned to its routine of iron, discipline, and prolonged silences.
But Arhelia had not.
She wasn't returning to anything.
That night, she danced.
Alone.
On a circular platform raised by three black columns. Hundreds of candles burned around her, shedding wax tears that seemed like melting bones. The incense thickened the air with an ancient perfume, of a forgotten temple and a freshly spoken sin.
The music came from nowhere real.
Jade flutes and slow drums carried a melody that sought no comfort. It spoke to her.
It spoke to her of what the Law never dared to say aloud:
of madness, of lies, of demons whispering from within, of honor and death walking together like sickly brothers.
Arhelia spun.
Dirty bandages covered her hands and torso, marked by wounds that shouldn't have closed so fast. She wore the ritual robe of the southern nuns: white, light, almost floating fabric, draped over her thin frame as if the cloth itself feared to harm her.
Her feet struck the wood with the precision of one who dances to survive.
The All or Nothing sphere orbited around her in slow circles.
Like a spirit that had chosen to stay and watch.
— — —
Morning entered like a blade.
Light pierced the high windows as Arhelia, sitting on the sill, cleaned dried wax from her fingers. The dawn's silence was fragile, as if the world hesitated before speaking again.
Lada was there.
Leaning against the wall, a steaming cup in her hands, watching without interrupting.
"You keep dancing as if the world would break if you stopped," she finally said, her accent dragging. "It's not good, Da."
"The world is already broken," Arhelia replied without looking at her. "I'm just learning the rhythm."
Lada exhaled.
"They'll kill you if you keep going like this."
"Let them try."
Lada set down the cup, stepped forward, and hugged her without warning.
A brief hug. Firm.
"Go see your tutor," she said as she pulled away. "Don't be late, or they'll tear your legs off."
"Let them try," Arhelia repeated, this time smiling.
They said goodbye without dramatics.
Like those who know there will be worse farewells.
— — —
The outer courtyard was empty.
Arhelia expected to find an old, bitter teacher, burdened with useless stories.
She found a child.
A child who looked at her as if the world had stolen something he could never recover.
Kael of the Crimson Mourning.
Semi Level 1.
Path of Law: Laws.
Law of the Edge. Law of the Butcher. Law of the Dismemberer.
The Law Object hung on his back: the Law's Butcher Saber, wrapped in cloth that moved on its own, as if breathing.
He wore northern clothes: long coats, hardened leather, accents of black fur.
Arhelia watched him in silence.
"You're not a tutor," she said.
"And you're not a student," he replied.
The sphere orbited a little faster.
The saber vibrated beneath the cloth.
They recognized each other.
Not with words.
But with that silent look of those who know the world does not want them…
but also doesn't know how to stop them.
The sun hit the courtyard softly, but Arhelia's gaze was sharper than any shadow.
"Who told you you could be here?" she asked, crossing her arms, a barely perceptible smile on her lips, half mockery, half challenge.
Kael lowered his gaze for a moment, then slowly lifted it.
"No one," he said. His voice was calm, but barely a thread. "I guess… no one said I couldn't."
Arhelia arched an eyebrow and took a step toward him, just enough for him to feel her presence.
"I guess that makes you… brave… or stupid." She leaned forward, as if examining the strange child before her. "Which one are you?"
Kael hesitated, fiddling with the saber's cloth.
"I… don't… know…" he said softly, then looked up with a spark of innocent mischief. "But I can learn fast."
"Ha." Arhelia let out a short chuckle. "You say that all the time, don't you? Learn fast… Kids always say that. I… learn slower, but I die better."
Kael watched her, surprised and amused at the same time.
"You… die better?" he asked cautiously, as if it were a riddle. "That sounds… important."
Arhelia took another step closer, lowering her voice.
"Important or not, depends on who you ask." Then she stepped back slightly, crossing her arms. "You… do you know who cares about you?"
Kael lowered his gaze, blushing slightly, and whispered:
"I guess… I'm still figuring that out."
"Well," she said with a cold, playful smile. "That makes today interesting. I don't like boring days."
Kael blinked, then a small smile slipped out, shy, pure.
"Me… neither."
Arhelia spun on her feet, her robe barely floating.
"Then… let's teach each other something. But I don't promise to be kind." Her eyes shone with curiosity and challenge.
Kael tilted his head, and for the first time in a long while, his voice sounded firm.
"Me… neither."
A silence. Only the wind playing among the white trees.
"Good," Arhelia finally said. "Then let's start… like those who don't know each other, but already recognize one another."
Kael nodded, a spark of excitement and nervousness in his eyes.
"Like those who don't know each other… but want to see what might happen."
Arhelia smiled inwardly. Small. Perfect.
"Let's go," said Kael.
— — —
They moved among white trees, twisted, dead for centuries. The branches creaked like broken ribs. The air seemed like a shattered mirror. Shadows did not match the sun.
Kael stopped abruptly.
"Something's following us."
Arhelia already felt it.
A pressure.
A grotesque pulse.
An ancient breath vibrating beneath the earth.
"A fallen spirit," she said.
Kael paled.
"It's not just anyone. Level 1. Devourer of cultivators… Arhelia, no one survives if—"
She smiled.
Not a human smile.
Clean.
Neat.
Precise.
"Perfect."
She stepped forward.
"I like to start the day with something that truly deserves to die."
The forest responded.
Shadows parted.
The smell of old blood rose from the ground.
The creature emerged: a mass of twisted bones, blackened flesh, and eyes empty as sealed tombs.
Kael barely breathed.
Arhelia advanced like one entering a familiar room.
The All or Nothing sphere spun with fury.
Light and shadow sharpened around her.
"Let's see, Kael," she said without looking back,
if the world can endure what I'm about to do.
And she moved forward.
Like the daughter the Law did not want.
But whom the whole world would now tremble for allowing to be born.