Veric stood in front of the mirror, looking at her new scars.

She’d been messy. The Dragon Shrine’s healing, when done right, restored the body to its natural state. When she’d still had her healing, with time and focus, she could make the wound disappear as if it had never existed.

However, there were many things in the world whose traces could not be erased.

There was a new scar where the Order had cut her throat, and another where they had disemboweled her. There were others, too, from after she gave up her talent in healing. The flesh had been woven back together by the raw rejuvenating force of her phaenescence rather than her skill, and the residual power still left them glowing faintly blue in the dark. New symbols of her failure as a Dragon Priestess, right there for everyone to see.

Two teachers and fourteen students had died.

Veric didn’t know them except as passing names, but it didn’t stop her from wondering if she could have saved them. Perhaps if her blessings had been stronger. If she’d been quicker to believe Acacius when he first came to her with a warning.

Or if she hadn’t been there at all.

Veric closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It was time to go to school. She covered the mirror, straightened her back, and left her room.

When she was younger, she used to bunk in one of the Shrine’s almshouses along with the other orphans taken in by the Shrine, but after she joined the clergy and rose in status, she’d earned a room in the hall of residence by right of rank. Back when she was still adjusting, she would sneak back to the almshouse to sleep in her friends’ bunkbeds. Utterly unbefitting of a Saintess candidate, of course. But her endurance hadn’t been so strong back then.

Veric arrived at the food hall and greeted the sisters and brothers on serving duty. After she received her share of breakfast, she went to sit at the windowside table at the back of the hall, where her friends habitually congregated during mealtimes. It wasn’t long before they trickled in to sit with her.

“Morning, Veric. Any progress on the fight?”

“Good morning. Not much change,” she replied. “Still have to wait and see.”

“Wait, what fight?”

“Haven’t you heard? The nobles have been bothering her again.”

“Too much money and time on their hands, that’s what I say. What is it this time?”

“Some politics thing. ‘S why their armed retainers keep hangin’ round the Shrine these days. Makes me wanna kick ‘em in the teeth.”

“Just spill a compost bin on ‘em during kitchen duty.”

“Ha! Few other people already had the same idea, now they avoid the kitchens and the bins. Gotta come up with something new.”

Veric laughed. “Guys, don’t be too obvious, or the Shrine’s gonna have to take action. Diplomacy and all.”

“Ooh, scary, is Sister Veric gonna tell on us?”

“Nah, whatcha saying? She’s the future Saintess, she’s gonna scold us herself.”

“But she’s not a future Saintess anymore, is she?”

“Whoa.”

“Hey.”

“What? I didn’t mean it like that! But you know, with her healing gone…”

“Oh, sure, and elect Roxana instead? Please. No one wants a rat sucker as a Saintess.”

Not this topic again. “Come on. You know Roxana dislikes the nobles as much as the rest of us,” Veric said, rolling her eyes. “I know she mingles with them a lot, but so does Teacher, and you don’t mock her for it.”

“Yeah, but your teacher’s the Saintess. What’s Roxana’s excuse?”

“Too good to mingle with the rest of us commoners and orphans.”

A round of laughter. “Even though she’s the same as us.”

Veric raised her eyebrows. “What, you want her to hold hands with us and start singing hymns?”

“Okay, true.”

“But she should’ve at least tried, right?”

They grumbled about it a little longer, as they occasionally did, before moving onto different topics: recent relationship developments, their latest assignments. Veric didn’t defend Roxana any further. With their history, there was no need to force everyone to be friends.

After breakfast, Veric walked to the transit center together with everyone. But because they went to different schools and apprenticeships, they all departed earlier than her on different trolley lines.

Timed perfectly with their departure, Roxana appeared. “Good morning, Veric,” she said cheerfully. “How did you sleep last night?”

She’d had nightmares about failing her promise, her organs being pulled out.

“It was alright. What about you?”

Roxana flicked her glossy hair with a smile. “Another excellent night to start an excellent day. Who knows? Maybe we’ll find a solution to the noble problem today.”

Her friends wouldn’t call Roxana a rat sucker so much if they heard the way she complained about the aristocracy, but it seemed unlikely she would ever open enough to show them her true thoughts.

Which, of course, always begged the question of why Veric was the one exception in her life.

When the trolley down to Nithemoore arrived, Roxana took the seat next to her, as naturally as breathing. If an outsider didn’t know any better, they could have mistaken them for friends.

In truth, Veric didn’t like Roxana.

She was manipulative, ambitious, and good at lying. Veric had suffered for it when Roxana had first been transferred to the Nithemoore Shrine. She’d twisted Veric’s words, found malice in Veric’s mistakes where there had been none, and transformed her friends’ dislike of her into evidence of Veric leading a bullying campaign against her — proof of Veric possessing an ugly and unsightly ambition for the Saintess’ veil. In just a scant few months, the relationships she’d built with the clergy all her life had deteriorated until they were dangling by a thread.

Veric had truly hated her in the way that only the impotent and helpless could. Until one day, while practicing with the power of the Great Dragon, she’d sensed a maelstrom of pain and desperation in the garden so great that she dropped everything to run outside and help.

But she’d only seen Roxana bent over the edge of the deep pond, lavender locks spilling into the water, looking for all the world like she’d just tried to drown herself. At the sound of her footsteps, Roxana lifted her head, and the look in her eyes was so haunted and terrible that Veric found herself blurting out, “Are you okay?”

Roxana’s expression cleared up slightly. “Verica…”

She stood up, swayed, and stumbled into the water. Veric caught her. She wanted to let go, but Roxana clung onto her arm and leaned into her embrace, clutching her like she was the only person left in the world.

“You’re the only one who ever reached out for me…” she mumbled. Her grip tightened. “Why is it always you? Why? After everything…”

She tilted her head up, meeting Veric’s eyes. The hatred and jealousy and longing on her face made her look half-mad.

Accusing or cajoling, she said, “No matter what I do, you’ll always be there, won’t you?”

Before Veric realized what was happening, she’d shoved Roxana away back into the pond.

It was a mistake. If previously Roxana had driven her into a corner, this incident would let her deal a death blow. Veric would never have a chance to prove herself innocent of all that Roxana had accused her of.

Veric looked at Roxana, fallen back into the water with a startled expression. She was so delicate and soft. It had been so easy to push her in. It probably would be even easier to hit her.

Roxana was going to ruin her, anyways. Why not give her something to really cry about?

Veric closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and turned around.

“You seem unstable right now. I’ll find someone to help you.”

“Help me?” Roxana reached out and grabbed her clothes. “Verica—”

Tearing herself out of her grip, Veric said very calmly, “Roxana.”

Something in her tone made Roxana go quiet.

“I don’t know what kind of wrong idea you have about me, but there’s no one I hate more in the world than you.”

Maybe it didn’t matter if she gave into her dark impulses and showed Roxana what it really meant to be hurt. But it mattered what kind of person she was. She wanted to be someone strong and true to her convictions; someone who defended the weak, not someone who beat them.

And Veric loathed Roxana so intensely, she couldn’t stand the idea of being anything like her.

“Right now,” Veric said, “you look easy to hurt, and when I’m around you, I don’t feel particularly Saintess-like at all. So.”

She lowered her head, chancing a single look back. Roxana flinched.

“Don’t talk to me again unless you’re ready to get hurt.”

When she left the garden to call for aid, Roxana didn’t stop her.

Strangely, after that day, Roxana’s machinations against her came to a complete halt, and she didn’t say another word to her. But for the few months following, she was distracted and emotionally volatile, and she continued to be a distracting presence in Veric’s Hierarch-blessed senses. Whatever weighed on her was so immense she started having outbursts at other people in the temple, too.

It was a difficult period that Veric didn’t care to dwell on.

Eventually, Roxana calmed down, and she became more stable, more mature. Instead of treating Veric as invisible, she fell into a civil — almost indifferent — attitude.

And then one day, Roxana came to her, said she was sorry, and that she wanted to be her friend.

The Saintess was supposed to be graceful, forgiving, and merciful, strong enough to bear all sorrows.

It had taken a lot to walk away again.

Roxana had been persistent. The unrelenting force with which she’d clawed Veric’s life to pieces was the diligence with which she pursued Veric’s favor now.

Veric hadn’t ever intended to accept Roxana into her circle. Abiding by her principles was one thing; letting Roxana close was another. And why had Roxana changed her attitude so completely, when Veric hadn’t done anything for her, and Roxana hadn’t given up on wearing the Saintess’ veil?

What had changed everything between them was the confession.

“So, any idea how you’ll deal with the nobles today?” Roxana asked, breaking Veric out of her thoughts.

She shook her head. “Teacher is still waiting to see if Acacius will follow through with what he said.”

Roxana scoffed. “That guy’s only reliable where his own interests are concerned.”

Roxana hadn’t been the one standing in front of Acacius when he’d threatened to destroy his own eyes.

“Do you really believe that?” Veric said.

“Don’t you? Be honest, Veric. Once trash, always trash.”

Veric looked at her steadily. Roxana flushed and looked away.

“Come on, it’s different between you and me. Hasn’t it been long enough?”

Roxana’s habits weren’t much different from back then. She was just wielding them towards different goals.

“You saw the Saintess Emeritus yesterday, right?” Veric asked, changing the subject. “Did she make any headway with the nobles?”

“Yes, well…” Roxana twirled her hair, looking out the window. “Ila makes too many concessions. ‘Leaning on the dragon’s might’ doesn’t make you a dragon, it just makes you a dog.”

If anyone heard Roxana speaking about the Saintess Emeritus like that, her alleged allegiance with her faction would be called into question. Were Veric to spread the word around, Roxana’s bid for the veil would be that much harder.

Veric still didn’t know why Roxana was bold enough to place her trust in her.

“Then do you have any of your own ideas about what to do?”

Roxana blinked her jewel-like eyes and smiled innocently.

“Why, do you plan to follow what I say? If you hold me in such high regard, why not just hand the position of Saintess to me? I promise I won’t lead you astray.”

Veric snorted. “Sorry, but I won’t give up that easily.”

“No? Phooey. And here I was, thinking you might be having second doubts.” Roxana leaned back in her seat. “If you can’t heal anymore, how can you possibly be Saintess? Don’t be so irresponsible.”

It wasn’t impossible for Veric to obtain her healing talent again. All she had to do was work hard enough to earn another lifestyle title, and then sacrifice it to the scales of her World Proof.

But would she earn one in time for the Saintess selection?

Veric quirked her mouth.

“You have it backwards, Roxana. If I become the Saintess, naturally, I will gain the ability to heal.”

“Please. The Saintess is a title bestowed upon a qualified candidate, not a title that makes one qualified by bearing it. Otherwise, couldn’t anyone become the Saintess? The Shrine can’t make its choice so arbitrarily.”

“Oh, so the decision of who can become Saintess still lies in human hands?” Veric smiled teasingly. “Then that makes things simple. I’ll just become the first Saintess who’s unable to heal.”

Roxana stared at her a moment, then pointed an accusing finger. “You’re not taking me seriously at all!”

Wrong again. She didn’t know just how serious Veric was.

It had already been a few days since they returned to school, settling back into routine. Some of the desks in their classroom were empty, now. People had left flowers for the dead students, but they kept being cleared away overnight by the janitorial team. Professor Raoul had made space on his desk for anyone who wanted to leave something long-term, but it just didn’t feel the same.

He was giving home room announcements now.

“The make-up special assignment has been confirmed,” he said. “At the end of the week, we will be holding an exam — a territory management simulation.”

For this competition, he explained, students would work in teams of two. The exam would take place in a simulated space opened by a 5E artifact. The space would be divided into different territories with region-specific resources. Each student would receive a number of tokens based on their grades, and before the exam began, the tokens could be exchanged for starting resources or the right to choose a specific territory on the map.

Everyone had three hours to obtain as many tokens as they could. This could be accomplished by developing their territory’s hidden resources, trading with other territories, or even “going to war.”

“Lastly,” Professor Raoul said, “it would be unfair to grade everyone according to what happened in an unforeseen catastrophe, but neither do we wish to let everyone’s feats go unacknowledged. Therefore, bonus tokens will be awarded to those who made exceptional contributions during KP-04.”

Many eyes in the classroom turned towards Luka and Acacius. Normally, Veric would have looked at Luka, too, but she found herself glancing at where Acacius was seated by the window, watching the faint downturn of his mouth and his hand tightening on his pencil before he smoothed his expression out into its usual blank calm.

“As additional compensation for the interrupted special assignment, Nithemoore will be offering a selection of prizes from its treasury for those who complete the make-up exam. The selections will be made in order of ranking on the exam. Details will be posted on the announcements board, along with other news for the week. Be sure to attend the awards ceremony this evening, and don’t forget the memorial service this weekend.”

During break, everyone swarmed out to the announcements board in the hallway. Veric examined the prizes with interest before checking the token distribution guidelines. According to its description, the average student would start off with ten tokens. At the top of the bonus distribution list were Acacius and Luka, who would start with fifty each.

“Do you have a partner in mind?” Veric asked Luka.

He shook his head, eyes still on Acacius’ name. “I think Nastaran might ask, since our partnership fell through last time.”

Veric bit back her next question and forced a smile that Luka wasn’t looking at. “Right. It would make sense to work with your previous partner.”

Now his gaze moved to rest on her. Imagining that he could see her pettiness and jealousy, she felt a wash of embarrassment, and resentment at him for seeing it, and shame for feeling that way, and a small hope that if he could see it, he would ask.

He didn’t. He said, “Then will you partner with Acacius?”

Veric thought about saying, “Why don’t you?”

But that was immature.

“Maybe I will,” she said, which didn’t feel much better.

She couldn’t find Acacius during their breaks, and he somehow slipped away after class. She’d never noticed until she wanted to find him, but he had a talent for avoiding others. As a result, she didn’t see him again until after the award ceremony that evening.

In fact, she hadn’t expected to see him. The school had sent invitations to a number of students who’d contributed meaningfully in KP-04, including herself, but Acacius had declined to participate. He seemed reluctant to receive any attention about this matter at all — something that was at odds with a noble’s usual political interests. Even Luka had the common sense to accept what accolades Nithemoore wished to give him, but Acacius had proved in KP-04 that he was quite capable of overturning common sense.

So at the ceremony, the school awarded Cardinal Jules, Mehran Sattari, and Dagian Naveen for their contributions in helping everyone survive. Veric stood on the stage with Roxana, awarded for their part in rescuing Professor Raoul and overturning the situation. However, the award for solving the disaster and guaranteeing the survivors’ safety was given to Luka alone.

Afterwards, everyone was swarmed by curious and congratulatory crowd members. Roxana basked in the conversation and questions coming her way. Luka held his engraved plaque silently and stood behind the other students, letting them take the brunt of the attention. Veric took one look at the journalists descending upon them all and decided that it would be better to wait for Luka outside.

Somehow, she managed to slip away. The night air outside the auditorium was crisp and fresh. Veric wandered to the fountain in the middle of the courtyard outside, looking up at its central statue. The Great Dragon’s serpentine form arched gracefully into the air, breathing out a delicate rain onto the fountain pond.

The Dragon’s symbols were even more abundant on Nithemoore’s campus than they were in the Dragon Shrine. The founder must have been a true fanatic. Perhaps it was a consequence of witnessing the Dragon’s descent.

In Lemiria, it was said that when the angels descended to the world, they were pulled down from the throne of divinity and made mortal and imperfect. But when the Great Dragon descended upon Iyiria, she was instead fixed as divine.

Maybe that was why she didn’t like showing herself to Iyiria anymore.

“Hey, Veric!” a cheery voice called out. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Veric tensed, carefully put on a neutral face, and turned around.

“Good evening, Nastaran.”

Nastaran Farzan was dressed befitting of a noble tonight, with a jewel-studded top, embroidered sleeves, and a silken green gown. She’d foregone her usual braid, letting her dark hair fall freely down in waves; a gauzy emerald head scarf adorned with gems draped over her head and shoulders. The lamplight caught on her long eyelashes as she smiled, shading her hazel eyes.

“Why so stiff and formal? Haven’t we had enough classes together by now?”

Veric said, “Did you come to find me as my peer in Nithemoore, or as a Farzan?”

Nastaran sighed, brushing aside a strand of hair from her face. “You’re such a bore. This is why no one likes talking to you at school.”

Veric tried not to let it show, but it stung. “Evidently, it’s not enough to stop you.”

“That’s just because I have such a friendly and compassionate disposition.”

Nastaran shook her wrist, and a paper talisman slipped into her hand. It was a minor concealment charm from the 5E frame commonly used for discreet conversations; through the redirection of spiritual energy, it nudged people into ignoring what was before them. With a flick of her hand, it glowed and dispersed, forming a small bubble of privacy around them.

“You see,” Nastaran said, “I heard you’ve been having a hard time at the Shrine recently, and I came up with an idea that will make both me and you happy.”

“So this is a matter concerning the Dragon Shrine,” Veric said, deliberately obtuse in the hopes that Nastaran wouldn’t push any further. “Would you like me to arrange a meeting with the Saintess?”

Nastaran didn’t heed her hint. “Oh, no, you misunderstand. This isn’t a deal with the Shrine; it’s a deal with you.”

She leaned close, smiling mischievously.

“Veric, don’t you want to be the Saintess?”

Veric forced herself not to step back.

“The internal matters of the Shrine aren’t for others to decide.”

“For now,” Nastaran agreed. “But let’s not dance around the truth. Saintess Emeritus Ila has the Sattaris’ backing, and Priestess Roxana is her favored candidate. Saintess Corisande, in her current state, can no longer support the Shrine by her strength alone. And you…”

She looked Veric up and down, raised an eyebrow, and smiled mockingly. Whether she referred to Veric’s male school uniform, her stocky and unfeminine build, or the healing ability she’d lost, it didn’t matter. Veric still flushed red from shame.

“Even if the Saintess wants you to be the successor, can she possibly promote a candidate like you on her own?”

Veric took a deep breath.

A Saintess should always keep her composure, and be capable of seeing through Iyiria’s dark undercurrents clearly.

Corisande had always fought to keep the nobles’ influence out of the Shrine, because if they came in, the Shrine would no longer be able to treat people equally. She wouldn’t accept a partnership with one of the Six Families. So, if the Farzans wanted to keep the Saintess Emeritus and the Sattaris in check, then the best candidate for them to support was… herself.

But Veric didn’t want to be the one to invite the Six Great Families’ schemes into the Shrine.

“It’s true that I’m quite lacking as a candidate. I’m afraid that I’m unworthy of the Farzans’ attention.”

“Don’t be so self-deprecating. With enough power behind you, even if you weren’t worthy before, you can become a worthy candidate now.”

If Veric wanted to resist the nobles’ interests, she couldn’t let Nastaran control the flow of this conversation forever. Roxana was good at navigating waters like this without losing the gentle and all-embracing grace of a Saintess. What would she do in this situation?

Something that would still benefit herself and the Shrine somehow.

Veric gave Nastaran a doubting look, then let out a quiet sigh. “Even if I was interested in your proposal, I couldn’t accept it. After all, what confidence do I have that the Farzans could match up to one of the Great Families — much less the Sattaris?”

Nastaran smiled. “The Dark Families are no less powerful than the Great Families, you know. That’s why together, we make up the Six.”

“But when have the Dark Families ever made the Great Families concede something truly important?” Veric said. “In two hundred years, you’ve never once seated one of your number onto the throne. And now, as a merchant family, you wish to oppose the Sattaris in… political influence?”

“Ah, I understand. Like any good merchant, you want some kind of guarantee. So, how can I prove the Farzan’s ability to you?”

Veric crossed her arms and tilted her head down to meet Nastaran’s bright eyes.

Because Veric was so close to the Great Dragon — even if in the wrong aspect for a Saintess — and because she’d been one of the targets in KP-04, the Six Families had been using it as a pretext to place guards in the Shrine. In reality, these “guards” observed and reported the Shrine’s movement, interfered with the Shrine’s incoming supplies for “security reasons,” and obstructed the Shrine’s health and healing services to the public.

“Keep all of the Six Families’ people out of the Shrine for one month.”

Nastaran laughed directly in her face.

“Oh, please! Don’t be absurd. A little delaying tactic like this won’t work; there’s no way the Shrine can keep its neutrality anymore. All you can do is decide who your backer will be.”

Veric raised an eyebrow. “If you can’t even do that much, why should I bother with you?”

Nastaran snorted.

“You know, Verica, I admire your bullheadedness! It’s amazing the way you flout the things that all girls should do, even though it doesn’t help your case at all. So let me offer you some advice. Woman to woman.”

Don’t call me that.

The Saintess was the embodiment of femininity. Veric failed that standard in many ways, but she should at least keep the name.

“Everything in life comes with a price,” said Nastaran. “Cling to your stubborn ideals, and you’ll pay with your position and the Shrine’s standing. But if you sell the Shrine’s neutrality, you can still rise to become the country’s most exalted woman. The Shrine can’t hold out either way, so why not choose the option that benefits you most?”

Veric wanted to be the Saintess, yes, but she didn’t want to be a woman to do so.

But the Saintess could only be a woman.

“What if none of these outcomes are what I desire?” she said.

Nastaran laughed mockingly.

“Give up on your dreams and face reality. You better think clearly about what price you are willing to pay, before the decision is made for you.”

As Veric floundered for a refutation, a soft laugh interrupted their conversation.

“Nastaran, aren’t you too blinded by a merchant’s perspective? There’s still a third option Veric can take… One I’m quite partial to myself.”

Veric jolted, and Nastaran spun around. Emerging from the darkness into the lamplight was Acacius, golden eyes gleaming like a lion’s, his smile curved like a hunter’s claws.

How had he noticed their conversation past Nastaran’s talisman?

“What option is that, choosing the Duvals as a backer?” said Nastaran. “Even a child could see the dangers of that.”

Acacius’s eyes curved to match his smile.

“Who said she had to choose a backer? Aren’t you a bit lacking in imagination?”

With slow, measured steps, he moved to Veric’s side. Her gaze and Nastaran’s followed him as if entranced.

“In situations like this,” he said, “I often feel that if I can’t have it, then no one else can have it either.”

Wrapping his arm around Veric’s shoulders and curling it around her neck, he forcefully pulled her close and lowered his head to meet her bewildered gaze.

And then, his expression fell away into such a complete and utter blankness it sent a chill down her spine.

“So, Veric. You want to align with someone? Do you want to see the Dragon Shrine destroyed?”

Nastaran started. “Acacius? What do you mean? You wouldn’t…”

He cut her off as he kept speaking, voice colder than the blade of his knife.

“I respect your choices, Veric. I truly do. So that’s why I’m telling you this.”

The corners of his lips curved up like a razor. And then, with the eye outside of Nastaran’s line of sight, he winked.

“You should consider very carefully before you make a choice.”

Chapter 44 Back to Index