Thalia tended to my wounds.
She wrapped a long strip of gauze around my wrist with careful, practiced motions.
Her fingers were steady.
Warm where they brushed against my skin, cool where the ointment had already begun to seep in.
"You've got good pain tolerance,"
She muttered, not quite praise, not quite a jab.
"Or maybe you're just too stunned to flinch."
I huffed softly. More breath than laugh. "Both."
She smirked at that.
Finally meeting my eyes.
"You're not what I expected."
"Yeah?" I asked, voice low. "What did you expect?"
Thalia paused.
Tying off the end of the wrap with a firm tug.
"Someone older. Sharper. More… dangerous, maybe. You look like you're still deciding if this is a dream."
I didn't answer right away.
Maybe I was still deciding.
She stood and crossed the room.
Rinsing her hands in a basin, her back to me now.
"Whatever Alteria sees in you… I hope it's not misplaced."
The weight of her words settled in the space between us.
I flexed my hand gently.
Testing the wrap. It was snug. Secure.
No adjustments needed. Not now.
The water dripped steadily into the basin.
She dried her hands on the cloth that had clearly seen better days.
She didn't turn back immediately.
Just stared at the ripples a second too long.
"You've known her for a long time?" I asked.
Thalia tilted her head slightly, then finally glanced over her shoulder.
"Since we were girls. Same orphanage. Same choir. Same prayers."
She exhaled, folding the cloth.
"We took our vows together, once. Before the crown dragged her back."
There was no bitterness in her voice. Just memory.
"So you were nuns?"
She gave a short nod.
"Still are, in a way. Can't unlearn reverence, no matter how much the world tries to pry it out of you."
Her eyes met mine again. Less guarded this time.
"She's always been the brave one. The stubborn one. She thinks she can change everything."
"I used to believe it too."
She paused.
"Maybe I still do."
It was something raw in her gaze.
She blinked it away and moved toward the shelves.
She began organizing bottles that didn't need organization.
"Thanks," I said.
She raised an eyebrow.
Not moving from where she stood. "For what?"
"For treating me. For not… making me feel like a mistake."
Thalia's lips tugged into a half-smile.
It wasn't exaggerated or theatrical.
Just real. Earned. The kind someone gives when they've seen too much to pretend.
"I've seen plenty of mistakes," she said. "You're not one of them."
She stepped toward the door.
Her gait is loose, casual. Her fingers brushed the wooden frame as if debating whether to say more, but deciding against it.
"Just don't become one."
And then she was gone.
The door remained open slightly behind her.
The quiet crept in.
Not hollow or empty, but full of breath.
Lived-in. Present.
I sat a moment longer, letting my muscles sink into the cot. My body still ached in all the places the fire had touched. My ribs, my chest, my arm.
The sting beneath the gauze was manageable, but it was the memory of it that clung to me.
A warning curled beneath the skin.
And yet… under all of that, something else stirred.
Something like clarity.
Like I wasn't entirely lost anymore.
A soft knock tapped once against the frame.
I looked up.
Alteria stood there, her posture poised but relaxed.
One hand rested gently against the wood.
Her gown caught the lantern light behind her, edges of gold embroidery glinting faintly.
Her hair was no longer damp, her face unreadable but her eyes… they were clear.
"Come with me," she said.
No elaboration. No softened tone. Just an invitation.
Simple, sharp.
I stood without question.
My legs still felt like they were deciding whether to hold me, but they did.
I followed her through the corridor, down the same stretch of quiet that had brought us here.
But something gnawed at the edge of my thoughts.
All of this.
This castle, this power, this fire inside me.
It felt unreal.
Like I had stepped into a life meant for someone else. A question circled my mind.
Do I really believe any of this?
Did I think they were lying to me?
"Raze."
Her voice cut through the haze. Not loud.
Not forceful. Soft. Cotton brushing against the edge of my hearing before snapping it into focus.
"Yes?"
Alteria kept walking.
Her head didn't turn.
Her voice floated back to me like she knew exactly where my thoughts had drifted.
"Those who think all the time have nothing to think about but thoughts... Stop overthinking whatever you are and speed up."
I paused, blinking.
Her words shouldn't have made sense.
But somehow, they did.
"—Sorry, Alteria."
We walked in silence for a beat longer.
"Don't apologize for being human..."
I didn't respond. Not right away.
There was something in her words.
Simple, yet shaped by weight.
Like they weren't just meant for me. Like they were something she'd once heard herself.
The silence between us wasn't uncomfortable.
It filled the space like a long exhale. We moved together, our steps syncing without effort.
Stone gave way to soft rug as we turned another corridor, then a set of narrow stairs descending toward a deeper hall.
The warmth from the upper floors faded.
The air here was cooler, more enclosed.
Not suffocating—but older. More still.
"Where are we going?" I asked finally.
She didn't glance back.
"Somewhere less ceremonial."
We passed a pair of tall windows.
Each one sealed by stained glass which shone moonlight into colors across the marble floor.
The images in the glass were regal.
Crowns, saints, a dragon curling around a flame.
I tried to make sense of them.
They passed too quickly.
At the end of the hall, a heavy door waited.
Smaller than the grand ones near the entrance.
but no less important.
Alteria reached for the handle, hesitated for a fraction of a second, then pushed it open.
The room beyond wasn't a throne room.
It wasn't a war chamber. It was…
A library.
The walls stretched high with shelves carved into the stone itself, lined with books, scrolls, and artifacts I didn't have names for.
A long central table stood beneath a low-hanging crystal light, flickering with suspended mana.
It smelled of parchment, oil, and faint ash.
Like the whole room had once been set ablaze and then rebuilt from memory.
"This is where I learned most of what I know," she said. "Where I was taught what I had to become."
Her voice didn't change, but the rhythm of her steps did. Slower now, more deliberate.
She crossed the room and ran her fingers across a dusty spine before pulling a tome free.
She flipped it open with practiced hands and set it on the table in front of me.
The page was filled with symbols.
Runes and diagrams that looked more alive than written.
At the center was a shape I recognized: the same ring from the garden, the one I'd stepped into.
"Your affinity is fire. But fire is only the surface," she said. "There are stages to magic. Depths. You haven't even touched the root of what it can become."
I stared at the markings, trying to decode them. They didn't speak to me in words, but something about them hummed. Familiar. Dangerous. True.
"Why show me this now?" I asked.
"Because knowledge is the only shield you'll have once instinct fails you,"
She replied.
"And because from this point on…"
She looked up. And this time, her voice was soft.
Not just in volume, but in intent.
"…You're not just a weapon. You're my Drakos."
My throat tightened.
There was no fanfare.
No pageantry. Just the simple weight of her words.
A statement.
A bond.
And whether I understood the full meaning or not… I knew it had already begun to shape me.