When Judgment Learned to Kneel

The Masters leaned in, their voices dropping into the harsh, guttural cadence of Draconic.

"Arveth," one of the women murmured. She was strikingly tall, with dark auburn hair and calculating brown eyes. A jagged scar snaked from her wrist, vanishing beneath her sleeve somewhere past her elbow. "Do you think you can handle him?"

Arveth let out a harsh, dismissive scoff. "I want absolutely nothing to do with him. He’s as wild as an unbroken stallion. My methods would either embolden him enough to turn my own students against me, or break him until he’s entirely useless."

Probably the wisest fucking thing the bastard had ever said.

Two of the Masters shared a dark, breathless laugh. Arveth shot a glaring look toward Windwalker. "Why don't you take him?"

The sole full-blooded elf at the table leaned forward, resting her elbows on the carved wood. Her hair was a shade so unnaturally vibrant against her pale skin I couldn't tell if it was dye, magic, or just some obscure breed of elven vanity. "We all saw the way he looked at Acolyte Maire," she purred, her gaze sliding over me. "You could easily use her to tame him."

And there it was. The exact, lethal reason I had absolutely no intention of letting this little council continue.

"No."

The cavernous chamber went dead silent. Several of the Masters openly gaped at me, naked shock fracturing their composed expressions as the realization hit: I had understood every single syllable of their secret tongue.

A half-elven woman slowly leaned into the light. She had porcelain skin, a cascade of midnight hair, and silver-gray eyes sharp enough to dissect a man’s soul before he even opened his mouth.

"So, we can dispense with teaching him the dragon tongue." A ghost of a smirk played on her lips before she swiveled her lethal gaze to Windwalker. "Is there anything else your little expedition conveniently neglected to mention while observing him?"

I had already suspected Windwalker’s lackeys were analyzing me during the ascent. But hearing it acknowledged with such casual arrogance? It made the simmering contempt in my chest freeze into pure, absolute ice.

Windwalker’s neck flushed a mottled crimson. "No," he ground out through clenched teeth. "Beyond his raw combat prowess and the... strange sensation surrounding him, they reported nothing unusual about his abilities or education."

A slow, dangerous smile curved my mouth.

Another half-elf caught it. She had sun-warmed skin and black hair twisted into a severe bun, pinned by something resembling a brass measuring instrument. She turned to the bald, heavyset man beside her, whose thick fingers were drumming an impatient rhythm against the wood.

"Does he strike you as someone you would claim, Master Jorren?"

The drumming abruptly stopped.

Jorren’s heavy gaze slid between Tessa and me. Then, his attention locked entirely onto her. It lingered—sickeningly long—while his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip.

"I could teach the girl," he grunted, his voice thick. "The boy would be entirely too much trouble." He casually wiped at a line of drool pooling at the corner of his mouth.

The woman seated to his immediate left violently seized the ancient symbol of Bahamut hanging from her throat. She locked Jorren in a murderous, unblinking glare.

"If I discover you preying upon the acolytes again, Jorren, I will castrate you myself. Just like we did to the last Master who occupied your seat."

Jorren swallowed hard, his hands instinctively dropping to shield his groin.

Across the heavy timber, Windwalker and Arveth had already devolved into a heated argument with the auburn-haired woman. The fragile tension in the room shattered completely as Arveth violently slammed his palm against the wood.

“Maelira, you are vastly overstepping.” The words hissed through his teeth. “You know damned well the Grand Master would mount our heads on spikes if we allowed someone as feral and unmanageable as this little—”

He thrust a shaking finger directly at me, his face mottled with a furious, ugly red. Beside him, Windwalker simmered in absolute silence, a muscle ticking violently in his jaw as he fought to keep his fragile control intact.

Maelira merely propped her chin on her hand, regarding Arveth with the kind of bored indifference usually reserved for a stain on the floorboards. “Just admit you’re entirely incapable of taming him, and I’ll ensure the Grand Master hears of it. Perhaps we can arrange a nice, quiet retirement for you.”

Whoever this mysterious Grand Master was, the others either cowered before his sheer power or dreaded his lethal judgment. Neither option inspired a shred of fucking confidence.

Maelira’s cool gaze slid past the imposing, empty chair anchoring the center of the table. “Veyra? Nymera? Would either of you care to claim him, or are we officially declaring him a lost cause before the sun is fully up?”

The woman white-knuckling the symbol of Bahamut narrowed her eyes, assessing me like a disease. “Absolutely not. He would poison my ranks. He doesn't strike me as particularly... devout.”

The pale half-elf seated next to Jorren smoothly rose to her feet, bracing both hands against the heavy timber. “I think he’d be a flawless fit for mine,” she purred. “And I’ll claim the girl as well. My group is currently the smallest, after all.”

Windwalker leaned into the light, the angry flush slowly bleeding from his neck. “Very well, Veyra. They are yours.” He interlaced his fingers, doing a pathetic job of masking the absolute relief that I was officially someone else’s nightmare.

Master Veyra descended the dais with predatory grace. Halfway across the chamber, she threw a devastatingly sly smile over her shoulder. “Then I assume you won’t object to me borrowing Acolyte Maire for the next few months. You did just volunteer her as his personal guide, after all.”

Windwalker shot to his feet, his chair scraping violently against the stone. “I did no such fucking thing.”

There it was. The exact same poisonous, cutthroat game the street rats played in the dirt, just dressed up in expensive silk robes.

Maelira practically vibrated with dark delight. “I’m fairly certain we all bore witness to your little declaration on the stairs, Windywalks. You explicitly ordered Maire to show him around. New recruits require a mentor for a mandatory two months, and the Winnowing just so happens to be exactly two months away.”

Windwalker looked like he was one second away from biting clean through his own tongue.

Arveth coughed into his fist, utterly failing to disguise a malicious smirk. “I personally witnessed the declaration. Surely you wouldn't dishonor your own unbreakable word, Windwalker. What kind of pathetic example would that set for our students?”

Windwalker stood rigidly locked, his explosive anger contained by sheer, bloody-minded willpower. Finally, he forced the jagged words past his teeth.

“Agreed. I gave my word Maire would guide him. It was... a formal declaration of mentorship. She is yours.”

The remaining Masters smoothed their expressions into masks of practiced, lethal control, but not a single one managed to bleed the smug satisfaction from their collective voices.

“Very well,” they murmured in unison.

Veyra halted directly in front of us, planting her hands on her hips as her piercing gaze raked over Tessa and me.

“Not entirely tragic. Both of you, move. I need to collect my shiny new acolyte. I’m sure she’ll be absolutely thrilled.”

She stalked past us, the air snapping in her wake. Tessa immediately scrambled after her.

I paused, pivoting slowly back toward Windwalker. Holding his furious gaze, I silently mouthed two words: Your loss. Then I spun on my heel and took the stairs.

Veyra shot me a sideways glance as I fell into step beside her. “I sincerely hope that little taunt was worth it, Acolyte Caelen. Windwalker isn't exactly famous for letting blatant disrespect slide.”

“That’s exactly what I’m banking on,” I drawled, keeping my tone agonizingly casual. “He screams like the type who chronically underestimates anyone he deems beneath his boot, then applies suffocating pressure until their potential either snaps in half or bleeds out.”

Genuine surprise fractured her composed mask. “That is terrifyingly astute. You’ve dissected him flawlessly. Who taught you to gut people with a glance like that?”

Centuries spent navigating the suffocating paladins and corrupt clergy of Elturel had made the predictable, arrogant habits of zealots painfully easy to map. She would never fathom that I’d carved those lessons into my bones over a millennium ago. So, I fed her the smallest, sharpest lie available.

“I picked it up where I used to live.”

One elegant eyebrow arched. “A monastery?”

I shook my head, a dark smirk playing on my lips. “Not exactly. Wouldn't call it a home, either. It was crawling with religious zealots, and just as many godless bastards. But every single one of them clawed for influence using the exact same currency: dirty alliances and lethal connections.”

A genuine, dangerous smile curved her mouth. “That sounds disturbingly identical to this place. You might just survive us after all, Caelen.”

We were halfway down the sweeping stone descent when I finally unleashed the question currently burning a hole in my mind. “Why did you volunteer to claim both of us?”

Behind me, Tessa practically sprinted to catch up, flanking Veyra’s opposite side. “Yes. My previous instructor swore that merely surviving the pilgrimage didn’t guarantee a place here.”

Veyra stopped dead. She pivoted slowly, her sharp gaze locking onto the trembling girl.

“Your former Master wasn't lying. Under normal, sane circumstances? Only a predator like Caelen would have survived the cut.”

Veyra’s sharp gaze shifted, locking pointedly onto me. “But I have my suspicions about exactly why he kept you alive instead of slaughtering you in your sleep inside that murder chamber.”

Tessa went completely, horrifyingly pale.

Veyra glanced back at her, entirely unfazed. “I’m simply glad I didn’t need to dispose of a fresh corpse this morning. Perhaps we’ve finally acquired someone compassionate enough not to intentionally murder everyone in his immediate vicinity. Bahamut knows this monastery desperately needs more people with a functioning moral compass than whatever shit Windwalker and the others are peddling.”

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She resumed her descent, her pace quickening down the ancient stone. “Tessa, dear, if you learn only one thing from Caelen, let it be compassion. Even an enemy might deserve it.”

I flicked my gaze toward Tessa. Her expression was a masterclass in suppressed panic—it screamed everything that needed to be said. Veyra could not have been further from the truth if she had violently thrown herself off the summit and started digging in the exact opposite direction.

I cracked open my mental barricades just enough to thread a private, telepathic message directly into Tessa's mind.

Hide your surprise next time. If she had been watching you, we would both be answering some incredibly difficult questions right now.

Tessa flushed a furious crimson, instantly covering the lower half of her face as she scrambled ahead to hide in Veyra’s wake.

By the time we hit the base of the sweeping stairs, thirty acolytes were waiting in the courtyard below. Humans, elves, and half-elves stood shoulder-to-shoulder among a dozen other ancestries, every single one of them carrying the invisible, heavy traces of whatever brutal life had dragged them to this miserable mountain.

Two immediately stepped forward to intercept Veyra.

The first was a young man with sun-warmed skin, dark blond hair, and striking gray-blue eyes. He carried a cultivated, effortless polish in his stride—the exact brand of lethal elegance that highborn nobles spent decades pretending came naturally.

The second was familiar. Olyra.

Both bowed in unison. “Good morning, Master,” the young man said smoothly. “Am I correct in assuming you won the sorting?”

Won the sorting? I mentally pocketed that phrase for later.

Veyra flashed a wicked grin. “No. I didn’t win. What I did acquire is a wild card for the Winnowing two months from now. Caelen here might just become our anchor in the fighting pits.”

She stepped up behind me, planting a heavy hand squarely between my shoulder blades and shoving me half a pace forward. “Vaelorn, I know you’re an exceptional fighter, but from what I’ve heard of this one—”

Vaelorn held up a single, placating hand. “Brenn and Olyra already briefed me. Apparently, he can take on several combatants simultaneously and still walk away breathing.” He let out a heavy, long-suffering sigh.

Olyra jumped in before Veyra could respond. “And nearly every other potential recruit except…” She pointed a hesitant finger toward Tessa.

Tessa cautiously offered her hand. “Tessa.”

Olyra stared at the outstretched hand as though human greetings were some obscure, archaic ritual she had read about in a dusty tome but never actually practiced. After a painfully long beat, she accepted it weakly. “Tessa. Right.” She committed the name to memory. “Everyone else was probably slaughtered by Caelen on the ascent, so…”

Veyra slid seamlessly between Vaelorn and me, resting a companionable hand on each of our shoulders. “We actually have a fighting chance this year. Especially after my second surprise for you, Vaelorn.”

A rapid succession of emotions flickered across his handsome face before a deep, ingrained suspicion finally settled in. “What second surprise?”

Veyra leaned back, projecting her voice with enough concussive force to rattle the entire courtyard. “ACOLYTE MAIRE, FRONT AND CENTER!”

Vaelorn’s eyes blew wide.

Maire forcefully shoved her way through the gathered ranks of students, looking thoroughly, beautifully bewildered. “Yes, ma’am?”

Veyra closed the distance between them. “Master Windwalker just volunteered you to serve as Caelen’s personal mentor until the Winnowing. That places you squarely within my group until the evaluation is complete.”

Maire staggered back half a step, physically rocked by the mandate. “But Master Veyra, Windwalker was actively overseeing my rituals and casting training.” A thread of raw uncertainty bled into her usually defiant tone. “If I’m reassigned to your group, when will I possibly have time to—”

Veyra cut her off by lightly, dismissively flicking Maire directly on the nose.

Then, she seized the younger woman's shoulders, spun her around, and began ruthlessly steering her away from the gawking crowd. “Follow me, Strays. And Maire, do you honestly believe Windwalker is the only Master who comprehends the ancient rituals? He might oversee their instruction now, but I was the first among us to actually survive them. I can replace him until the Winnowing.”

Maire instantly stopped fighting the grip.

Vaelorn skipped lightly forward, falling into perfect step beside her. “You know how she gets. Once Veyra locks onto a decision, the gods themselves couldn't change her mind. Not after what she helped you through.”

Maire’s hand drifted instinctively toward her side—a phantom gesture to an unseen wound. Then, she gave a tight, conceding nod. “Yeah. I know.”

Veyra finally released her after we had crossed perhaps a hundred feet of stone. She strode ahead, then abruptly spun around, continuing to walk backward with a ridiculous, buoyant spring in her step.

“Caelen and Tessa, you’ll be staying in my private quarters for the moment. Maire will join Olyra and Vaelorn, since the three of them are already perfectly accustomed to one another's misery. In a couple of weeks, the two of you can transition into the bunkhouse. We simply need to locate the spare beds first.”

A dark laugh slipped out of me. The absolute, chaotic dysfunction of the group she affectionately called the Strays was almost charming. The name certainly suited them. Perhaps it suited me a little too well.

“Master,” I drawled, “why can’t we just move the beds from your house directly into the bunkhouse?”

Veyra’s backward steps slowed to a halt. She considered my question for a beat longer than I found comfortable.

“Well, Caelen. I only possess one additional bed. I naturally assumed you and Tessa could just share it until we procured another.”

My eyes widened. My jaw nearly unhinged.

“We shared a room last night because we were literally locked inside it like prisoners. We are not together, Master Veyra.”

Perhaps she had genuinely misread our dynamic. Though, judging entirely by the obnoxious, upbeat melody she instantly began whistling, I highly suspected she understood the reality perfectly and simply thrived on watching me squirm.

Olyra leaned in close, dropping her voice. “She does this all the time. Calls it 'relieving the tension.' Don’t panic, Caelen. There’s a battered futon rotting somewhere in the bunkhouse. We’ll hunt it down before nightfall.”

I gave a stiff nod, while Vaelorn carried on exactly as though this entirely unhinged situation were perfectly, wonderfully ordinary.

“It doesn’t matter much after the pilgrimage. Whenever I survive the climb, I usually spend a night or two resetting with a mate. Sometimes three.”

Vaelorn nudged Maire with a casual elbow, a wicked glint in his eye. “Isn’t that right? Warming beds is just part of the survival instinct here. We shared one, what, a week ago? Right after you beat Brenn bloody so you wouldn’t have to descend the mountain this time?”

Maire didn't hesitate. She drove a fist into his shoulder hard enough to make him wince.

“Ow.”

Still, she gave a begrudging nod. “Your ass was incredibly lucky I didn’t feel like doing chores.” Shrugging off the banter, she quickened her pace, seamlessly catching up with Veyra.

Their conversation instantly shifted into the guttural, rhythmic cadence of Draconic. Maire began dissecting a flaw in one of her rituals, stumbling over concepts that simply didn't possess a clean translation in Common. Her fierce dedication was striking.

It was a stark contrast to Vaelorn and Olyra, who had deliberately dropped back to trail behind Tessa and me, their eyes glued to the massive, dried bloodstains painting my gi.

Tessa reached out, lightly tapping my shoulder. “Caelen, I can take the floor tonight. It might make the sleeping arrangement simpler.”

From the corner of my eye, I caught Olyra literally clapping a hand over Vaelorn’s mouth in eager anticipation of my answer.

“No,” I said, keeping my tone flat. “I’ll take the floor. Don’t concern yourself.”

Olyra let out a loud, theatrical huff behind me. “Damn it. I genuinely thought we might get some decent entertainment tonight. I suppose you’ll have to do, Vae.”

Vaelorn threw both hands up in a silent, mocking celebration. “You won’t regret it, Olyra. I’ll make sure I measure up to Vo.”

Crack.

The slap echoed sharply through the biting mountain air. I glanced over my shoulder just in time to see a vicious red handprint blooming across Vaelorn’s cheek. Olyra looked momentarily shocked by her own violence.

Then, she grabbed the collar of his tunic and hauled him into a bruising, breathless kiss.

They were either intermittent lovers, or they belonged to that specific, deranged breed of people who weaponized hostility as foreplay.

When I looked forward again, Maire was watching them too. She rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck. “I am not sleeping tonight.”

Then she flawlessly pivoted back to dissecting her ritual as if the chaotic display behind her hadn't even happened.

Tessa adjusted the heavy straps of her pack, clearing her throat to drag my attention back to her. “I told you. Everyone here does it.”

I rolled my eyes, my fingers working to loosen the tight knot of my sash. I casually stripped off the blood-stiffened upper half of my tunic, letting the freezing mountain air hit my bare chest.

“Is that your incredibly subtle way of suggesting you’d like to relieve some stress with me tonight?”

Tessa didn’t even blink. “Yes.”

I shook my head, a dark smirk pulling at my mouth as I bundled the ruined tunic and shoved it into my pack. “I’ll consider it.”

Thankfully, the vicious mountain wind bit into my exposed skin, ruthlessly driving the thought from my mind. The metallic, suffocating stench of dried blood was beginning to overwhelm my senses as we navigated the winding paths toward Veyra’s sector.

Her home was a sturdy, medium-sized structure engineered to survive the brutal elements. It looked remarkably comfortable. The bunkhouse beside it, however, had been violently carved directly into the cliff face. The lower floor was passable. The upper floor looked like a condemned nightmare—shattered windows and rooms packed floor-to-ceiling with hoarded clutter.

That certainly explained the catastrophic lack of beds.

Vaelorn caught me staring. “Yeah. Olyra and Master Veyra are massive hoarders, in case you couldn’t tell.”

Veyra spun around instantly. Olyra beat her to the punch, driving a brutal fist straight into Vaelorn’s ribs. “Not another fucking word, Vae.”

Veyra waved Tessa and me forward. “Maire, take the room at the far end of the bunkhouse. Windwalker will send acolytes with your belongings later.” She clapped her hands sharply, jolting Tessa out of her horrified trance. “Tessa and Caelen, you’ll take my spare room. Once these two idiots locate the futon, one of you can claim it for the night.”

Her piercing gaze swept over the lot of us. “Dinner is goat stew.”

Vaelorn and Olyra groaned in perfect, disgusted unison.

Veyra’s eyes narrowed into lethal slits. “Be seated at my table by sunset, or neither of you eats.” They shut up immediately. “And Maire, once I settle these two, we will tear into those ritual scrolls. You’re likely missing a secondary arcane meaning that doesn't translate through Common. Dwarven, perhaps. Or Gnomish.”

Pure, unadulterated excitement lit up Maire’s face. “I’ll be there in a minute.” She practically sprinted into the bunkhouse.

Veyra shoved the heavy door to her home open.

The interior was absolutely nothing like the brutal, militaristic architecture of the monastery. It felt like a hidden witch’s cottage nestled deep in a forgotten elven grove. Warm timber lined the walls. Ancient tomes, scattered scrolls, and bundles of dried herbs claimed every available surface. It was shockingly cozy.

Homely. Completely, dangerously innocent for the blood-soaked mountain surrounding it.

She led us to a bedroom easily large enough to accommodate both of us. I stopped dead at the threshold.

“Where can I wash? I need to scrub yesterday’s blood and grime off me.”

Veyra let out a bright giggle and simply snapped her fingers. A potent, sweeping wave of magic washed over me from head to toe, instantly vaporizing the layers of dirt and dried gore.

“I’ll boil water outside later so you can wash properly. But you’d best become intimately accustomed to the blood, Caelen. Some of the harsher training days won't afford you the luxury of bathing.”

“Noted.” I leaned heavily against the wooden doorframe, watching her. “When does the real training begin?”

She glided across the room, her fingers trailing over the spines of the books lining her shelf. “In two days. You will spar against the entire group. In the pits.” She pulled several heavy tomes and a scroll, stacking them on the table. “The pits are smaller than the Winnowing arena. Arveth will be the sole Master judging your performance.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “And how different is the Winnowing?”

Veyra let out a heavy, weighted exhale. “The combat restrictions are completely relaxed. Acolytes are granted significantly more lethal freedom, and Grand Master Draelic personally evaluates your potential—and the quality of our instruction.”

“So, this evaluation is just as much about you surviving as it is about us.”

She looked up, her silver eyes locking onto mine. “This was going to be my final year. With you and Tessa, I barely scraped the required minimum of students.” Her gaze dropped back to an open book, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the parchment. “But if you dominate the pits... my teachings could become the monastery’s central doctrine for the entire next generation.”

She possessed a genuine, disarming warmth that the other Masters completely lacked. It made me wonder exactly why so few students had chosen her.

I didn't let the thought fester. I pivoted, starting to turn toward the bed.

A heavy linen shirt flew across the room and smacked me squarely in the face.

“Don’t turn around yet!” Tessa hissed, her voice frantic. “I’m still changing, Caelen!”

Ah, shit. I had completely forgotten I was sharing quarters with her.

“Sorry, Tessa.” I spun back around to face the corridor, letting out a rough grunt.

The next two weeks absolutely could not pass quickly enough.