When Judgment Learned to Kneel

The night bled into the late hours, all of us crammed around the scarred wood of Master Veyra’s table, picking at whatever culinary atrocity she claimed was goat stew. I chased mine with dark wine. The others clung to tea. Vaelorn, however, poured liquor like a man bracing for a physical blow.

The air in the cabin was thick with the scent of herbs and simmering frustration—most of it radiating directly from Maire. She hadn't touched her food, entirely consumed by an obscure translation regarding the exact heartbeat when magical intent ignited into physical flame.

Vaelorn finally dropped his spoon, the clatter sharp in the quiet, and downed the dregs of his bowl. "Why are you trying to conjure dragonfire, Maire?"

Her gaze snapped to him. A beautiful, jagged annoyance flared in her eyes. "Because it’s going to fucking work," she hissed through gritted teeth.

Veyra intercepted before Vaelorn could push back. "You’re supposed to be studying the ritual too, Vae. Or have you neglected to open the grimoire entirely this year?"

Vaelorn offered a dismissive shrug, the alcohol clearly doing its work. "Haven't had the time. I've been memorizing the Pilgrimage routes for Midwinter."

The temperature in the room plummeted.

Veyra and Olyra traded a sharp, loaded glance. Olyra slowly lowered her cup to the table, her knuckles white. "You actually decided to take the Archon’s Trial?"

Tessa and I traded a look. She voiced the question lingering in the sudden silence. "Is that an honor, or just incredibly dangerous?"

"Yes," Veyra said, her voice hollow.

Maire wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve, the fierce energy from moments ago entirely extinguished. "He’s taking the trial to pursue the path of a dragon priest."

Veyra reached across the worn wood, covering Vaelorn’s hand with her own. "It is a death sentence for most. Tessa, he intends to ingest dragon blood. To break his mortal limits and become something entirely different. It’s the most brutal trial our sect demands." Raw, bleeding concern laced her words—a stark, jarring contrast to the performative piety I usually witnessed from mortals.

"He will cross Faerûn on foot," Veyra continued, her voice trembling slightly. "Surviving the unique trial of every recognized monastery. Pass, and he earns a single drop of dragon's blood."

Vaelorn pulled his hand away, his expression hardening. "I passed our trial months ago. I didn't take the blood; I sealed it for the Archon’s Path." He met Veyra's gaze, then Olyra's, before his eyes locked onto Maire. The careless, arrogant boy was gone, replaced by something desperate. "If I want to possess the power to change a single damn thing outside this mountain, I have to try. I have to become an Archon."

Maire just stared at him.

A subtle, fractured widening of her eyes was the only betrayal of her emotions before a smooth, unreadable mask slammed into place. She offered a single, tight nod. And then, she shut down completely.

The rest of the meal passed in a blur of frantic interrogation from Olyra and Veyra, picking apart his routes, his preparations, his sanity. Vaelorn desperately tried to placate them, insisting he wasn't walking blindly into a massacre.

I sat back and watched them in quiet fascination. Affection untainted by manipulation. Genuine care without a dagger hidden behind the back. It was a rare, beautiful thing to witness in a place so soaked in brutality.

A sharp nudge against my ribs pulled me from my thoughts. Tessa subtly jerked her chin toward the door. I followed her gaze just in time to see Maire slipping out into the freezing night like a ghost.

Go after her, Tessa’s look demanded.

I leaned back and crossed my arms, deliberately ignoring the unspoken command. Whatever storm was raging inside Maire over Vaelorn’s choice, she wanted the shadows. Was it heartbreak? Disappointment? Cold indifference? I couldn't read her. Not yet. And that entirely infuriating mystery was quickly becoming an obsession.

With an exasperated huff, Tessa shoved her chair back, muttering something about needing fresh air, and marched out into the cold. Veyra barely waved; Vaelorn and Olyra didn't even blink.

I gave it a solitary minute before rising and retreating to the cramped room I was sharing with the little mortal. I dragged the worn futon across the floor, tossed the rough blanket over it, and lay back in the dark.

And instantly, my thoughts snapped right back to Maire. Again.

What exactly did Tessa think she was going to accomplish out there? The awkward half-elf could barely string a sentence together without trembling, and Maire… Maire was a force of nature wrapped in mortal skin.

The chilling sensation from the courtyard earlier still crawled beneath my skin. The sheer absence that surrounded her. It wasn’t emptiness. It was as if the very threads of fate had reached out to weave her into the tapestry of the world, felt the burning edge of her soul, and decided to flinch away.

Sitting across from her in the flickering candlelight of dinner had been sheer, agonizing torture. Whenever her gaze drifted even marginally in my direction, a dark, primal awareness flared down my spine. It didn’t matter if she was actually looking at me. My own body instinctively tracked her presence in the room, reacting to her like a moth drawn to a lethal flame.

Danger. Hunger. Something terrifying and entirely unnamed binding the space between us.

It made my pulse hammer with an adrenaline I hadn’t tasted outside the blood and ruin of a battlefield. I hated how desperately I enjoyed it.

For the better part of an hour, I tossed on that miserable, lumpy futon, fighting a losing battle to understand why a solitary mortal woman I’d barely exchanged words with could unravel centuries of absolute control.

The door finally creaked open, letting in a blast of winter air. Tessa dragged herself inside, looking utterly, pathetically defeated.

I propped myself up on one elbow, studying her in the shadows. "That expression somehow tells me absolutely nothing and entirely everything. How did your little rescue mission go?"

She collapsed face-first onto her bed with a dramatic groan. "She stared at the mountains while I talked."

I waited, the silence stretching. "That's it?"

"I tried twice," Tessa mumbled into the mattress. "The second time, she shot me a look that practically screamed fuck off, so I stopped. Vaelorn and Olyra eventually came outside and saved me from the most suffocating silence of my life."

A low, dark laugh rumbled from my chest, vibrating into the quiet room. "She doesn't exactly strike me as a woman desperate to bare her soul to strangers, Tessa."

“No,” she murmured.

“And we still don't know what normal looks like around here. Veyra, Vaelorn, and Olyra might be the unusual ones.”

Tessa sat upright, the shadows of the room clinging to her before she shifted, hanging her head over the edge of the mattress directly above me.

“You're more right than you know, Caelen.” The tenor of her voice shifted. She licked her lips, a nervous, damning tell. “Did you think about my proposition from earlier?”

I rolled my eyes, a low sigh escaping me as I turned away. “Go clean yourself up first. Then I'll help you unwind.”

She didn't answer. A breath later, the warm press of her hand settled against my back. She slipped gracefully from her bed, crowding onto the narrow space of the futon beside me.

“I’m ready, Caelen.”

I glanced over my shoulder. The desperate, hungry truth of it was written plainly across her face in the dark.

Silver mist curled and smoked around my limbs as I shifted out from beneath her, rising to my feet with effortless, predatory grace.

“I suppose this means my bed is about to become considerably less comfortable.”

What happened next belonged entirely to the dark. By the time sleep finally dragged us under, neither of us had the breath or the energy left to care about the ruined state of the futon.

I woke at dawn, the dead weight of Tessa wrapped securely around my right arm. Thin, golden blades of morning sunlight bled through the window, catching the dust in the air while she slept beside me, blissfully oblivious to the violent world outside.

Apparently, she had been carrying a suffocating amount of stress.

I extracted myself with agonizing care, leaving her to the quiet. A small, foolishly optimistic part of me hoped Veyra’s sleep was heavy enough that she hadn't heard anything.

That hope evaporated the second I stepped into the common room.

Master Veyra sat at the scarred wooden table, a heavy, leather-bound book open in one hand and a steaming mug of coffee in the other.

Without so much as lifting her gaze, she smoothly turned a page.

“If that is going to become a nightly occurrence, Caelen, I'm going to need you to keep her a hell of a lot quieter.”

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I froze.

Dammit.

Recovering my composure, I sauntered toward the table, moving with a lazy, arrogant stride, and poured myself a cup. The first sip hit my tongue like bitter, scorched lightning.

My grimace must have been spectacular. Veyra smiled into the spine of her book.

I dropped into the chair across from her. “I don't intend to make a habit of it, Veyra.”

The grimoire lowered, revealing eyes sharp enough to cut glass. “That's Master Veyra to you.”

A slow, wicked smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. “Understood, Master Veyra.”

I braced myself and drank again. “Besides, we weren't the only ones moaning at the moon last night.”

Her eyebrows shot into her hairline. “Are you implying that I—”

“No.” I cut her off smoothly, unwilling to let that horrifying thought finish. “I'm saying some of your other precious students were occupied with their own... extracurricular activities.”

She nearly inhaled her boiling coffee. “You heard them?”

I offered a single nod. I glanced at the text in front of her—rituals. Some pulsed with a familiar, ancient resonance I recognized instantly; others were entirely alien, even to me.

“My senses have always been unusually sharp,” I offered softly. “I'm not certain how they compare to demis, but—”

Veyra slammed her ceramic cup onto the wood with a sharp crack.

“Do not use that word in this house, Caelen.”

I raised an innocent eyebrow. “Demi?”

“Yes.”

“The term for half-humans?”

Her expression hardened into something cold and unforgiving. “Where you're from, perhaps. Here, it is a slur. Mostly spat at half-elves and those of mixed bloodlines who don't visibly wear the traits of their nonhuman parent.”

Interesting.

I leaned forward, wrapping both hands around the burning warmth of my mug. “Brenn is part giant.”

Veyra stared at me, evaluating the truth of my sight. A few agonizing seconds ticked by before she gave a terse nod. “His father is half-giant, half-human. Brenn is only a quarter, but he inherited the brutal height and the raw strength.” Her gaze turned calculating, raking over my lean, 6'2" frame. “Obviously, unusual anomalies exist.”

Meaning me.

She drained the last of her coffee. “Maire had to use Brenn's own crushing weight against him when they fought. Olyra tells me you simply overpowered him.”

A quiet, dark laugh slipped past my lips as I leaned back in the chair. “I did.” I held her gaze, my eyes dancing with dangerous amusement. “And before you mistakenly decide that raw strength is my only advantage, don't assume I couldn't outrun the quickest, most lethal acolyte on this mountain.”

Veyra snapped her book shut. “Then I suppose we'll find out.”

She stood, carrying her empty cup into the small, cramped kitchen. “Today, I'll assess the limits of your strengths and weaknesses. Tomorrow, we start putting them under breaking pressure.”

She dropped the mug into the stone basin.

“But before the sun sets today, I'm testing your blood against the Dragon Stone.”

That instantly hooked my attention.

I rose, stalking into the kitchen to set my mug deliberately beside hers. “What exactly is the Dragon Stone?”

Veyra reached for a small cloth and a glowing blue crystal resting beside the basin. The moment she slotted it into the faucet housing, magic hummed, and a steady stream of clear water spilled into the sink.

Convenient little parlor trick.

She began washing the mugs, her voice entirely too casual. “The Dragon Stone rips away the secrets. It gives us a flawless analysis of your magical potential and your physical composition. When we accept a new acolyte, their Master conducts the blood test personally, then builds a torturous training regimen specifically around the results.”

She rinsed a mug and set it aside to dry.

“The other Masters step in when necessary—I’m doing exactly that with Maire while I cover for Windwalker. But ultimately, the Master holding your leash decides whether you’ve actually mastered a technique well enough to survive advancement.”

I folded my arms across my chest and leaned my hip against the counter, absorbing the reality of it. It was a vastly more organized system than I had anticipated.

Though that didn’t necessarily make it sane.

“So,” I mused, a dangerous edge bleeding into my tone, “every Master knows the exact bloodline and secrets of every acolyte?”

Veyra finished wiping down my mug, pausing only to fix me with a mildly curious, piercing look.

“Bloodline isn’t usually what interests us,” Veyra murmured, placing the second mug precisely beside the first. “Lineage matters occasionally, but the Stone provides a broader, more invasive composition. Physical traits, raw magical affinity, inherited peculiarities. That sort of thing.”

She paused, wiping her hands. “And yes. Normally, every Master receives a copy of the results.”

I hummed quietly, pushing off the counter with fluid, lazy grace. From the adjoining bedroom, the faint rustle of Tessa stirring broke the quiet.

“One more question.”

Veyra waited.

“Could you hide someone’s results from the other Masters? If you wanted to?”

That earned a much longer, heavier pause. “It’s rare.”

Not impossible, then.

“But it has happened,” Veyra admitted softly. “Maire is one case I know of for certain. None of us know her true origins except Windwalker and Grand Master Draelic.”

That made me turn fully toward her.

Interesting. Very fucking interesting.

“Do you have suspicions?” I pushed, the predator in me leaning forward.

The bedroom door swung open before she could answer.

Tessa shuffled into the common room wearing absolutely nothing but the oversized shirt she had slept in. Which would have been vastly less notable if the hem actually covered anything below her hips.

It did not.

She lifted a hand in a lazy, uncoordinated wave, rubbing the sleep from her eye. “Mornin’, Master.”

Veyra just stared at her.

Tessa wandered blindly toward the table and slumped into a chair, blissfully oblivious to the impending disaster. “Gods, it’s freezing this morning.”

I looked at Veyra. Veyra looked at me. Then, her piercing gaze slid back to Tessa.

“Are you forgetting something?”

Tessa frowned. She patted her bare thighs. Stopped. Looked down.

Her eyes went impossibly wide. “Oh.”

I was already striding lazily toward the bedroom. By the time I returned, Tessa was on her feet, desperately trying to cover herself with both hands while looking horrified enough to seriously consider throwing herself out the nearest high-tower window.

I held out her discarded trousers. “I think you might need these.”

Her mortified gaze snapped to me. Then to Veyra. Then back to me. She sprinted across the stone floor, snatched the trousers from my grip, and threw herself back into the bedroom, slamming the heavy door shut behind her.

A muffled, hysterical scream echoed through the wood.

A dark, unapologetic smile curved my lips.

Veyra stared at the closed door for a long, heavy moment before finally looking at me. “It’s going to be an eventful day.”

I offered a careless shrug. “Seems that way.”

I crossed the room and dropped onto the worn couch, stretching my legs out as comfortably as the unforgiving furniture allowed.

A minute later, the door cracked open. Tessa emerged fully dressed, though her face was still a violent, burning shade of crimson. She marched across the room and bowed deeply, rigidly, before Veyra.

“I’m entirely sorry, Master.”

Veyra had already returned to the heavy grimoire she’d been studying at breakfast. She snapped it shut, walked smoothly to the shelf, and slid it into the third row.

I locked the exact location into my memory. There were ancient, pulsing rituals in that text I didn't recognize, and my insatiable curiosity had already decided I would be stealing it later.

Veyra rested both hands firmly on her hips. “As long as it doesn’t happen again, Tessa.”

Tessa nodded so rapidly she looked dizzy.

“Good. Eat.” Veyra gestured toward the remnants of breakfast. “Then meet Caelen and me outside. We’ll spar before heading to the Stonehouse for your testing.”

Whatever lingering embarrassment had paralyzed Tessa instantly evaporated. Her face lit up with a dangerous eagerness. She dropped into the nearest chair and attacked her food with enough savage urgency to make me wonder if she thought the meal might try to escape.

Veyra jerked her thumb toward the heavy front door. “Come on, Caelen.”

I rose to my feet in absolute silence. She gave me a long, calculating look as we stepped out into the biting morning air.

“I want to see if you’re actually as good as everyone keeps claiming.”

A wicked, blood-stirring grin pulled at the corner of my mouth.

Finally, something interesting.