The next morning, Alessia found Master Tormund instructing her Brothers in the main hall. The newly made Hunters sat before him, receiving guidance on managing the Presence.
“No more combat training until you’ve learned to control the Presence,” he was saying to them. His darkened eyes tracked her movement as she headed toward the office wing, but he continued addressing the Brothers without pause. “The primary goal you should all be striving for is control over it. Right now the Presence is still strong within you all, and you must learn when to call on it and when to suppress it.”
“Master, I’ve been reading the Book of Beasts,” Konrad said. “How would we deal with a harpy?”
Alessia slowed her pace, eavesdropping for the answer.
“Found mainly along the coasts,” he replied. “The best way is to immobilize it. Go for a wing first, or a talon.”
Satisfied, Alessia forced herself to keep walking, parchment in hand. Willem valued punctuality, and she couldn’t risk disappointing him before their meeting even began.
She arrived at his door. It was open, but she knocked anyway. “Good morning, Scribe Willem.”
“W-who is…” He squinted, his glossy black eyes struggling to focus. “Ah, Sister Alessia. Come in and take a seat.”
Willem’s trembling fingers traced the edges of the worn black wooden box on his desk. The same box she’d seen him carry during the Trial. The vials inside had changed everything for her Brothers.
“I appreciate you making time for this,” she said, fixing her gaze on Willem instead. “Do you mind if I take notes?”
He placed the box into a drawer, and she noted which one without letting her interest show.
“Notes?” He asked. “Please do,” he said, extending her a quill and inkwell.
“I hope you don’t mind if some of my questions seem basic,” she said. “I want to make sure I understand the fundamentals before taking on any administrative responsibilities.”
Willem leaned back in his chair. “Of course. Better to ask now than make assumptions later.”
“So let’s start with the fundamentals. The Prime Tenets of the Order.”
Willem straightened slightly. “The Tenets? You’ve heard them a thousand times.” He paused, studying her. “Though I suppose knowing them and understanding why they matter are different things.” He recited them with practiced ease: “First: Never take the life of a Brother or Sister. Second: Never abandon your Brothers or Sisters.
“Like Sister Ophelia did when she left?”
“Precisely.” He paused, studying her with those clouded eyes. “Though I’m curious why you’re asking about children’s lessons when discussing administrative roles.”
She didn’t flinch. “I want to understand the foundation before I learn the complexities. If there comes a day where I must enforce a Mark upon someone, I need to know exactly which principles they violated.”
He scratched his chin. “Hopefully that day never comes, but I understand. Third: Never take the life of a human, they distrust us enough already. ‘Mutants and child thieves,’ they say.” Willem’s expression darkened briefly. “Fourth: The Hunt supersedes everything.”
“Taking a human life, not even in self defense? What if there’s no way around it? You just implied they hate us.”
“It’s judged on a case by case basis. The rule is broad, but essentially refers to outright attacking them.” He scratched his chin. “Hate might be the wrong word, mistrust would be more fitting.”
“That’s straight forward enough, but I do have a follow-up question about the Fourth Tenet. What does that entail exactly? The Hunt?’”
“Nothing you need to personally worry about,” he assured her. “This Tenet applies to Hunters that have abandoned the Hunt or otherwise intentionally sabotaged, jeopardized, or committed treason that would undermine the mission.”
“That brings me to additional questions. First: How would a Hunter commit treason? How do we recognize this? Secondly: There are still crimes that fall outside these Tenets, correct? Ones that do not carry the Mark?”
“You know, Sister Alessia.” He eyed her with what seemed to be new life. “Before she was Master, Vickers came to me and asked these same questions. I admire your inquisitive nature.” He paused. “But, as to your answers. Treason would be considered when a Hunter sells his services, for his own benefit. Secondly, in short, yes. What would you like to know specifically?”
She jotted down some notes on the parchment. What I want isn’t something I can ask you plainly.
“For instance, say a Brother assaults a Sister? Or a romantic attachment begins to form?”
“Hmm,” he murmured. “None of these things would merit the Mark. Perhaps some time in the cell, but not the Mark.” He tilted his head. “Has someone assaulted you, Sister?”
She shook her head. “No, absolutely not, Scribe Willem. It was simply a question. One that I need to understand if I’m to replace Master Vickers.”
“Of course, that makes sense. Forgive an old man’s concern. When you mentioned assault specifically, I worried someone might have troubled you.”
“What about theft?” she casually asked.
“It still wouldn’t carry the Mark. Theft is punishable by time in the cell.”
“But theft can be egregious, we could argue.”
“As could assault,” he replied. “Assault isn’t necessarily defined as physical violence, it could be more… personal. Yet, the consequences are the same. With that said, Master Tormund may take his own measures of discipline.” He paused. “Say, more rigorous training.”
And that’s where you failed Sister Ophelia. The path you didn’t take.
Alessia hesitated, her eyes drifted from Willem and focused on the Book of Names behind him.
He noticed, looking behind him. “Something the matter, Sister?”
“May I ask you something personal?” she whispered. “Did you know her?”
He knew exactly what she meant. “I did. A gifted Sister, and wonderful woman. Despite her temper.”
“Tell me… tell me about her Trial.”
He rubbed his brow. “It was bad, Sister Alessia. I believe she experienced terrors unlike anyone ever had. Those screams, I told Grand Master Kelvin if it became any louder. Last Pass would collapse around us. I told her before she began the Trial. Don’t fight it. Don’t feed it.” He sighed. “I believe it was her temperament that was ultimately her downfall.”
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Her heart ached knowing that her idol had suffered such an excruciating fate. She could feel tears beginning to form behind her eyes, but she refused to show them to Willem.
“Forgive me, that was inappropriate.”
“History, no matter how brutal, is part of what you will need to know. I also understand your fascination with her, given your efforts in your combat training.”
They continued talking for another hour. Willem walked her through administrative procedures and the realities of managing Last Pass. Supply chains, training schedules, and correspondence with distant outposts through carrier pigeons.
The pigeons, as it turned out, were how Hunters received their contracts in the field. This led Willem to explain the payment system: Hunters never collected payment directly from clients. Instead, a courtier of the Order received all payments and delivered them to Last Pass, where a percentage was set aside for the Hunter.
“A Hunter taking payment directly from a client would be treason,” Willem explained. “It violates the Fourth Tenet, puts personal gain above the mission.”
Alessia asked thoughtful questions about record-keeping and resource allocation. She took more notes. Playing her role perfectly while Willem grew increasingly animated discussing administrative complexities most people found tedious. When he began explaining the intricacies of requisition forms for different types of weapons, she realized she’d learned everything useful she could from this approach.
“This has been incredibly insightful to the role,” she said, rising from her chair. “I feel much better prepared for the responsibilities ahead.”
Willem beamed. “You have an excellent administrative mind, Sister Alessia. Master Vickers chose her successor well. P-please,” he said as he rose from his chair. “Come back anytime with more questions, Master Vickers would also welcome them.”
Alessia stood and gave him a bow. “Of course, Scribe Willem. Your wisdom has been invaluable.”
She left his office with exactly what she needed and more. Scribe Willem, despite being a Hunter, had to sleep at some point, and she knew exactly where to find the vials once he did. He slept more than Master Tormund did, probably due to his age.
The main hall stretched empty before her. No clash of practice swords, no shouted instructions from Master Tormund. Just silence where nineteen voices should have been. She’d figured Damian would have been in here.
She made her way through the dormitory wing, stopping at his door. It was closed, unusual for Damian, who typically left it ajar during the day. She knocked twice, paused, then once more. Their signal.
Will he ignore me? Like I did him?
She raised her hand again, preparing to knock once more. Maybe he hadn’t heard it the first time.
“Enter,” he called from behind the door.
She nudged the door open slowly. “Hey,” she weakly said.
He was lying on his bed with his shirt off, medallion resting on his chest. Most of his veins had returned to their normal color, only remnants of black remained, as they retracted back towards his heart.
“How are you feeling?”
“I’m not sure.”
She eyed him for a moment, noting that those black eyes were harder to read than the beautiful brown she’d grown fond of.
“Were you asleep last night?” He looked over to her, studying her. “When I knocked.”
“No,” she admitted.
“So, why did you ignore me?”
She rubbed her eyes. “It wasn’t like that, Damian. It had been a long day and I needed some space.”
“It was a long day for me too, and I needed you.” He sighed. “Sorry, that was selfish of me.”
She sat on the foot of the bed, looking back over to him. “No, it was selfish of me. Honestly, I needed to think.”
“About what?”
“I have come to a decision,” she said, turning to face him fully. “About my future here at Last Pass and wanted to think about how to talk to Scribe Willem about it.” The lie came out smoothly. “I’m going to take on the role of Master Vickers.”
He squinted his eyes. “You’re giving up on the Trial?”
“Women can’t take the Trial, Damian,” she said factually. “We’ve known it since we were kids, I just managed to believe in a lie I told myself. She offered me the opportunity to train the next generation of children, but I can’t. I can’t make them suffer like we did.”
He didn’t say anything for a long moment. “That’s not the Alessia I know.”
She placed her hand over her face. “Damian,” she began, as she closed her eyes. “I want to tell you, but I also want to protect you. Any involvement is a risk to you.”
“I would risk anything for you.” He took her hand into his. “Even my life. You’re not planning to leave are you?”
Her breath caught. No one had ever said anything like that to her—meant it the way he did.
“No, nothing like that.” She looked him in the eyes. “If that were the case, you’d likely have to carry out my Mark. What’s happening… is something that won’t come to that, but it’s still something there will be repercussions for. They need to be for me alone.”
“Alessia, you’re not serious are you?”
He knows. He knows me too well.
“You’re going to find another way to attempt the Trial,” he said. “You can’t sit idly behind a desk, I know you better. You figured it out.”
She knew deep down she couldn’t hide this from him. Couldn’t keep him in the dark. She respected him too much. Loved him too much.
“I’m going to steal it, Damian,” she whispered. “I’ve earned this and they still deny me because I’m not a man.”
“I was the first to support you,” he said, his voice tight. “But I can’t sit here and pretend you have a chance, even a small one. It’s not math anymore, but certainty. I don’t know how I would deal with you not being here.” He sat up, the medallion catching the light. “What would it do to me?”
What if he was right? What if it was like Master Tormund had said, she’d die like the rest. What if no woman could biologically survive the Trial?
The thoughts ate at her. The statistics showed the results. Complete failure. No Sister had even Awakened during the Trial. They just died.
Why didn’t women even make it to Awakening? The men who failed at least fought the Presence long enough for it to consume them. The women just… stopped. Like their bodies rejected the Presence entirely before the real battle even began. What did that mean? If Ophelia couldn’t do it, brilliant, fierce, unstoppable Ophelia, what made Alessia think she could?
It should terrify her. It did terrify her. But terror was just another feeling to push through, like exhaustion during the mountain runs or pain during live steel practice. Fear had never stopped her before.
But the alternative was over a decade of dedication wasted, dreams of surpassing Phantom Ophelia abandoned before she even tried, and a lifetime of watching Damian and her Brothers walk paths she’d helped them survive to.
While she recorded their footsteps from the margins.
Alessia steadied her voice.
“How do you think I felt hearing the screams during the long night? When they all fell silent, wondering if that was the last thing I’d ever hear from you.”
His jaw clenched. For a long moment he said nothing, and she could see him fighting between stopping her and supporting her. He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, something had shifted. Not acceptance, but resignation.
“I know I can’t talk you out of this, so if you won’t let me help you directly.” His voice was shaky. “Then let me offer you some advice. It’s going to attack your memories, use them against you.”
She listened intently, understanding this might be the difference between survival and death. Behind his black eyes, she could see the fear as he spoke.
“Don’t give it anything, numb yourself to it. Empty yourself. I pretended I was already dead, I don’t know how else to explain it.”
“Thank you, and thank you for understanding what this means to me.” She placed a hand on his cheek. “It’s the only life I know, Damian.”
“I know, and you’re welcome.”
She began to get up from the bed, but he caught her arm. There was an unusual firmness to his grip, though it wasn’t uncomfortable. She looked at him confused.
“When are you going to do it?”
“At least a couple weeks. I need to sell the idea that I’m genuinely interested in administrative duties,” she said, keeping her voice low. “I also need to observe Scribe Willem and when the best time to act would be.”
“Do me one favor then.”
“Anything.”
“Tell me the night before you do it.” He paused. His facial expression was off, he was struggling to say it. “I’d like to spend it with you, if you feel the same.”
The words hung between them, heavy with everything they meant. He was asking to share what might be their last night together, knowing what morning could bring. Her throat tightened with the weight of it.
“I do feel the same, Damian,” she confessed before kissing him.
He smiled warmly, and she couldn’t help but to return it.
