The Hydra gave a satisfied chuckle.

  “Very well,” it said, lowering its head again.

  And with a rumbling sigh, it coiled tighter, sinking into itself—like a predator resting, not sleeping, waiting for the next chance to strike.

  Adarin turned Liora around gently, placing both hands on her shoulders. He looked her in the eyes and exhaled.

  “Let’s talk,” he said softly.

  Liora wrinkled her nose. “What is there to talk about? Those monsters want me to torture people. I will not oblige their sick desires.”

  Adarin made an agreeable hum and nodded. It’s understandable that she’s squeamish, he thought. But I have my orders.

  Liora glanced over her shoulder.

  The girl that never smiled…She would’ve chosen the Hydra. Yes.

  Liora turned around and spoke loudly, her voice ringing through the liminal void.

  “I refuse.”

  She looked upward, toward the skyless heavens above.

  “Take me from this place. This is over.” Then she turned to Adarin, eyes burning.

  He inhaled, about to speak.

  But her voice cut across him like a blade.

  “This. Is. Over.” She enunciated each word with surgical intent.

  Adarin inclined his head slightly. Better to let her cool down a bit.

  But the moment of silence was broken by a vicious chuckle.

  The elven mage. “Girl,” he said with amused contempt, “you do not understand.”

  Liora looked over her shoulder, her face twisted with disgust. “And what don’t I understand, subhuman?”

  The elf smiled wider, wickedly pleased. “That the System will choose for you if you do not decide.”

  A silver coin suddenly danced between his fingers. He flipped it into the air, caught it, and peered down at it. “Random chance. Odd choice.”

  Liora shrugged. “Then I will let random chance decide. That way… I am not responsible.”

  Adarin’s jaw tensed. That old fallacy. The path of the weak.

  Two words escaped him, firm and clear. “No. Wrong.”

  He stepped closer. “Randomness doesn’t wash the blood off your hands. Choosing not to act is still a choice—and it leaves the stain just the same.”

  His voice was quiet, but cutting. “Liora, there is one option that will clearly harm fewer people. It is your moral duty to choose it.”

  She looked up at him, sorrow in her eyes. And then shook her head slowly and replied. “It’s a matter of principle. Of holy purity.”

  “If I cross that line, I’m unworthy. The Mother doesn’t want tools soaked in compromise.”

  Adarin exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “That is a child’s point of view. You have agency. You cannot not make a choice.” He stared intently at her. “By refusing to choose, you still take moral responsibility for what comes next. Randomness doesn’t excuse cowardice.”

  “Cowardice,” Liora hissed, “is not resisting temptation. Cowardice is surrendering to practical excuses just to avoid guilt.”

  Without lifting either of its heads, the Hydra grumbled lazily from the distance.

  “A very cute foray into moral philosophy,” it drawled. “Would you mind doing it another time—and finally dismissing the other two fools? I would like to use some of the time I have with my student productively.”

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Liora clenched her fists.

  Adarin, behind her, suppressed a chuckle. This creature… He shook his head slightly.

  “You—” Liora jabbed a finger at it “—you are the worst of all of them.”

  The Hydra lazily lifted one head, its eyes heavy-lidded with disinterest.

  “How so?” It studied her with deliberately bored intent. “I have never pretended to be something sophisticated. Unlike those two monsters.”

  It stretched languidly. “I am a monster. Plain and simple. A monster that will shape you into something powerful. Why deny the truth in any of its aspects?”

  Liora shuddered. Her shoulders squared with forced conviction.

  “I…” she started, but faltered. “I…”

  But before she could finish, the words in front of her changed.

  10 seconds remaining until random mentor selection.

  A strangled sound escaped her throat. Her face twisted into a mask of fury.

  Adarin reached out, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder.

  She shrugged it off violently.

  The counter ticked down.

  Seven. Six. Five.

  Liora trembled, fury radiating off her like furnace heat.

  Her nails dug crescents into her palms. Her breath came ragged, shallow.

  Three. Two.

  “I accept you, Hydra!” she burst out, stumbling over the words as they finally tore free from her lips.

  The counter froze at one.

  The elven and human figures disappeared, bursting like fragile soap bubbles.

  “Very well,” the Hydra said, voice laced with bored amusement.

  “Prepare yourself.”

  It raised its living head slowly and breathed in.

  A breeze stirred, tugging at the clothes of the two figures standing before it.

  Then, it exhaled.

  Green energy, swirled with red, collected in its mouth—vitality made physical. Life on overdrive. Growth without restraint.

  It fired the sphere like a cannon shot.

  The sphere smashed into her chest like a battering ram—air, spit, and blood erupting from her throat as she crumpled beneath the force.

  She stumbled backward, crying out, and dropped to her knees.

  Her skin writhed—patches of fur bursting, melting into scales, then tearing back into raw flesh. Bones popped audibly as her arms spasmed, veins bulging like cords under skin that shimmered and split like lightning made of meat.

  She groaned, hands braced against the floor, as her body shuddered violently under the impact of transformation.

  It took several seconds for Liora to gather herself and rise to her feet.

  Adarin remained still, arms crossed behind his back, simply observing. She has to face this on her own.

  The Hydra inclined both heads toward her—its expression unreadable.

  “Remember,” it said. “Commit your atrocities.” It bared a wide, fang-lined grin. White teeth gleamed in the dim, ambient light of the liminal space. “In a timely manner. We shall see each other again soon.”

  It sighed, its breaths rumbling like distant trumpets. “Perhaps next time we’ll waste less breath on moralizing—and I’ll teach you something worth the blood.”

  It curled up again, coiling tighter and tighter—until its scaled form imploded inward.

  With a rush of collapsing mass, it became a singular point—and vanished into nothingness.

  Adarin nodded to himself, then walked up beside Liora.

  He touched her shoulder gently.

  “How are you doing?” he asked.

  “I…” She exhaled shakily, then looked down at her hands.

  Veins and arteries pulsed visibly beneath her skin.

  She focused—and in her palm, a small pool of blood formed.

  It shimmered with strange tension—and then disappeared again, reabsorbed.

  Veins across her arms flexed, pushing red vitality through her body like the thrum of a war drum.

  She swallowed.

  And then—smiled. “I finally have a healing spell.”

  The joy on her face was almost childlike, glowing. But it lasted only a moment. Tears welled up in her eyes, brimming on the edges.

  “I… do I really have to…” she whispered.

  She couldn’t finish.

  She swallowed.

  Then swallowed again.

  And the dam broke.

  She broke down, sobs tearing out raw and unsteady. Adarin stayed beside her, silent and steady, until the storm passed enough for her to breathe again.

  Adarin knelt besides her, resting on his haunches.

  He didn’t speak. He simply placed a steadying hand on her back.

  Only when her tears began to slow did he glance away.

  She’s just survived her first true battle. Best to let her process while it’s raw.

  And on his side of the divide, new text began to bloom in light.

  Text began blinking softly behind Adarin, catching his attention.

  He turned to face it.

  Initiate E-Tier Class Selection

  A slow smile crept across his face as the interface expanded and options unfolded before him.

  Good, good. I can work with this.

  Thanks for reading — let me know in the comments what you thought about the chapter!

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