The children had stopped sparring as the blade whistled past Alessia’s ear. She felt the displacement of air rather than hearing it. She pivoted, reading Varian’s body language: weight shifting left, shoulder dropping. The next strike would come from that side.

  She blocked it before he finished the motion.

  “Too predictable, you’re projecting the strike,” Alessia said.

  He stepped back and wiped his brow. He looked worn. She watched his lips, but he didn’t yield.

  So she pressed forward, rushing straight at him before bounding left and striking low. The blunted blade connected just above his ankle.

  Varian lowered his sword and raised his hand. “I yield, Sister.”

  Nine months of this. Nine months of learning to read bodies instead of sounds, to keep the Presence acknowledged but unfed, to function as a Huntress while carrying permanent silence.

  Some of the children cheered while others clapped. To them, seeing a Huntress had become normal, but none of the twenty-three realized yet how unique this was. Alana, Yara, and Kassandra watched her with bright eyes, full of hope that would shatter when they learned the truth.

  “I’m still no match for you,” he said, breathing labored, face flushed.

  “Stop doubting yourself, Brother,” Alessia replied. “Your footwork is solid. Just work on masking your tells.”

  “You’ve gotten even better lately,” he said. “You crushed me in our throwing knife contest yesterday too.”

  Yeah, I did.

  The thought brought a smile to her face.

  “And Master Tormund says your control over the Presence is better than both me and Konrad. You should be proud.”

  Varian sighed, rubbing his head. “Master Tormund gave me an assignment. My first Hunt. I leave in three days’ time.”

  Something tightened in Alessia’s chest. Months of proving herself. She was better than Varian, better than Konrad in sparring, and had better control of the Presence. Yet still she was here. Still grounded. Still broken in their eyes.

  The Presence stirred, feeding on the bitterness.

  I see you. I acknowledge you, but refuse to feed you, parasite.

  She forced herself to meet Varian’s eyes. “What’s the Hunt?”

  “A Hexan,” he replied. “She’s somewhere to the west in Ithrix. The town of Hilda was the last report.”

  “That’s a witch,” one of the children said. “We’ve been reading about them in the Book of Beasts.”

  “Yeah,” another chimed in, “people sometimes call them failed sirens, but they’re not. Not really.”

  “Very good, William,” Master Tormund said. “That’s right Findel. A witch, whose beauty rivals that of a siren’s.” He paused. “Now who here can tell me why? What’s the difference between the two?”

  The main hall went silent for a moment.

  “Even though a Hexan can sing,” Kassandra said, “the song doesn’t lure people like a siren’s.”

  “Excellent,” Master Tormund said.

  Dangerous. Very dangerous for a first Hunt and about five weeks’ travel.

  “And you have a plan, I assume?”

  “Treat with her, make her think I’m under her spell. Strike.”

  “And how do you resist her?”

  “Allow the Presence more control than usual. Let its survival instincts take over. It will shut down most of her charm, giving me the time I need.”

  “And if she’s dealt with a Hunter before?”

  Varian was quiet for a moment, but eventually said, “I don’t know.”

  “You have to find out her pattern,” Alessia said. “Who she’s targeting, how long she’s been active.” She paused. “Children are the easiest prey; they have weaker wills, less resistance. If she’s hunting adults, she’s more dangerous. That will tell you how experienced she is.”

  “That’s good advice,” Varian said, meeting her eyes. “You’d be better at this than me. I wish you were coming.”

  The words hit harder than he probably intended. She wished she were going too. But wishing didn’t change anything.

  “You’ll do fine,” she said. “Besides, you know they don’t generally let us Hunt in groups.”

  He waved his hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, no attachments and such.”

  No attachments. The words would have been funny if they weren’t so hollow. She’d already lost nearly everyone. Her Brothers, Damian, even an old version of herself from the Trial. What attachments did she have left to lose?

  The bitterness tried to take root. She acknowledged it, then let it pass.

  “We’ll speak later, Brother,” she said. “I have a session with Scribe Willem.”

  “Lip reading?” Varian asked.

  “More sign language today.”

  Until next time, Sister, Varian signed to her.

  Until next time, Brother, she signed back.

  She left the main hall and made her way to Scribe Willem’s study.

  Hours passed. The afternoon light slanted through the windows as they reached advanced sequences. Scribe Willem’s hands moved with practiced precision, forming words Alessia had struggled with earlier. She watched, memorized the shapes, and repeated them back to him.

  He nodded, satisfied with her progress.

  How do you feel today? Willem signed.

  Frustrated, she answered, her hands sharp with the emotion.

  And why is that, Sister Alessia?

  She sighed, rubbing an eye. “Because Brother Varian—”

  Willem held up a hand, stopping her. No. Sign it.

  She took a deep breath. Her hands began to move quickly, rushing the signs. Because Brother Varian will be Hunting soon. Brother Konrad has already been out for over a month. When is it my time?

  Scribe Willem rubbed his chin.

  Do not feed the Presence for no reason. He paused, then added: That is up to Master Tormund.

  Acceptance is a virtue, she signed back.

  Scribe Willem went very still. For a moment, his expression held something she couldn’t read: old grief perhaps, or regret from decades past. Then he blinked and it was gone.

  Too late. Alessia had seen it. Her words had opened an old wound.

  Scribe Willem?

  He wiped his eyes. Wiser words than you know, Sister. His hands moved again, slower now. Master Tormund already has something in—

  Scribe Willem caught himself mid-sign, hands freezing.

  I need you here, just a while longer, Sister. Soon.

  Alessia studied him. There was something more here. Something deeper than just the promise of a Hunt. But he won’t tell me. She thought.

  She didn’t press.

  What something? she signed.

  He shook his head. That’s between you and Master Tormund.

  Something. The word settled in her chest, warm and unfamiliar. Over half a year of waiting, of proving herself while going nowhere, maybe there was a path forward after all.

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  The Presence stirred. Not feeding on bitterness this time, but on her hope. She acknowledged it, let it pass.

  Thank you, Scribe Willem she signed. For everything.

  He nodded, then gestured to the worn book on the table between them. Don’t forget the High Scholars at Rivyon. They provided this.

  She looked down at the sign language manual. Scribe Willem had specifically requested it from the Scholar’s College as soon as he confirmed she was deaf. Both the College and The Order understood the importance of knowledge. That was real power.

  She stood and gave Scribe Willem a slight bow before returning to the main hall. She wanted to speak with Master Tormund and find out what that something was that Scribe Willem had mentioned, but she thought better of it. Master Tormund was busy instructing the children, and more importantly, Alessia didn’t want to betray Scribe Willem’s slip of the hand.

  The children were still sparring. Kassandra and the eldest boy, Eagan.

  It reminded her of fighting Felix for the first time. The memory washed over her as the two of them took their stances. She must have been twelve still.

  Six months of training after arriving at Last Pass had reshaped Alessia’s body in ways she hadn’t thought possible. She flexed her hand, watching muscles move beneath skin that had lost its street-starved hollowness. The wooden practice sword felt lighter now, not because it had changed, but because she had.

  The main hall was alive once again, grunts and shouts as the wooden blades connected to the training dummies. It was monotonous, but necessary, she realized. Crawl before you walk. Walk before you run. Master Tormund was thorough beyond measure.

  “Enough,” Master Tormund called out. Silence immediately followed as everyone turned to face him. The only remaining sounds were huffs and gasps for breath. “I think you all are ready for the first live exercise. Take what you learned and use it against a real opponent now.”

  The Brothers exchanged glances, anticipation replacing exhaustion. All these months of hitting straw-filled dummies, and finally they’d test themselves against thinking opponents who could counter and adapt.

  “Who would like—”

  “Me, Master Tormund,” Alessia said as she raised the practice sword into the air.

  Alessia could hear some of the Brothers snickering, exchanging amused looks. Most of them believed she belonged with Master Vickers or Scribe Willem, studying, not sparring. Damian looked concerned, but Marcus gave her an approving smile.

  Alessia ignored their slights, even though they stung more than she’d cared to admit. She hadn’t endured months of dismissive comments and extra drills just to prove them right now.

  “Enough,” Master Tormund commanded.

  “But Master,” Felix said, “girls can’t fight.”

  “Let me remind you, again, dear Brother,” Master Tormund said calmly. “She is your Sister.” He paused, his black eyes fixed on her, unreadable. “You’re certain, Sister Alessia?”

  “Yes Master Tormund, but I would like to spar with Brother Felix,” she said, voice steady despite her racing heart. Felix was one of the older boys, fourteen or maybe fifteen, cocky. He stood half a head taller than her, with the wiry strength of someone who’d survived longer on the streets. The odds weren’t in her favor.

  But she didn’t care. It was a matter of principle now.

  The crowd oohed as Alessia called him out directly.

  Master Tormund uttered what sounded like a chuckle. “Did you hear that Brother Felix? You’ve been challenged.”

  “What’s the honor in beating a Sister?” Felix asked.

  “So you refuse her challenge, Brother?” Master Tormund’s voice went cold. “I did not ask about honor. I asked if you accept Sister Alessia’s challenge. If sparring with her is beneath you, say so clearly, and I’ll find someone else. But know that refusing a direct challenge because of who issued it says more about you than her.”

  The hall went silent. Felix was trapped. Refuse and look cowardly, accept and risk losing to a girl.

  “Of course not, Master,” Felix said. “I accept your challenge, Sister Alessia.”

  “Standard rules,” Master Tormund announced. “First to three touches wins. Control your strikes. This is training, not the Hunt.” His black eyes moved between them. “Form a circle around them, Brothers.”

  The twenty boys moved quickly, creating a ring around the sparring space. Alessia caught Damian’s worried expression, Marcus’s sharp interest, and the varying degrees of skepticism and curiosity from the others.

  Alessia and Felix faced each other across the worn stone floor. She settled into her stance, feet shoulder-width, knees slightly bent, sword raised in guard position. The basics had become instinct.

  Felix mirrored the stance, his grip tight on his practice sword. He was angry now, trapped into this fight, which made him dangerous. Angry fighters made mistakes, but they also hit harder.

  He’s going to be aggressive. I need to be defensive, I can’t match his strength, but I’m faster.

  She steadied her breathing and waited.

  Felix moved first, exactly as she’d predicted. A hard overhead strike meant to overwhelm her defense. Alessia sidestepped rather than blocking, letting his momentum carry him forward. She tapped her practice sword against his exposed shoulder as he passed.

  “Point to Sister Alessia,” Master Tormund announced.

  Murmuring around the circle began. Felix’s face flushed darker. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

  They reset. Felix was breathing harder now, anger and embarrassment fueling him. Alessia kept her stance loose, ready to move. Don’t get cocky. He’s stronger.

  Felix came at her without hesitation. A feint, it caught her off guard. He went low, then at the last moment brought the blade high and struck her shoulder hard enough to make her arm go numb.

  “Control your strikes! Point to Brother Felix,” Master Tormund called. “One to one.”

  Alessia shook out her arm, working feeling back into it. Around the circle, some Brothers nodded. Felix had adapted and stopped making angry mistakes.

  He’s thinking now. That makes him more dangerous.

  “Continue,” Master Tormund said.

  They faced each other again.

  Felix attacked immediately, pressing his advantage while her arm was still recovering. He was striking for her good side, but feigning to the wounded one. Smart, but he overused it.

  Alessia remained on the defensive, evading to give her arm more time and blocking when necessary. Each impact that she couldn’t dodge was jarring. Her back foot hit the edge of the circle.

  No more room. I have to counter now or I’m finished.

  On his next strike, instead of blocking, Alessia dropped low and swept her practice sword at his leading knee. Not hard enough to injure, but enough to make contact for the score.

  “Two to one, Sister Alessia,” Master Tormund announced.

  Felix’s expression went from confidence to concern. The Brothers’ murmuring grew louder. She was winning.

  “Reset,” Master Tormund commanded.

  They took their positions. Felix was breathing hard, sweat dripping from his face. Alessia’s shoulder still throbbed, but adrenaline was carrying her through.

  One more point. Just one more. Don’t rush. Stay patient. Make him come to you.

  But Felix didn’t rush either. He’d learned. He circled slowly, practice sword up, looking for an opening rather than forcing one.

  Alessia turned with him, keeping her distance.

  Felix feinted high. Alessia didn’t bite. He tried again, from a different angle. She held her guard.

  Then Felix committed. A real strike this time, fast and low toward her leading leg. Alessia jumped back, but he’d anticipated it. His blade redirected into a thrust, driving into her chest.

  “Two, two,” Master Tormund said. “Reset. Match point.”

  Alessia rubbed the impact point. Felix was learning and practicing skills her other Brothers hadn’t yet grasped.

  She raised her sword again, forcing her tired arms up. Felix looked just as exhausted, but his eyes stayed sharp, calculating.

  He knows I’m hurting. He won’t expect me to push this time.

  Felix came forward, confident, expecting her to retreat or defend her injured side.

  Alessia charged forward, lunging first.

  She ignored the searing pain in her shoulder and drove forward with everything she had left, practice sword thrusting straight at his chest. Felix's eyes widened. He’d been preparing to attack, not defend.

  He brought his blade up to parry, but Alessia had committed fully, passing his guard before he could fully react. A live blade would have impaled him, she imagined as the point rammed into his ribs.

  For a heartbeat, silence.

  “Match to Sister Alessia,” Master Tormund announced. “Three to two.”

  The hall erupted in noise. Surprise, protest, grudging acknowledgment. Alessia had won.

  She lowered her sword, suddenly aware of how much everything hurt. Her shoulder throbbed, her arms felt like lead, her lungs burned. But she’d done it.

  Felix stood frozen, then slowly lowered his practice sword. His face cycled through anger and disbelief before settling into something between frustration and reluctant respect.

  “Well fought, Sister,” he said quietly. “I underestimated you.”

  Master Tormund’s voice cut through the murmurs. “Sister Alessia demonstrated tactical thinking, adaptability under pressure, and the will to push through pain.” His black eyes swept the assembled Brothers. “Anyone who still questions whether she belongs in combat training may face her themselves.”

  No one stepped forward. And for that, she was silently thankful.

  Damian’s worried expression had transformed into relieved pride. Marcus gave her an approving nod. He had never doubted her from the beginning.

  She stood there, sword lowered, not quite believing it was over. Her shoulder felt like it was on fire, her arms trembled from exhaustion, and every breath hurt where Felix’s strikes had landed. But she’d won.

  I actually won. I beat him.

  The realization hit harder than any of Felix’s blows. She’d just beaten a Brother who was taller, stronger, and had more training. Not through luck, but through reading him, adapting, making the choice to attack when he expected defense.

  Around her, the murmurs continued. Some Brothers looked impressed. Others were skeptical, like this was a fluke. Felix extended his hand, and when she shook it, she met his eyes properly.

  “Thank you for not holding back, Brother” she said, voice hoarse from exertion.

  Felix nodded, something like understanding passing between them. “You earned it, Sister.”

  Alessia wanted to sit down. To collapse, really. Six months of proving herself had come down to those few minutes, and her body was reminding her of every single impact.

  But she stayed standing. Damian was pushing through the circle, grinning like an idiot. Marcus gave her that same approving nod. And Master Tormund, his expression was unreadable as always, but he’d defended her right to be here in front of everyone. After she had to defend herself against him, Master Vickers, Scribe Willem and most all her Brothers for the opportunity to remain.

  This changes things. They can't dismiss me as easily now.

  But even as relief washed over her, another thought crept in: That was just Felix. There are twenty other Brothers. And none of this means they’ll let me take the Trial.

  Still. For now, this was enough.

  The memory dissolved as Master Tormund’s voice rang out through the main hall. “Three to two, Kassandra, well done Sister.”

  Kassandra glanced over to Alessia, chest heaving, and nodded. Seeking approval, recognition, proof that she could follow in her footsteps.

  Alessia’s chest tightened. She was a role model now. The only woman these girls had ever seen succeed. They didn’t know yet that she might be the only one.

  She nodded back to Kassandra.

  I didn’t ask to be the first. Didn’t ask to carry the weight of every girl who dreams of this. But standing here, watching those bright eyes look to her for proof it was possible, she understood now why Damian had wanted to be the hero.

  Someone had to forge the path, even if it led to silence and silver eyes.