Sarya ran, breathless, remembering her mother’s words. She returned to the Village after hiding in the forest.

  From afar, she saw the Village burned, her heart tightening.

  Mom.

  She saw something that completely destroyed her: her mother’s body leaning against a tree, already lifeless.

  — I’m sorry, Mom. Forgive me for being weak. If I were strong, I could have protected you. Forgive me.

  She cried, her heart shattering.

  She gave a proper funeral to all the elves who had died there. She built a large gravestone from stones she found throughout the Village.

  She used a hollow at the foot of a peak that faced the Village of Whispering Leaves.

  She laid many of the elves’ bodies in rows, gathered roots, crossed them, and built a structure firm enough to support several stones. She sealed the upper opening with stones.

  She whispered a spell she had learned from her mother to seal the stones with mana so they would never be opened again — the Spell of Honor and Merit. It can only be undone by the one who cast it.

  Impossible to break, because what seals the stones is Autumn itself, through runic words.

  — Brothers and sisters, return to Autumn and help those who need Autumn’s aid. I hope you all become the strength of Autumn. Thank you for protecting us, even at the cost of your lives. I hold no anger toward you. Thank you for being part of my life.

  She placed her mother’s body higher up on the peak, beneath a tree at Autumn’s edge.

  The gravestone was made entirely of stone.

  — Mother, I will reach the Whispering Capital. And I will become an elite Rubra. But I don’t know how I will go on without you, Mom… One day I will kill that man. I love you. Forgive me, Mom, but I must leave now.

  She set out toward the Whispering Village, but felt that a part of her remained on that peak, beneath that tree.

  As she walked, the tears still fell.

  Goodbye, Mom.

  She passed through various settlements and nomadic villages.

  And there was always something in common among humans: they all appeared kind, but they all had second intentions.

  Sarya set out toward the Whispering Village.

  As she walked, the tears still fell.

  Goodbye, Mom.

  She crossed human settlements, small villages, nomadic camps.

  There was always something in common.

  Smiles.

  Always smiles.

  — An elf alone? — said a man leaning against a wagon, his eyes lingering longer than they should. — I can help… protect you on the road.

  The way he spoke did not match his gaze.

  Sarya did not answer.

  She kept walking.

  Another approached days later. A nobleman, dressed too finely for that dusty road. The perfume was strong. The smile… worse.

  — A jewel of Autumn, lost so far from the forest… what a waste. — He leaned slightly closer, stepping beyond what was acceptable. — I can take you to the capital. I guarantee comfort… proper treatment… for someone of your… rarity.

  His fingers almost touched her chin.

  Almost.

  The dagger was already in Sarya’s hand before he realized it.

  The blade stopped a hair’s breadth from his throat.

  Her eyes were dead.

  — Step away.

  The nobleman laughed nervously, raising his hands.

  — Temperamental… I like that.

  She turned her back and walked away.

  Inside, only one certainty remained:

  Humans wear politeness like they wear clothes.

  But intention always escapes through the eyes.

  Even so…

  Not all seemed the same.

  In a village near the capital’s trade routes, a couple welcomed her. They gave her water. They gave her bread. They asked nothing invasive.

  The woman smiled kindly.

  — You may rest here tonight.

  Sarya observed every gesture.

  Maybe… not all were the same.

  Maybe.

  But the next morning, as she was leaving, she heard the man whisper:

  — She could bring a lot of gold at the border… The brothels in that region would pay well for her. She’s beautiful. She’ll become a stunning elf when she comes of age.

  And the woman replied, in a low voice:

  — Yes… but not yet.

  Sarya did not look back.

  The Autumn within her grew colder.

  Days later, she saw something different.

  An improvised temple with the symbol of the sun carved into wood. Golden banners fluttered in the wind.

  Knights with armor too clean for common travelers.

  The Empire’s Crusaders.

  An elite squad of the Church of the Sun, from the royal capital, Bragan?a.

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  There, it seemed… different.

  Organized. Respectable. Sacred.

  — Sister, are you hurt? — asked a man in white and gold robes.

  He did not look at her body. He looked at her face.

  — We are here to protect the weak.

  She hesitated.

  But she was tired.

  Very tired.

  They offered warm food. Clean water. A place to sleep.

  No invasive stares.

  No crooked smiles.

  No strange proposals.

  Maybe…

  Maybe they were different.

  She ate.

  And fell asleep.

  When she opened her eyes…

  Bars.

  The smell of iron and filth.

  Chains.

  Other breaths trapped in the dark.

  Her heart pounded.

  She stood immediately, checking her own body.

  Clothes intact.

  No touch.

  No violation.

  A weak voice came from the corner.

  — Don’t worry… no one touched you. They prefer to sell virgins. They’re worth more.

  Sarya turned.

  An older Autumn elf, eyes swollen from crying.

  The silence that followed was worse than any scream.

  Sarya felt something break inside her.

  Not fear.

  Rage.

  Rage at herself.

  I trusted… again.

  The Crusaders were not crusaders.

  They were smugglers.

  Humans, elves, demi-humans… anything that had value.

  Black market.

  She clenched her fists until her nails cut into her palms.

  — Humans…

  Liars.

  Greedy.

  Always with second intentions.

  A young human girl cried in the cage beside her.

  — My father warned me… I said those men seemed kind…

  Sarya closed her eyes.

  The wagon began to move.

  Elves.

  Humans.

  Demi-humans.

  All piled together like merchandise.

  She did not cry.

  Not this time.

  The tears that remained turned into something colder.

  A promise.

  I will never run again.

  I will never trust again.

  I will never be weak again.

  And deep within her chest…

  Her elven core reacted.

  Not to fear.

  But to fury.

  It was then that she arrived at the Selectors’ fortress.

  An abandoned temple, turned into a training barracks.

  There, one learned to kill, not to live. To obey, not to think.

  Days of beatings.

  No names.

  Only numbers.

  She was Number 9.

  She slept on the floor, her back aching, listening to cries no one answered.

  What did she feel?

  Rage.

  Determination.

  Rage toward humans.

  In the end… she chose to survive.

  The promise she had made to her mother burned inside her, and her elven core always reacted.

  —

  Sarya never forgot what the leader of the Selectors said when she first saw her eyes:

  — This one has no fear. She only needs to forget she was ever a girl.

  Maria trembled in fear beside Sarya.

  — This one is useless. Maybe the brothel is her place… But she won’t survive two days there. Those filthy savages.

  The Madame analyzed her as if calculating profit.

  — The money I paid for her must be recovered somehow. If not through skill, then through labor. If she’s a virgin as they said, that alone is worth twenty thousand gold réis.

  Maria trembled.

  — No… I don’t want to go to that place…

  — Ah, you don’t get to want anything. You belong to me. And I do whatever I want with what’s mine.

  Sarya spoke coldly:

  — She is a fighter, ma’am. Give her time. Don’t judge a book by its cover.

  The man beside the Madame laughed.

  He walked around Sarya as if inspecting merchandise.

  — You’re quite bold… As beautiful as you are bold. An Autumn elf, Number 9… you’d make me a lot of money in that place.

  He lifted her chin with the tip of his glove.

  — Those eyes… they’re an assassin’s. I like that. I’ll train you properly.

  His gaze shifted toward Maria.

  — As for the coward… I’ll give her one week. If she shows no talent, she’ll be of no use here.

  The two were taken to separate cells divided by rusted bars.

  The Madame’s voice echoed down the corridor:

  — Selector.

  — Yes, madame.

  — Do not touch them. If you cross the line, your death will not be peaceful.

  — I would never touch girls under your protection, madame.

  Protection.

  The word sounded like a cruel joke.

  Screams echoed through the compound.

  Boys taken to the mines.

  Girls assigned to brothels.

  Humans.

  Elves.

  Demi-humans.

  — Please, madame, give us a chance!

  — I’d rather die!

  — I can be a Selector! Please!

  All those who, in the Madame’s eyes, were unfit for combat were discarded.

  Maria cried in the cell beside her.

  Sarya gripped the bars.

  — Stop crying.

  — I… I don’t know if I can do this… — Maria sobbed. — You already carry yourself like a soldier, even without training. You have natural talent. I don’t.

  Sarya entered her cell when the guard stepped away.

  She slapped her firmly.

  — Pull yourself together. You have one week to prove you can be a Selector. I’ll be with you, Maria. We’ll become Selectors and escape together to the Whispering Village.

  Maria took a deep breath.

  — Okay… I trust you. We are Autumn elves.

  —

  Selectors’ Fortress — Three months later

  Pain no longer frightened her.

  Sarya had learned to stand without grimacing.

  To bind broken fingers with straw.

  To sleep with her head against the wall to avoid night kicks.

  Maria fell more often.

  But she never cried.

  — Number 9! — the instructor shouted.

  Sarya stepped forward.

  — Number 17!

  Maria stepped forward too.

  They ran over thorns.

  Fought with wooden sticks.

  Rice was rationed.

  Water divided among the strongest.

  Sarya always saved a little of hers for Maria.

  Maria always tried to smile, even while bleeding.

  — One day we’ll leave this place — Maria whispered.

  — We will.

  —

  The escape

  That night, the Selectors were drunk after a raid.

  A high bonfire.

  Too much laughter.

  Too few patrols.

  Sarya whispered:

  — It’s today.

  Maria trembled.

  — Are you sure?

  — If we stay, you die here.

  They climbed the side wall using ropes improvised from torn clothes.

  They ran.

  They ran as if the world were collapsing behind them.

  But the world does not collapse.

  It hunts.

  On the second day, Maria could no longer keep up.

  — Go… I’ll catch up…

  — Shut up and walk!

  On the third day, the ranker appeared.

  Tattooed face.

  Heavy staff.

  — Two runaways… the madame will enjoy this.

  Sarya fought.

  A stone to the nose.

  Teeth to the arm.

  A blunt arrow to the eye.

  He fell.

  But another appeared.

  Maria was grabbed.

  — NO!

  Sarya tried to turn back.

  A blow struck her head.

  The world went dark.

  —

  The punishment

  She woke in chains.

  The smell was the same as the cell.

  But something was different.

  Silence.

  The door opened.

  The Madame entered.

  Elegant.

  Impeccable.

  — I considered you like a daughter, Number 9.

  Sarya did not respond.

  Two guards dragged something to the center of the room.

  Maria.

  Her lifeless body.

  Dried blood.

  Empty eyes.

  The world went silent.

  — To punish disobedience, we must set an example — the Madame said, with almost maternal calm.

  Sarya dropped to her knees.

  — No…

  Her voice broke.

  — She had no talent. She was a burden. You condemned her when you fled.

  Sarya screamed.

  It was not crying.

  It was pure hatred.

  — I WILL KILL YOU! I WILL DESTROY THIS BASE! I WILL KILL ALL OF YOU!

  The guards restrained her.

  She fought even in chains.

  The Madame approached.

  She held Sarya’s face.

  — From today on, no more privileges.

  A burning seal was pressed against the back of Sarya’s neck.

  The smell of scorched flesh rose.

  She bit her own tongue to keep from screaming.

  — A control seal. So you will never run from me again, Number 9.

  The Madame smiled.

  — I will educate you personally from now on.

  Before being thrown back into her cell, Sarya saw Maria’s body being dragged across the floor.

  Like trash.

  This time, she cried.

  But not from fear.

  Not from weakness.

  She cried because something inside her had died.

  That night, Sarya did not ask for forgiveness.

  She did not ask for strength.

  She did not ask for help.

  She made a silent promise to Autumn.

  I will survive.

  And when I leave this place…

  You will beg to die.

  End of Chapter 2.