A soft sigh escaped Asil’s lips as she remembered the swirl of impossibly vivid memories and techniques that had flooded her mind before she collapsed. She carefully set Abby’s hand aside and rose from the bed, half expecting some residual pain or even muscle spasms from her, for lack of a better term, transformation. But instead of stiffness, she felt incredibly limber—as if she had spent years mastering a martial art she’d never actually practiced.
Is this the so-called Blade Dancer class? she wondered, flexing her arms experimentally. She felt like she could vault a wall without breaking a sweat.
Asil began to stretch and test the newfound agility in her limbs, moving through a series of fluid, graceful stances that seemed to surface from her muscle memory. In the dim glow, she carefully stepped around furniture, tables, and the walls, never once bumping into anything. It was almost like she memorized the entire layout—even though she’d only been in this room briefly.
No VR has ever felt this… tangible, she mused, recalling Jack’s easy assumption that all of this was just a game. Yet here she was, balancing on the balls of her feet without any sign of fatigue or discomfort.
Satisfied she wasn’t about to collapse, Asil made her way to a small table where she recalled seeing extra candles. She picked up a couple and moved to the fireplace. The embers winked feebly, but their heat remained strong enough to set one wick alight. She ignited the others from there, replacing the room’s spent candles with fresh, flickering flames. Their glow revealed a battered oil lamp on a nearby shelf. Turning the wick knob, she used a candle to spark a small flame inside, and soon soft lamplight filled the immediate area.
Behind her, she heard the rustling of blankets and the light groan of a teenage girl waking.
“Hey,” Asil said gently, setting the lamp on a sturdy stool. “Feeling okay?”
Abby sat up, yawning and stretching her arms over her head. “Yeah… better. I was worried when you passed out. You looked in pain at first, then your face went all calm. It was kind of eerie.”
Asil recalled Jack's inner vision of holding her in that otherworldly void. The memory brought an unexpected wash of comfort as if his presence had truly guided her. She managed a small smile, brushing her hair back from her eyes.
“I feel great, honestly,” Asil replied. “Strangely enough, it’s like my body’s… more fit than before. No soreness, no aches. It’s hard to explain.”
Abby nodded, rubbing the last traces of sleep from her eyes. “The stuff in those journals is crazy—classes, spells, all of it. I guess you picked Blade Dancer? I—I was too chicken to choose anything yet.”
Asil sank onto the edge of the bed, the soft lamplight illuminating her newly confident posture. “Yeah. The moment I said ‘yes,’ it was like someone shoved a lifetime of sword lessons and martial training into my head. It knocked me out cold for a bit.”
Abby offered a sympathetic nod, hugging her knees. “I’m just glad you’re okay. This place is… weird enough without someone having a meltdown.”
“Thanks for staying with me,” Asil said, giving Abby’s shoulder a light squeeze. “I appreciate it.”
The teen shrugged, cheeks a little pink under Asil’s gratitude. “You were there for me when I was freaking out, so… yeah.”
They shared a brief, companionable silence. Outside, the wind hissed through the fortress’s stone corridors, creating a low, mournful whistle. Each flicker of the candles cast dancing shadows on the walls, reminding Asil how little she understood their current predicament.
“We should probably look around,” Asil ventured, clearing her throat. “Find out who else is here. Maybe we can figure out if anyone else from our group is nearby. Jack especially,” she added, unable to hide the edge of worry in her voice.
Abby nodded. “I haven’t seen Fiona or my brothers, either.” She paused, gazing at the oil lamp’s flickering light. “I remember Geraldine said something about ‘the master’ of this place. Maybe we can get more answers if we talk to whoever’s in charge.”
Asil glanced at the nearly burnt-out embers in the fireplace. “If we can do that without running into any trouble… sure. But first, we could use more light and maybe some supplies. No sense going in blind.”
Her gaze fell to the small leather pouch still tied at her waist. She hadn’t yet opened it since her transformation. Another wave of curiosity nagged at her—what if her journal had changed, reflecting the new knowledge in her mind?
Abby’s eyes lit up when she noticed Asil glancing at her small leather pouch.
“Wait—I remember something,” Abby blurted, excitement creeping into her voice. “Can you check if your journal’s in there?”
Asil, arching a curious eyebrow, reached inside the pouch. Sure enough, her fingers found the familiar leather-bound volume. Drawing it out, she held it up for Abby’s inspection.
Abby gave a faint smile and shook her head, pointing to a spot on the floor.
“Last night, after your whole… class-selection episode, you dropped your journal. When I reached to pick it up, it vanished.”
Surprise flickered across Asil’s face. She flipped quickly through the pages of the journal—everything appeared normal. Satisfied, she snapped it shut and extended it toward Abby.
“Here,” Asil said, “take it.”
The teen gingerly accepted the book, holding it up to the candlelight. A puzzled expression flickered across her features.
“So it can stay with me as long as you let it…” Abby murmured. “But how does that explain it disappearing when I picked it up on my own?”
An idea glimmered in Asil’s mind. She reached into her pouch again as if trying to retrieve something. Instantly, the journal vanished from Abby’s hands, reappearing in Asil’s grasp as she drew it out of the pouch.
“Oh my god!” Abby exclaimed, nearly dropping the unlit candle in her other hand. She jumped off the bed, heart racing.
Eager to test this strange phenomenon, Abby lunged for the book without asking permission. Asil watched with keen interest—just before the girl’s fingers touched the cover, the journal blinked out of existence from Asil’s hands. A breath later, Asil tugged again on her pouch’s opening, and the volume materialized there again.
“Good to know we can’t lose these journals,” Asil remarked, sliding hers securely back into the pouch. She eyed Abby’s satchel. “It must be bound to me somehow—kind of like a personal inventory that only I can control.”
Abby shuddered a little, still amazed by the demonstration. “That’s… intense. And also kinda neat.”
Asil nodded, then glanced at where Abby’s unclaimed journal peeked from her pouch.
“Do you want to select your class now?” she offered gently.
Abby hesitated. Her features darkened, and she looked around at the stone walls, the guttering candles, and the nearly burned-out fireplace.
“I… don’t think I’m ready,” she admitted, chewing her bottom lip. “Everything here is way too real. Watching you collapse like that… then seeing your whole transformation… I—” She caught her breath, her eyes flicking around the makeshift sleeping quarters. “To be honest, I didn’t even want to come to this gaming thing in the first place. It sounded cool in theory, but now that I’m actually experiencing it? I just want to go home.”
A pang of sympathy tightened Asil’s chest. She remembered how scared she’d been waking up in this fortress, let alone discovering she had new powers. She slid an arm around Abby’s shoulders and gave the teen a reassuring squeeze.
“I get it,” Asil said, voice soft but firm. “It’s no small thing—suddenly having abilities you never asked for in a place that’s this… hostile. Or at least, unknown.”
Abby’s shoulders relaxed, and she leaned into Asil’s side. “Thanks,” she whispered, grateful tears glistening at the corners of her eyes. “I know I’m not a kid, exactly, but all of this… it’s scary.”
“You’re allowed to be scared,” Asil said gently. She gave Abby’s arm a comforting pat. “We’ll figure it out together.”
They lingered in silence for a moment, the warmth of their closeness offsetting the fortress’s chill. At length, Asil drew a deep breath, her expression resolute.
“Let’s gather whatever we can,” she declared, pulling away just enough to meet Abby’s eyes. “And see if there’s a safer way out of this tower. The last thing we need is to run headfirst into more surprises.”
Abby nodded, clearly steeling her nerves.
“I’m with you,” she said softly. Then, as if worried her voice might crack further, she cleared her throat. “And… Asil?”
“Yeah?”
Abby’s face colored slightly, but her gaze held earnestness.
“I’m really glad you’re up and moving. You, um… you kinda give me courage.”
Asil’s heart twinged at that, a warm rush of protectiveness flooding her. “I’m glad to hear it,” she murmured, giving the teen a supportive smile. “We’ll figure this out, Abby,” she repeated, voice gentle but laced with determination. “No matter what’s going on here.”
Together, they began rummaging through the room—collecting any leftover candles, scanning for a half-decent cloak or spare blanket in the hopes of staving off the fortress’s chill. Asil’s every step felt lighter than before, the echoes of her Blade Dancer abilities humming beneath her skin, reminding her she was no longer the same woman who had arrived. And Abby, while still unsure about choosing a class, found reassurance in Asil’s steady presence.
Asil pulled open the heavy wooden door that led into the curved hall. At once, brilliant daylight from the narrow window spilled into the dim confines of the bedroom she and Abby shared. Its warmth and brightness made them squint momentarily, starkly contrasting to the flickering candlelight they’d grown used to.
“Looks like we really did sleep through the entire night,” Asil remarked, blinking at the corridor’s glow.
Abby followed, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Yeah… Geraldine must have let us rest. She’s, uh, surprisingly chill about everything.”
They left the guttered candles behind and walked back toward the kitchen, led by the smell of sizzling food and the clang of metal pots. Inside, Geraldine stood at a long wooden table, methodically kneading dough and overseeing a small cauldron of steaming porridge.
“Morning, lassies,” she greeted, nodding without pausing her work. “Reckon, you two got a fair bit of sleep after yesterday’s fuss. Hope you’re hungry—there’s bread and porridge in the making.”
Both Asil and Abby offered mumbled greetings and brief, polite smiles. Asil could see that Abby was still anxious, though her expression had brightened at the thought of a meal.
“I let you sleep in,” Geraldine continued, “but now it’s time to lend a hand again. The boys are outside sparring, and they’ll come in with appetites like starving wolves soon enough.”
At her words, Asil caught the distant metal clanging from somewhere beyond the large, arched door that opened into the courtyard. She recalled that door being securely shut last night, but now warm sunlight streamed through the opening.
Curiosity piqued, Asil took a few steps closer and peered out, only half-listening as Geraldine offered aprons to Abby. Her attention was riveted on seeing several men training in the courtyard—some shirtless, some in rough tunics, all wielding blunt practice swords as they pivoted and thrust in synchronized patterns.
“Actually, ma’am,” Asil said, still looking outside, “if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to see if they could use any help—” She caught herself, unsure how to phrase it without sounding presumptuous. “I’ve… picked up a few new moves recently.”
Geraldine cast her a shrewd look but only chuckled in a good-natured way.
“Of course. If you fancy assisting a group of half-naked men first thing in the morning—” She gave a wink at Abby, who blushed in turn—“Well, you do you, lass.”
Abby felt her cheeks flush. The idea of marching out into a group of shirtless men made her want to shrink, though a small part of her was intrigued. Quietly, she accepted an apron from Geraldine, fiddling with the ties.
Asil managed a smile. Their physique is the least of my concerns, she thought. The technique she glimpsed truly intrigued her—the wide stances, the overhead strikes, and the footwork. She could sense the fundamental underpinnings of each move, and some newly acquired part of her mind instantly evaluated their form.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Without another word, she stepped through the open doorway and into the courtyard. The sun felt glorious against her skin—a reminder that she was, in fact, awake in a living, breathing world, not a VR simulation with artificially generated light.
Out in the courtyard, five men engaged in paired sparring. Four appeared to be in their early to mid-twenties, practicing in pairs, while a grizzled older man prowled among them, barking orders and critiques.
“Keep your wrists steady, boy!” he hollered at one of the younger men. “You want to lose fingers?!”
A smatter of metallic clinks rang out each time practice swords connected, and one of the men—shirtless, sweat gleaming on his torso—paused the moment he noticed Asil. His lapse in attention earned him a sudden bop on the head from his sparring partner, who followed his line of sight and likewise faltered. One by one, the others turned their gazes toward Asil, bringing the entire practice session to a halt.
“What’s the matter with you, lot?” the older man growled, spinning on his heel. “You act like you’ve never seen a lass before!”
Asil felt a wave of self-consciousness crash over her. For a moment, she remembered how her appearance had changed after accepting the Blade Dancer class—her hair slightly lighter, her eyes darker, her entire form subtly more graceful. Perhaps these men were startled to see a strange woman with such poise waltzing in.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she offered, raising her hands almost apologetically. “I was curious about your training… I didn’t mean to distract anyone.”
The tallest of the younger men, radiating a certain confidence, stepped forward, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He offered her a dimpled grin and extended his hand.
“I’m Frederick,” he said, taking Asil’s fingers gently. “Pleased to meet you.” He lifted her hand for a polite kiss, like a chivalrous knight from an old story.
Asil felt her cheeks warm slightly but managed to keep her composure.
“Asil,” she returned, nodding her head. Then she glanced at the older man, whose attention remained fixed on her with curious suspicion.
“You training them?” she asked, gesturing to the group.
He snorted. “Aye, if you can call it that. They’re still green as grass.” His eyes flicked over Asil’s unarmed figure. “You here to watch, or do you fancy yourself a swordswoman?”
A flicker of amusement curled Asil’s lips. She mused a day ago, I’d have laughed at the thought. But now, that alien knowledge lurking in her muscles yearned for a test.
“I might fancy it if you’ll let me borrow a blade,” she said casually.
One of the younger men let slip a snort of a laugh, which earned a whap on the head from the older man.
A low murmur rippled among the younger men. Frederick raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. The older man folded his arms across his chest, bushy eyebrows knitting together.
“Let’s see if you can handle a simple practice sword first,” he grunted, motioning to a wooden rack by the courtyard wall.
Asil strode over, scanning the blunt-edged practice weapons lined up. Each was crude, meant for training. Still, something inside her recognized the weight and balance of each blade. She picked one that felt right and then returned to the group.
“Well?” the older man said, a hint of a challenge in his tone. “Let’s see your stance.”
Without hesitation, Asil slid her feet into a perfect guard stance, knees bent, spine aligned, the practice sword gripped in both hands at a diagonal angle across her body. The movement felt effortless like she’d drilled it a thousand times. A flicker of surprise coursed through her—My body really knows this.
The older man’s eyebrows shot up, and two younger men exchanged wide-eyed looks. Frederick, who had introduced himself moments before, seemed incredibly impressed.
“Not bad,” the instructor muttered, circling her with a critical eye. “Where’d you learn that?”
Asil hesitated, unsure how to answer. In my sleep, it was hardly convincing. “Here and there,” she finally said, which earned her a grunt that might have been grudging approval.
“Frederick,” the instructor barked, “pair up with… Asil, was it? Let’s see if she can hold her own.”
Frederick looked delighted, stepping forward with a practice sword of his own. “If you insist.”
Around them, the other men gathered at a safe distance, obviously eager to see how this would play out. Asil inhaled deeply, adrenaline tingling along her spine. She steadied her grip, forcing herself to recall Blade Dancer fundamentals—footwork, timing, center of gravity.
I just hope I don’t pass out again, she thought, steeling herself for the first exchange.
Standing a few paces apart, Asil and Frederick eyed one another. The taller man began circling Asil, testing her reactions. Asil pivoted in place, matching his movement with a measured calm. She wasn’t sure how she knew to do this—only that her body felt poised for a fight, every muscle primed.
Frederick tried a few feints, flicking his blunt blade in small arcs to gauge her reflexes. But Asil stood her ground, quietly observing the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, the way his shoulders shifted, and even the swirl of dust around his feet as he moved. Behind him, she tracked the positions of the other four men, though they posed no immediate threat.
I can see every opening, she thought, a tiny spark of pride igniting. And I’ve only been a “Blade Dancer” for half a day?
Amused, Frederick decided it was time to make his move. He quickly stepped forward, intending to tap her backside with the flat of his practice sword—just a lighthearted show of skill he assumed she couldn’t dodge. Yet, before his blade even swung up, Asil blurred into motion. In one smooth movement, she knocked his sword aside so swiftly it flew from his hand to the ground and pressed her blunt blade gently against his throat.
A hush fell over the courtyard. Frederick’s eyes went wide in astonishment. One moment, he’d planned a playful strike; the next, his weapon was on the dirt, and Asil’s practice sword hovered at his jugular. The late-morning sun glinted off her dark hair, catching the slight smile that curved her lips.
“Whoa…” Frederick exhaled, flashing a sheepish grin as he raised his hands in mock surrender.
A moment later, the other three young men let out whoops of excitement and disbelief, scrambling forward with exclamations of:
“Where’d you learn that?!”
“Can you show me how?!”
“Will you marry—?”
Asil’s cheeks warmed, a mixture of embarrassment and pride. Even the older instructor, whose expression had been impassive, now betrayed a faint flicker of respect in his eyes.
“Hmph,” he grunted, crossing his arms. Impressive. He didn’t say it out loud, but the slight nod of his head told Asil he’d seen all he needed to.
As Frederick bent down to retrieve his fallen blade, the other men enthusiastically converged, peppering Asil with breathless questions. She was about to address them, but the older man stomped closer and raised his voice:
“TO-A ROUND!”
At once, the four younger men snapped into a straight line, standing at attention with their arms at their sides. Asil took a step back, startled by the sudden display of discipline.
The older man walked a slow circle around Asil, his gaze coolly appraising her from head to toe. He seemed mildly bemused by her dress—plain and not at all what one might expect on a warrior. Asil folded her arms, meeting his scrutiny with a steady gaze of her own.
“I’m Loren Dourant,” he said, at last, a note of authority coloring every syllable. “I see you’ve met Frederick.” He gestured to the tall man, then pointed further down the line. “That’s Stewart, Martin, Baum, and the runt at the end is Clive.”
Each man gave Asil a nod or an awkward half-bow, still riding the thrill of her dazzling show of skill. Asil offered a graceful curtsy, remembering some gentler etiquette her mother had taught her—though she couldn’t resist smiling at how out-of-place it felt in this martial courtyard.
“Asil,” she repeated. “Thank you for letting me join your training—unannounced as I was.”
Loren sniffed, scanning her face as if searching for hidden motives.
“Training’s open to anyone who can hold a blade… though I admit, you caught us off guard,” he said in a low voice. “That was no beginner’s move, lass.”
Asil glanced at Frederick, who was rubbing the back of his head with a wry grin.
“You were holding back on me, anyway,” she teased lightly. “But I appreciate that you didn’t go straight for a knockout.”
“Could’ve, if I’d had half a second,” Frederick joked, though his cheeks colored. “But I guess that’s the point—you didn’t give me half a second.”
A small chorus of laughter rippled through the group. Asil relaxed a fraction, relieved they took her sudden victory with good humor rather than resentment.
Meanwhile, Loren continued to watch her closely.
“Your stance, your speed… Are you a mercenary? A soldier’s daughter, perhaps? We don’t get many swordswomen around here.”
Asil offered a faint shrug, scrambling for a credible answer. She couldn’t exactly say I leveled up into Blade Dancer last night.
“Let’s just say I’ve had a crash course recently.”
Loren’s eyebrows rose again, but he let it lie. “Hm. Any friend of Geraldine’s is welcome in the yard, especially if you can show these pups a thing or two.” He turned and barked, “But you lazy whelps had better keep practicing, or I’ll tan your hides.”
Stewart, Martin, Baum, and Clive gulped and returned to their pairs. Frederick lingered, fiddling with his practice sword, casting Asil an admiring glance.
“If you’d like,” he ventured softly, “we could run some drills together. No need to hold back.”
Asil felt an unfamiliar thrill course through her muscles—this new knowledge from her Blade Dancer class practically sang at the idea of more sparring. Still, she tamped down her eagerness, remembering Abby inside the kitchen.
“I’d love that,” she replied carefully. “But maybe in a bit. I should check in with the others first.”
Frederick’s smile widened. “Well, we’ll be here.”
Loren grunted, stepping between them. “Yes, yes, get on with it. We’ll be out here working until mid-morning. Join or watch—your choice.” Then he turned his back, shouting orders again at Martin, who seemed to be fumbling a parry.
Glancing around again, Asil took in the sprawling courtyard—stone walls ringed with moss, a few wooden targets propped against the far ramparts, and a small rack of battered, real steel swords gleaming behind the practice blades. One day, she thought, I might test myself with steel instead of a blunt weapon.
With a last nod to Frederick, she turned on her heel and headed back toward the large door connecting to the kitchen. Her heart still pounded with the rush of the fight, and a surge of confidence swelled inside her. This Blade Dancer power… it’s real, and it’s mine. And for the first time since waking, she felt an undeniable sense of exhilaration.
Asil turned on her heel, heading back to the kitchen with a bright grin etched across her face. The residual rush from her quick victory over Frederick still hummed through her veins. Midway across the courtyard, however, a piercing yelp from the open doorway stopped her. Her head snapped up, and she sprinted the rest of the way, heart lurching with sudden alarm.
Inside the kitchen, she found Geraldine bent over Abby, kneeling, clutching her head with trembling hands. Tears trailed down the teenager’s cheeks as she whimpered in pain.
“Oh dear,” Geraldine said, looking back at Asil in concern. “You’d best see to your friend, lass. She’s having some sort of spell.”
Asil rushed forward, gently taking Geraldine’s place at Abby’s side. She pressed a hand to the girl’s back, leaning in close.
“Abby, hey,” she said softly, her voice tight and worried. “What’s wrong? Talk to me.”
Abby didn’t speak; she simply lifted one hand and tapped frantically at her waist. It took Asil a second to realize Abby was indicating her pouch.
“Right,” Asil muttered, comprehension dawning. She threw Geraldine a quick glance. “I need to get her back upstairs. Could you manage things here?”
Geraldine nodded, stepping aside. “Of course. Poor dear. Keep me updated if you need help.”
Trying to keep Abby steady, Asil guided her out of the kitchen and up the spiral staircase. Each step felt like it stretched a mile. Abby’s ragged breathing, coupled with the low whimpers escaping her lips, made Asil’s chest tighten with dread.
At last, they reached the bedroom. Asil helped Abby sit on the edge of the mattress, bracing an arm around her shoulders. Abby’s breathing hitched a few times as though she was trying hard not to cry.
“It’s okay,” Asil murmured, brushing back the teen’s hair. “We’re here now. Take it slow.”
Abby grimaced and finally found her voice, though it was little more than a whisper.
“The… the pages,” she rasped, fresh tears sliding down her cheeks. “I keep seeing them in my head—the ones from my journal.”
Asil glanced down at Abby’s leather pouch, recalling how the girl had yet to select a class and how the journals had already displayed some ominous messages for her. She tried undoing the clasp herself, but the latch wouldn’t budge, as though sealed by an invisible lock.
“It won’t open,” Asil grunted, tugging harder. A rising sense of panic clawed at her. “Why isn’t it—?”
Abby, face drained of color, managed to lift the pouch flap with shaky hands. The journal slid free and dropped lightly onto the bed. Asil inhaled sharply, reaching for the “cursed tome” as she thought of it.
She flipped through its pages, noticing that Abby had circled each class option—just as Asil had once done to read all the descriptions. But when she arrived at the final page of text, her heart nearly stopped:
Select a class or one will be selected for you.
Select a class or one will be selected for you.
Select a class or one will be selected for you.
Select a class or one will be selected for you.
Four identical lines in a row, threatening in their repetition. Before Asil could even process the implications, a fifth line appeared in real-time, making her pulse pound:
Select a class or one will be selected for you.
Abby let out another anguished cry, hands flying to her temples.
“It’s in my head!” she wailed. “The words—I see them in my mind. It’s like they’re screaming at me.”
Asil clenched her teeth, stroking Abby’s back in a vain attempt to soothe her. She felt a surge of righteous anger rise up, directed at whatever malevolent force might be controlling this “system.”
“Stop it!” she snarled under her breath.
No sooner had she thought it than a sixth line scrawled across the page:
Select a class or one will be selected for you.
Abby’s cry became a low sob, her entire body quaking. She slumped forward, forehead pressed against Asil’s shoulder.
“Okay, godsdammit, she’ll choose!” Asil shouted, glaring toward the ceiling as if addressing the invisible powers behind this twisted magic. “Let her be!”
For a moment, the room fell silent, save for Abby’s ragged breathing. The final message continued to flicker on the page, threatening more lines if Abby delayed further. Asil hugged the girl closer, feeling fury and protectiveness mingle in her heart. She wasn’t sure what was happening—whether it was the journal, the world’s magic, or some unseen entity—but it was forcing Abby’s hand most viciously.
Abby managed to lift her tear-streaked face, eyes brimming with dread.
“I—I can’t…” she began, voice shaking. “I don’t want to do this.”
Asil’s expression softened. “It’s going to be okay,” she promised, though her own uncertainty gnawed at her. “We’ll figure out the safest option. I’ve got you.”
Holding Abby’s gaze, she slowly turned back to the journal. The words seemed to glow on the page, waiting. Asil swallowed hard. A sense of inevitability settled over the room—Abby would have to pick or risk some terrifying consequence none of them understood.
“We choose,” Asil repeated in a calmer tone, directing her words at the swirling magic she sensed behind the journal’s demands. “Just… give us a moment.”
She pulled Abby back into a protective embrace. The teen whimpered but nodded, clinging to Asil as though she were the only lifeline in a perilous storm. Outside, the fortress corridors remained eerily quiet, but within these stone walls, battle lines had been drawn in a very different war—one for Abby’s autonomy and safety.
Shakily Abby recovered the quill from her pouch and circled Yes next to one of the classes.