Fenja's claws sliced through the air again, each strike precise, honed by years of training—but her mind was elsewhere, tangled in memories she could never fully shake.
Her village had always been part of the cult's territory. Born a slave, she inherited the chains of her parents' titles. Only as a Circle Warrior could she truly claim freedom. And now, here she was, facing a cocky boy who dared make her feel as if she could be enslaved again. She hated that.
Her sister had suffered far worse, always forced to shield Fenja from the cruelty drawn by her beauty. What had once seemed a gift had proven a curse. Every glance, every unwanted attention, had led to beatings, nights of fear, long torments. Fenja's heart ached with guilt for the pain her mere existence had caused, yet she had been powerless to stop it.
