I was sitting beside Oma when one of the Summoned entered the infirmary.
I noticed him immediately—not because of his footsteps, but because of how careful he tried to be with them. Summoned Slayers were only quiet on the battlefield.
In Victors Castle, they were always loud.
Even when they didn't want to be. We were family here, and that bond carried weight.
He stopped at the foot of the bed, helmet tucked under his arm.
"Lady Naya," he said respectfully, though his eyes never lingered on Oma the way they should have. "Your father requests your presence."
I didn't look up right away. My fingers were still resting lightly against Oma's wrist, counting the rhythm of his pulse. Slower than before. Steadier. Alive.
That was when I knew something was wrong.
Papa never summoned me like that.
He never called me to the city. And he certainly never sent a Summoned to fetch me from the infirmary like a child who'd wandered too far. If he needed me, he came himself—or he sent Hunter.
I lifted my gaze slowly. "Did my father say why?"
The Slayer shook his head. "No, my lady. Only that I was to bring you to him immediately."
I studied his face. Perfect discipline. Perfect posture. Too perfect.
I removed my hand from Oma's wrist and stood, smoothing the front of my coat. I glanced once more at the boy on the bed. Unconscious. Vulnerable. His life endangered, if I confronted the Slayer here.
"Let's go," I said calmly. "But are there any other Slayers around. I don't want leave him unguarded."
The Summoned hesitated. Then nodded.
I followed him out of the infirmary.
Outside, the sun was high, bathing the stone in gold. I scanned the courtyard instinctively.
Only him.
No other Summoned. No patrol pairs. No Hunter leaning against a pillar pretending not to watch everyone at once.
The halls of Victor's Castle were quieter than usual. Too quiet.
Just as I suspected, the Slayers were gone—training, drills, patrol rotations. The rhythm of the place had shifted, just slightly out of step.
I followed anyway.
If I raised the alarm too early, I would put every child in the castle at risk. Panic was contagious. And what could a bunch of kids do to a Slayer. I decided to handle him all by myself.
We walked past the outer gates and into the city proper. Deeper. Farther than Papa would ever ask me to walk without explanation.
My hand slipped into the inner pocket of my coat. I felt the familiar shape of the scalpel there. Cold. Reassuring.
When we reached a narrow alley between two stone buildings, I stopped walking.
"Tell me something," I said.
The Slayer turned, confused. "Yes, my lady?"
"Do you fear death?"
His brow furrowed. "Why ask that?"
I met his eyes fully now. "Because if you did," I said quietly, "you wouldn't dare touch the daughter of Victor Zefar."
I moved before he could react.
The scalpel was already in my hand as I lunged forward. I didn't aim for his heart. I didn't aim for his throat.
I sliced.
Clean. Precise.
Cutting every vein on his right leg.
He screamed and instantly fell to his knees, blood pouring out faster than his body could understand. I stepped back, already turning to run.
I didn't look at his face. I didn't need to.
I ran.
The market was only a street away. Crowds. Noise. Witnesses. Safety.
I burst out of the alley—
—and nearly slammed straight into another Summoned Slayer.
His hand reached for me.
I reacted on instinct.
Three stabs.
Palm. Wrist. Biceps.
His scream cut through the air as his hand went slack, useless. I twisted past him, breath burning in my chest.
I was almost free.
Then I heard it.
"Naya, stop."
My body froze.
Not fear.
Not hesitation.
Command.
Every muscle locked in place as if my nerves had betrayed me. I tried to move. I couldn't. I tried to scream. My throat refused.
Did, my kidnapper have powers?
I swallowed, forcing my mind to stay sharp even as my body failed me.
"I don't know who you are," I said, my voice steady despite the terror crawling up my spine, "but you must let me go for your own sake. You must run and hide in the deepest hole you can find. When Zefar eventually finds you, your torment will be based on my testimony."
I meant every word.
The man laughed.
It wasn't a normal laugh. It was thin. Fractured. Like something broken trying to sound human.
"I have no intention of harming you," he said pleasantly. "That being said, I have a job for you."
He stepped closer.
"Now sleep."
The world tilted.
My vision blurred at the edges. I fought it. I fought hard. But my knees buckled, and the ground rushed up to meet me.
The last thing I felt was stone against my cheek.
Then nothing.
I woke up cold.
Not metaphorically. Not emotionally.
Cold.
My breath fogged in front of my face as I pushed myself upright, heart pounding. I was lying on a wooden floor, rough and splintered, wrapped in thin blankets that did nothing to hold warmth.
An old cabin.
Crude walls. Flickering lantern light. The smell of damp wood and decay.
Woods.
Close.
Too close.
I realized where I was with a sick twist in my stomach.
In the woods near Victors Castle.
His lair was right beside my house.
No one would think to look for me here.
Clever.
A shadow moved.
"You're awake," the man said cheerfully.
I turned to face him.
He removed his hood.
I recognized him instantly.
Trance.
A True Slayer.
A name spoken in whispers even among the Summoned. A man Papa kept locked away for a reason.
He smiled at me like we were old friends.
"You're calmer than I expected," he observed.
"I'm a healer," I replied. "Panic and fear don't move me."
He laughed again, pleased. "That's why I chose you."
He told me everything.
How he had been treated in Adreya. How the nurse—the only one who spoke to him kindly, the only one who didn't flinch—had stopped coming.
How the staff refused to explain.
How he broke out.
How he found her in the morgue.
Frozen.
Dead.
He led me to the other room.
The body lay on a table.
I didn't need to touch her.
She was gone.
Brain death. Cellular damage. No pulse. No breath. No spark.
"She's dead," I said gently.
"No," he snapped. "She's just… sleeping."
I met his gaze. "She isn't asleep."
"Then fix it," he demanded. "Think of something."
"I can't resurrect the dead."
His smile vanished.
He stepped closer and spoke softly.
"Then feel her pain. Experience the chill."
And suddenly—
I felt frozen.
It was so cold, I could barely breathe.
My body locked into stillness, skin burning as if submerged in ice. My teeth chattered violently. I couldn't move. Couldn't scream.
"This," he said calmly, "is how she felt."
The pain didn't stop.
It wouldn't stop.
Unless I did the impossible.
I was not weak.
I had proven that.
But against this power—
I had no hope.