Steel met steel in the arena of House Jarakan at the top of the mighty capital, but one blade was no mere creation of mortal hands. It was forged from something far stronger: the Soul. With both hands gripping the hilt just tight enough, Xenia pushed against Sir Baraton's greatsword. The inhuman strength of the Soulblade was met with resistance, but a fleeting opening revealed itself. One hand pulled while the other pushed, and her one-and-a-half-handed sword swung toward the knight's exposed side.
Yet, for all his years, Sir Baraton's instincts remained those of a seasoned veteran. He twisted his body just enough for Xenia's blade to strike against the flat of his greatsword with a resounding clang. Without missing a beat, Xenia released one hand from her Soulweapon, withdrawing the blade swiftly before thrusting it forward.
Sir Baraton deflected her strike with the armored gauntlet of his free hand, and in one fluid motion, the pommel of his greatsword came flying toward her. Xenia ducked and rolled to the side, narrowly evading the blow.
"Well done," Sir Baraton said approvingly, his tone carrying an edge of respect. "Had you activated the Soulweapon's true power, I would be dead by now."
Xenia offered a tight smile. "Thank you," she replied.
But inwardly, she knew the truth. If Sir Baraton were to take this sparring session seriously and summon his own Soulweapon, the duel would take a drastically different turn. And what if he employed his Soulart as well? Could she truly stand a chance then?
Perhaps.
"You're daydreaming," Sir Baraton's voice snapped her out of her thoughts.
She barely managed to bring her blade up to parry his next strike, but the sudden force caused her footing to slip. With a swift kick, Sir Baraton swept her legs out from under her, and she landed hard on the gravel.
Standing over her, the knight regarded her with a stern expression.
"You must stay focused, Lady Xenia."
She grimaced, her pride stinging as much as her back. Somewhere behind them, she heard Lady Hilla's laughter ringing out like a bell. Xenia rolled to the side and sprang back to her feet, brushing the dust off her pajamas.
"I'll give you something to laugh about," she muttered under her breath.
Fortunately for her… she was a true genius. And even though no one in House Jarakan would ever admit it, Xenia knew it as much as they did - because if they didn't recognize her value, she would have been discarded long ago.
Defeating Sir Baraton in a traditional duel of strength and skill was impossible. He was simply too experienced, too seasoned in the art of combat. But Xenia had never relied solely on traditional methods.
Otherwise, she wouldn't be standing here in pajamas and some boots.
Sir Baraton's demeanor shifted, sensing the change in her stance. He adjusted his own footing, preparing for what was to come. This time, Xenia didn't charge in recklessly. She took a calculated step to the right, her blade ready. Sir Baraton mirrored her movement, his greatsword steady.
The air between them grew tense, both combatants poised for the next move. Xenia exhaled deeply, and the world before her eyes transformed.
Then, she activated her Soulart.
A network of shimmering threads burst into existence, connecting everything around her. At first, the sheer complexity of the web overwhelmed her, as it always did. Each thread told a story - of binding, of purpose, of emotion - and the weight of those stories pressed against her mind. It was like trying to read an entire library in a single glance.
She felt the familiar surge of awe and discomfort, her heart racing at the magnitude of what she could see. But with a deep breath, Xenia focused, narrowing her perception to what mattered most: the threads of the battle in front of her.
Some threads were dark and thin, barely visible, while others glowed brightly and stretched as thick as the anchor chains of an airship seemingly into oblivion. These were not physical objects but representations of connections. Bindings between people, objects, and power.
She sprinted through the chaotic weave of threads, knowing they were intangible but still mapping her movements through them. Her grip tightened on her sword as she swung for another attack. Sir Baraton raised his greatsword, ready to counter, but Xenia stopped just short of his reach. Her blade slashed downward, narrowly missing his gauntlet, but her Soulweapon activated mid-swing.
The shimmering aura around the blade flared to life, and it cut through one of the threads connecting Sir Baraton to his weapon. The bond wasn't severed completely - a knight and his sword were one - but it weakened, forming a jagged tear in the ethereal connection.
For the onlookers, the effect was immediate and strange. Sir Baraton stepped forward, preparing a counter, but his grip faltered. For a brief moment, his brow furrowed in visible surprise, the uncharacteristic mistake clearly catching him off guard.
The massive greatsword shifted awkwardly in his hand, as though it no longer obeyed him entirely. It was a mistake no seasoned knight should ever make under normal circumstances.
Xenia's strike had been executed with one hand for added reach, leaving just enough space between her and Sir Baraton for a follow-up. Exactly how one would wield a hand-and-a-half sword.
She grabbed the hilt with her other hand, twisting her body from the hips, and drove the flat of her blade against Sir Baraton's chest plate. The force of the Soulweapon's impact, amplified by its power, sent the knight stumbling back.
With a loud clatter of steel, Sir Baraton fell, his armored frame hitting the gravel. For a moment, he lay stunned, his gaze unfocused as he tried to process what had happened. When he finally looked up, he found Xenia standing over him, the tip of her blade pointed directly at his throat.
"I win," she said, her voice calm but edged with triumph.
It was suddenly all silent on the training grounds. Slowly turning his gaze to her, Sir Baraton nodded respectfully, though Xenia could see the subtle strain of pride he had to overcome.
Too bad, she thought indifferently.
Had the old knight taken the duel as seriously as he could, he would have easily defeated her. She smirked inwardly. Thankfully, that hadn't happened. Already, she was panting, her chest rising and falling with exhaustion. The thought of exerting herself any further this early in the morning was unbearable.
Sometimes she asked herself, what use it was to be a Lady, if she had to do the same barbaric training as a knight.
She dismissed her Soulweapon, and the sword dissolved into a plume of green Soulfuel vapor. For a moment, she considered offering Sir Baraton a hand to help him up, but the old knight rose on his own, bowing curtly instead. Xenia was impressed despite herself. She doubted she could have handled a loss so gracefully.
"That was your Soulart, wasn't it?" Sir Baraton asked, his tone even, though there was a hint of curiosity. "It caused me to lose my grip."
Xenia nodded slightly, stretching her sore muscles.
"Mhm. But I have to say, you're a stubborn ox."
Was that the faintest hint of a smile on Sir Baraton's face? Surely not.
"How reverent your soul must be, Lady Xenia," he replied.
Xenia's smile faded. Reverent, was it? Yes, that was true. Without her Soulart, she wouldn't still be standing here - there just wasn't enough Lady in her to justify her life without the dangers she wielded… and neither was there enough noble blood.
The Eye of the Stranger. That was the name she had given her Soulart. It had taken her some time to fully understand what she was seeing every time she activated it.
The connections of all things.
Even now, with her Soulart still active, the threads surrounded her. Most connections originated from people, and the majority were not physical but emotional. Others were of much simpler origin, like the one that connected Sir Baraton's hand to the grip of his sword.
Xenia's own threads were among them, and one, in particular, stood out. It was old and rough, dark, almost black.
At a young age, she had quickly learned what that thread meant.
Her gaze followed the thread that extended from her. It ended at Lady Hilla, stark and heavy, radiating a deep sense of rejection. Faint, hair-thin strands stretched toward Velora, shimmering with ambiguity - half-hearted connections born of half shared blood but little else.
Maybe there had once been a part of her, that had hoped that the thread signaled some kind of connection between them. That, although she wasn't her daughter or the full sister of Velora, they were still family.
The little girl who had thought that was long gone.
Now she knew of harsh clarity of what the connection represented. And yet, even in its darkness, it tethered her to them. A fragile, bitter bond she couldn't sever, no matter how much she wished she could.
It was the thread of exclusion. Of hatred. And it stemmed as much from them as it did from her.
***
The sun had long since set, and for most of the fortress, another grueling day had come to an end. But not for Xenia Foxraised. After her victory over Sir Baraton, she had simply walked away, leaving behind the accusations and scorn of her stepmother. Lord Askar had ordered her to train every day, and as the Lord of House Jarakan and her father, his commands were absolute.
Still, he had never specified how much training was required.
Besides, I defeated Sir Baraton, she thought, a smirk tugging at her lips. I'm already ahead of everyone else my age.
Since then, she had left her chambers only three times. Once to eat with the kitchen boys in the storage cellar, where she'd gambled away one of her silver bracelets on a game of dice. The second time was to take care of certain necessities - even a lady had her limits. And the third was a brief foray to the dining hall, though she'd promptly retreated when she saw only Lady Hilla and Velora seated at the table. Instead, she had taken her plate back to her room. Lady Hilla hadn't stopped her - she clearly preferred not to dine with Xenia either.
And that had been her entire day. A long, boring, miserable day.
"Ugh," Xenia groaned, rolling over on her bed. Scattered across the covers were clothes, playing cards, and a few breadcrumbs.
The chambermaids would have a fit when they saw it, but Xenia didn't care. She preferred to stay in her room rather than wander the fortress, where every passing glance felt like a dagger in her back.
Once, she had roamed the halls practicing her Soulart, trying to decipher the nature of individual threads. But she'd quickly realized that every time she encountered someone, there it was - that coarse, black thread of exclusion. Even the kitchen boys had it.
No wonder, really. Everyone knew she wasn't a true Jarakan. Her defiant attitude didn't help her reputation, but she didn't care. At least, that's what she told herself.
Probably.
A knock at the door.
"Come back tomorrow," she called lazily, not even bothering to move.
But instead of a chambermaid, a familiar voice responded. "I'm coming in."
"…no, you're not?"
Velora stepped inside anyway. Xenia rolled her eyes. Her sister was no longer clad in armor but wore an elegant yet simple gown, the kind befitting a lady of the fortress. Her golden-blonde hair was still slightly damp from a recent bath. Xenia glanced at her beautiful sister briefly before letting her head fall back onto the pillow.
"What do you want?" she muttered.
Velora leaned against the closed door, arms crossed. Her usually formal posture relaxed whenever she was alone with Xenia. Truthfully, Xenia didn't mind her presence. Velora was one of the few people in the fortress she could tolerate. Still, even with her, that faint thread of exclusion remained.
"You defeated Sir Baraton today," Velora began.
"Oh, right. That happened."
Velora's expression twitched, but she quickly composed herself. "Do you even realize what an accomplishment that is? I've never beaten him in the past."
Xenia raised an eyebrow. "And why does that make it an accomplishment?"
Velora's lips pressed into a thin line, but she exhaled slowly, calming herself.
Boring. Getting a rise out of her mother is so easy, but with Velora, it's impossible.
"Yes, I beat him. Didn't expect to, honestly. So what about it?" Xenia asked, sighing.
Velora looked thoughtful, her tone all of a sudden soft when she finally spoke. "I wanted to say… I'm sorry, sister."
Xenia stared at her, confused. Slowly, she sat up, her disheveled black hair falling over one eye.
"Sorry for what?" Her voice had softened, too.
Velora hesitated before taking a few tentative steps forward. Then, without warning, she threw herself into Xenia's arms, wrapping her in a firm hug. Xenia froze, almost jumping in surprise. For a moment, she was utterly confused by the gesture, her mind scrambling to understand it.
But then, something shifted. She felt a faint warmth rising in her chest, though it was strange and unfamiliar. Gradually, her arms lowered to return the embrace, hesitant but genuine. It felt odd to her, being cared for. And yet, it wasn't entirely unwelcome.
"Uh… sis?" Xenia whispered.
Velora seemed as unsure of her actions as Xenia was, for the hug ended as abruptly as it had begun. She pulled back, her cheeks faintly flushed and cleared her throat with an awkward cough before lowering herself onto the edge of the bed.
Her usual composure seemed shaken, her gaze darting briefly to the floor as though unsure of how to proceed. The hint of embarrassment in her posture was uncharacteristic, and for a moment, she looked almost regretful, as though grappling with emotions she wasn't accustomed to expressing.
"Part of me hoped you'd lose today," Velora admitted quietly.
Xenia raised her eyebrows. That's what she wanted to apologize for? It hardly seemed necessary. After all, they were rivals… or at least, Xenia knew that Velora saw her as one. Still…
"You don't need to apologize for that," Xenia said, the softness in her voice suddenly gone, as if they were discussing the weather. "You want to catch up. I guess that's normal for most people."
Her voice faltered. She cursed herself inwardly; once again, she had distanced herself emotionally. She hated that about herself, especially when it came to her sister.
Velora turned away, her gaze becoming distant. "I knew you'd face Sir Baraton today. Mother told me."
"That's hardly surprising. She was hoping I'd take a few good hits."
"No," Velora said softly. "Today was a test. From her… and from Father."
Xenia's eyes widened. "Father had something to do with this?"
"Not directly, but…"
"But what? Tell me, Velora."
Under her sister's intense gaze, Velora relented, shifting uncomfortably. "Mother convinced him you needed to prove yourself again. At first, he said it wasn't necessary, but she wouldn't let it go. She got angrier and angrier until he finally gave in and let her arrange the trial. I think he was just tired of her in the end."
Xenia's expression darkened. "What would have happened if I'd lost?"
"I don't know," Velora admitted. "Maybe more training, or some other punishment."
Her voice was earnest, but Xenia felt a wave of nausea. How naive Velora was. The realization gnawed at Xenia, sparking a frustration she knew was childish. Velora couldn't possibly understand what it felt like to carry the weight of her birthright every day, to see it reflected in every thread and glance.
And Xenia hated that she was taking her anger out on Velora, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. It was petty and unfair, and yet the words spilled forth regardless, driven by her own bitterness.
"Did you know," Xenia began coldly, "the word bastard is technically gender-neutral?"
Velora looked surprised. For a second it seemed she didn't understand the sudden change in her sister's tone, and not knowing any better, she went along. "I… thought it referred to illegitimate sons."
Xenia let out a hollow laugh. "No. But in noble families, there really are no illegitimate daughters. Do you know why?"
Velora hesitated, then shook her head. Xenia could tell she understood but didn't want to say it aloud. That realization made her unexpectedly angry. She grabbed Velora's shoulders, forcing her to meet her gaze.
"A son can still be useful," Xenia said bitterly. "He can become a loyal knight or marry into some minor house. But a bastard daughter?"
Velora's guilt was written all over her face. Xenia hated herself for finding satisfaction in it. She hated herself so much.
"If I weren't such a talented Sorceress, they'd have sent me away long ago," Xenia continued. "And if not that, your mother would have poisoned me. She hates me. Every time she looks at me, she remembers that her husband had loved another woman, and she can't stand it. Do you understand, Velora?"
Velora tried to pull away, but Xenia didn't let go. "If I'm not the best, if I don't pass every trial, I'm nothing to this house. Nothing. Just a stain."
She took a deep breath, her voice trembling with suppressed emotion. "You knew. You could have warned me. Helped me."
Silence.
Ah, what a shame… I really am a selfish bastard.
A single tear slid down Velora's cheek. She stood abruptly.
"I… I…" she stammered before fleeing the room, the tear wiped away, but a sadness in her figure lingering.
Xenia watched her go, hatred swelling in her chest. But not for Velora. Instead, all of this frustration was for herself. And as the heat of the moment slowly faded, she realized she had made the only person who seemed to truly care about her cry. And worst of all, she couldn't accept the apology Velora had offered - an apology she never should have had to give.
...because deep down, Xenia knew she wouldn't have warned her sister either, if their situations were reversed.