*Transitioning into Orin's POV
Now that all the others had been taken away to meet their assigned mentors—each disappearing down winding roads and narrow stairways toward strangers and training grounds unknown—it was finally Orin's turn.
The hallway quieted, the crowd that once bustled with whispers and motion now gone, leaving only her and Merilyn behind beneath the shifting light of a torch-lit corridor.
She stood still, her shoulders squared, expecting her fate to follow the same pattern.
She assumed she too would be taken elsewhere—to some hidden room, to some unfamiliar place, to stand before some cold-eyed warrior with no patience for her grief or fire.
But that did not happen.
Instead, Merilyn turned calmly and began walking—not forward into the unknown, but back, retracing their previous steps.
The path they followed was already familiar:
The same polished tiles beneath their feet, the same subtle fragrance of wood and dried herbs in the air, the same walls carved with ancient symbols now fading with time.
Orin blinked in confusion.
Her brows creased into a small frown as she followed behind Merilyn, her mind trying to make sense of what was happening.
"Back here?" she asked, her voice soft yet sharp with wariness.
It wasn't suspicion, not yet—but it was close.
Merilyn didn't answer immediately.
She walked up to the door of her home—the same door they had passed through once before.
Her hand reached for the mechanism without hesitation.
With a soft, mechanical
*whirrrr
and a muted creak, the door opened, revealing the warm interior that smelled faintly of aged timber, incense, and windblown dust.
The air inside was calm,
Merilyn stepped into the entryway and finally spoke, her tone calm and grounded, but tinged with something unspoken.
"This isn't a mistake, child."
She walked deeper inside, her long coat brushing the floor.
"After thinking carefully on the matter... and after speaking with one of your friends, I came to a decision."
As she moved, memories flickered in her mind—specifically, her conversation with Kain.
Kain, who had described Orin not merely as a friend, but as a shield.
He had painted a picture of a girl who had always been there for others, someone whose very presence brought comfort.
A protector.
A fighter.
A sister—though not just in blood, but in spirit.
He had said Orin was the type who would step between a sword and the people she loved without hesitation.
The type who would argue with guards, with rules, with fate itself if it meant keeping her people safe.
But he had also said something else—that ever since the death of her younger sister, Nevi, something had changed in Orin.
A silence had crept into her.
She didn't smile as freely.
She rarely started conversations.
It was like part of her had been buried along with the body of someone she couldn't save.
A flicker of pain passed across Merilyn's features as she glanced back at Orin.
"I've decided," she said quietly, "that I'm the most suitable person to train you."
She turned fully now, her gaze steady and calm, but her eyes held a distance in them—an echo of pain buried deep in time.
It wasn't just empathy.
It was recognition.
"I too," Merilyn continued, her voice lower now, "have struggled with the loss of those I love. That kind of grief… it lingers, child. It sits in your chest like a stone that won't move. And I know what that weight feels like."
Orin's eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by the quiet vulnerability in Merilyn's voice.
But even as the words touched her ears, something inside her rejected them.
A storm, already raging, burned brighter.
That same uncontrollable flame she had carried ever since the loss of Nevi—it refused to be tamed by shared sorrow.
Her sister hadn't died to disease or fate.
She had been murdered.
Slain at the hands of a Zeraf soldier.
And worse—she had been taken from this world because of Venedix.
The same woman who had led the attack on Leran.
The same name that haunted Orin's dreams, dripping with blood.
As she stepped inside the house, following Merilyn reluctantly, Orin's face twisted.
She scowled faintly, jaw clenched so tight her molars ached.
Her fingers curled into her sleeves, and her eyes—normally calm—burned with fury.
She scoffed at Merilyn's words, her lips parting just enough to let out a bitter breath.
None of it mattered.
Not Merilyn's past.
Not her loss.
Not her attempt at sympathy.
Orin had already made a vow—one that ran so deep into her bones, it had fused with her soul.
She would avenge her sister.
She would exact justice, not from some abstract ideal, but from the flesh and blood of her enemies.
She would make Venedix pay.
She would make the Empire bleed.
Even if her path ended in ruin… even if it led to her death… she would walk it without flinching.
No one would change her mind.
Not Merilyn.
Not Jinn.
No one.
The fire in her heart was steady, fueled by grief and stoked by hatred.
It did not waver.
It did not flicker.
It burned with a clear, merciless purpose.
.
.
.
As they entered the living room, the house greeted them with its familiar warmth.
A fire crackled softly in the hearth.
*crack… *snap... *pop…
Its light cast shadows across the wooden floor, and the smell of herbs drifted gently from a nearby shelf.
But Orin felt nothing of its comfort.
Her arms were tightly crossed over her chest, her posture locked and rigid like a fortress.
Her mouth was drawn into a hard line, and her gaze was fixed—burning holes into the flames before her.
Merilyn stood still for a moment, then turned to face her directly.
"I won't stop you," she said softly but clearly.
"Revenge… it feels like a purpose. At first, it lights your path. It gives you direction. But in the end, child… it's a fire that takes more than it gives."
Orin didn't respond.
Her eyes remained on the fire, watching the orange light dance with the same quiet intensity that lived in her.
It mirrored her.
Unstable.
Beautiful.
Deadly.
"I'm not here to lecture you," Merilyn continued.
"I'm not here to strip away your anger or tell you that you're wrong for feeling what you feel."
She stepped forward slowly, her footsteps clicking softly on the wooden floor.
"I'm here to make sure you live long enough to do whatever it is you believe must be done."
That finally made Orin shift.
Her eyes lifted, locking onto Merilyn's.
For a moment, she looked like she might speak—but the words caught in her throat, stuck behind the pain she hadn't dared to say aloud since Leran fell.
Her lips moved, then stopped.
She turned her head away instead.
Merilyn approached her carefully, her presence neither overbearing nor hesitant.
*clack... *clack...
Her voice dropped to a lower tone.
"But when the day comes… when you're standing face to face with the one who stole your sister's life… that decision—whether to destroy them or to live on for the one you lost—that choice will be yours. No one else's."
Orin bit the inside of her cheek, her expression unreadable.
I don't care…
I don't need choices.
I just need strength.
Just enough strength to end her life.
Just enough to make her feel what I felt when Nevi laid cold on the ground.
Her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
She didn't know if what she felt under her anger was fear or something worse.
Doubt, maybe.
Uncertainty.
But whatever it was, she buried it.
What mattered now was surviving long enough to stand in front of Venedix.
She sat down stiffly on the edge of the nearest chair, spine straight, fists still trembling on her lap.
"Then teach me," she said at last, her voice cold, stripped of softness, but not lacking in conviction.
"Teach me everything."
Merilyn looked at her for a long moment, eyes unreadable, then gave a single slow nod.
"Very well," she said.
"But understand this—I will not teach you how to destroy. I will teach you how to endure."
And in the quiet house nestled against the edge of the windswept cliffs, two women sat across from each other.
One, a vessel of fury, burning so brightly that her very presence threatened to consume everything she touched.
The other, an old flame, steady and scarred, holding back storms she no longer feared.
And somewhere between them... an unspoken thread was forming.
Not forgiveness.
Not peace.
But something that might one day become strength.
Only time would tell whether Orin's fire would burn itself to ash…
Or whether it would become the kind of fire that burns the whole universe down.