Rayne's wrists throbbed where the shackles dug into her skin. Her bare feet dragged across the smooth stone as two armored soldiers pushed her along the passage like she was a beast, not a young girl. Under her fingernails, blood had dried. Her white dress-already torn and stained from the trial-hung off her frame like a warning banner.
Nobles watched from arched balconies above. Cloaked in moon-silver silk, they murmured behind gloved hands.
"Is that the girl who glowed?"
"Disgusting. Why let her live?"
"She doesn't belong in Araksa."
Rayne kept her head down. But her ears caught every word. Every sneer.
When they reached the servant wing, one guard kicked open a door and shoved her inside.
She stumbled into the dark cell and landed hard on the cold floor.
The door slammed behind her. Metal scraped as they locked it.
Silence.
Only then did she let out a breath.
The room was small-barely enough space to lie down. No windows. Just stone. And a single straw mat in the corner.
Her collar buzzed faintly as it reactivated, a reminder: no power. No escape.
She crawled to the mat and curled up tightly. The stone sapped her body heat. Her cuts stung. Her throat burned with unspoken screams.
But the worst pain came from within.
The glow in her veins had faded. The strength that had burst out of her during the trial was gone now. All that was left was shame and fear.
She wasn't safe here.
And she wasn't special.
She was a prisoner.
And everyone wanted her gone.
The door creaked open hours later. Light spilled into the room.
Rayne blinked, squinting. A maid entered, followed by a tall boy holding a bucket.
"Stand up," the maid barked.
Rayne didn't move.
The boy stepped forward and threw a cup of cold water at her face.
She gasped and flinched, coughing.
"That's better," the maid snapped. "You'll clean yourself before the royal steward sees you. No one wants a filthy mutt dragging blood across palace floors."
Rayne slowly pushed herself up. Her legs shook.
The boy smirked and shoved a bundle of coarse fabric into her arms.
"Dress fast," he said. "Or we'll burn the rest of your clothes while you're still in them."
Rayne changed in silence.
The tunic was too big. The trousers too short. Both smelled of mold. Still, it was warmer than the ripped ceremonial robes.
The maid looked her over once and sniffed. "You'll scrub the lower kitchens first. Then the stables. You eat only what's left. Touch anything gold and we'll hang your hands."
"Wait..." Rayne croaked, voice rough. "What about... the trial? The verdict?"
"Didn't you hear, mongrel?" the boy said, grinning. "Prince Kael granted you mercy."
Rayne stared. "Mercy?"
"You're alive," the maid spat. "That's more than you deserve."
Then they yanked the chain and led her out into the cold corridors once more.
Down in the lower kitchens, the cruelty began.
Servants tripped her as she walked past. One scalded her with soup water. Another dumped meat scraps on the floor and told her to "feed like the mongrel she is."
Rayne didn't fight back.
She barely spoke.
Her body shook from exhaustion as she cleaned the floors till her hands bled.
She collapsed close to the hearth after she was done, but even that warmth was taken. A boot kicked her aside, and laughter followed.
She bit her lip until she tasted blood.
She had survived the forest. The soldiers. The trial.
But this? This was different.
This was quiet war.
One she was too tired to fight.
That night, she returned to her cell with bruises blooming down her arms and mud streaking her face.
She hadn't eaten.
She hadn't spoken.
She just lay on the cold floor, eyes open, watching the ceiling.
And she made herself a promise.
If they wanted her to break...
They would have to try harder.
The next morning, the chain around Rayne's neck yanked her awake before her eyes even opened.
"Up," barked the guard at her cell door.
Rayne flinched but obeyed. Her muscles screamed in protest. Her feet were raw. But she stood.
The guard led her down twisting tunnels beneath the palace, and she silently followed him. Nobody clarified her destination. Nobody cared.
At last, they came to a halt in front of a stone door that appeared to be older than the castle's others. Moss infiltrated into the cracks. The door swung inward as the hinges groan.
The guard shoved her forward. "You'll clean this."
Rayne stepped inside.
The room was massive. Dust hung like mist. Bookshelves loomed in the dark, piled high with scrolls and tomes. Broken chandeliers dangled overhead. This place hadn't been touched in years.
"A forgotten library," she whispered.
The guard dropped a bucket and a rag at her feet. "By nightfall. Or you don't eat."
Then he left her alone.
Rayne remained motionless for a while, only breathing. Time, candle wax, and parchment odors filled the air.
This place was different. Quiet. Sacred.
Her fingers trailed the edge of a nearby shelf. The wood was carved with runes she didn't understand, but they pulsed faintly beneath her touch.
She bent down and picked up the rag. Began wiping the dust from the floor. Slowly. Carefully. Trying not to think. Trying not to feel.
But then, she heard it.
A voice.
Not loud, not sharp.
A whisper.
Not from behind her. Not from the hallway.
From the bookcase.
Rayne froze. She turned her head.
One of the books glowed faintly. Just like her eyes had.
She reached for it slowly, her heart pounding.
Her fingers brushed the leather spine...
"Don't touch that."
She spun around.
A girl stood at the far side of the room, cloaked in black, no older than Rayne. Her pale hair was tied back tightly. She studied her with unblinking eyes that were as silver as snow. "I wasn't intending to steal it," Rayne said hastily.
"I know." The girl stepped closer. "But some things... aren't meant to be woken."
Rayne's hands dropped to her sides. "Who are you?"