The cavern was colder than the world above, and Serena looked like she did not belong in either.
She stood where Niqael had left her, silver hair spilling down her back in heavy waves, violet eyes open and empty as if the concept of blinking had been given to her without the reason behind it. The ritual circle had dimmed into a faint ember. The candles burned low. The grimoire was gone—reduced to ash between Niqael's fingers the moment its final purpose had been fulfilled.
She remained naked, unbothered by the chill that seeped through stone.
That alone was proof she was unfinished.
Niqael moved to the stone chest embedded in the cavern wall and pulled it open. He did not care for clothing. It was a human habit, a superficial requirement of a world obsessed with appearances. But if Serena was to walk above ground, she would need to resemble something the surface could accept.
He took a white dress from the chest. Simple. Long. Unremarkable enough to be ignored.
He tossed it at her feet.
"Put it on."
Serena looked down at the fabric. The dress might as well have been a dead animal for the way she stared at it—an object without category.
She did not move.
Niqael's patience thinned.
He stepped forward, grabbed the dress, and shook it open with a sharp motion. Then he took her wrists and guided her arms into the sleeves, pulling the fabric down over her shoulders and smoothing it into place.
The dress settled against her body like a soft lie.
Her hourglass shape pressed faintly against the linen, the waist narrow beneath his hands, hips curved with deliberate intent. It was a human form built too perfectly, too cleanly, as if the world itself had never been allowed to touch her.
Niqael caught himself looking.
He turned his gaze away before the impulse became anything else. It was a simple correction, a refusal to allow himself the weakness of seeing her as more than function.
Serena watched him with her empty eyes.
"Why did you look away?" she asked.
Niqael's stare snapped back to her, sharp enough to cut.
"You do not require my constant observation," he said.
Serena processed. "I require instruction."
"You will receive it when necessary."
"Yes."
He should have been satisfied by her obedience.
Instead, irritation lingered beneath his ribs. He hated how the human body he had shaped for her was capable of distracting even him. It was inconvenient. It was irrelevant.
She was a weapon.
And weapons did not tempt.
"Follow," he ordered.
Serena obeyed immediately.
They left the ritual chamber behind, moving through the narrow stone passage that rose toward the surface. Serena stepped carefully on the jagged rock, her movements smooth, silent, controlled. She did not stumble once. She did not hesitate unless he stopped. She was built for precision and already performed like it.
The forest greeted them with damp air and shifting light.
Towering trees stretched overhead, their bark split and darkened, roots crawling across the ground like veins. Sunlight filtered through dense canopy, casting pale beams across moss and fallen needles. The scent of earth was thick, alive in a way stone could never be.
Serena stopped at the threshold, her body reacting to the change even if her expression did not.
Wind touched her skin through the thin fabric of her dress. Goosebumps rose along her arms. A shiver slid through her shoulders like a warning.
She did not speak.
Niqael noticed anyway.
"You are cold," he said.
Serena blinked once. "Define."
His mouth tightened.
"Cold is the absence of heat," he said, voice clipped. "Your body will respond to it whether you understand it or not."
Serena glanced down at her arm where the skin had roughened.
"My body reacts," she said.
"Yes. You will inform me when it does."
"How?" she asked.
"You will speak," Niqael replied. "With words."
Serena nodded.
"Yes."
He guided her deeper into the forest, away from the hidden entrance, moving through shadows where even the Fire Nation's patrols rarely ventured. The world above was dangerous in ways humans understood. It was also dangerous in ways they didn't, which made them reckless.
Niqael stopped in a small clearing and gestured toward a tree.
"That is a tree," he said. "Wood. It lives."
Serena stared at it for one breath too long, then forced her gaze away as if correcting a mistake.
Niqael saw the effort.
Good.
"A tree grows," he continued. "It draws water from the soil. It does not move unless acted upon."
Serena stepped closer and pressed her palm to the bark. Her fingers spread slightly as she registered texture.
"Rough," she said.
"Yes."
A bird moved above them, wings brushing the air. Serena's head snapped up.
Niqael caught her wrist instantly, forcing her gaze down before the movement could become attention.
"Do not stare."
Serena lowered her eyes.
"Yes."
"That was an animal," he said. "Many live in forests. Some flee. Some hunt."
Serena waited one breath. "Do they hunt me?"
The question should have sounded like fear.
It did not.
It sounded like data collection.
"Some might," Niqael said. "If you appear weak."
Serena processed. "I do not know how to appear weak."
Niqael's gaze sharpened.
"You will learn," he said, and there was an edge beneath the words that had nothing to do with kindness.
They moved through the trees, and Niqael taught her what mattered. What would keep her functioning. What could harm her body. The difference between heat and cold, the way sunlight warmed skin and shade stole warmth away. How water sounded before it was seen. How animals move differently when threatened.
Serena listened without reaction, absorbing the world as if it were a set of rules meant to be executed.
At times her gaze drifted too long and Niqael corrected it with a word or a touch. At times, she reached toward something unfamiliar, and he stopped her before she could touch it.
"Do not touch what you do not understand," he told her.
"Yes," Serena replied, withdrawing immediately.
The speed of her obedience should have satisfied him.
Instead, it unsettled him. She learned quickly, because she had no ego to resist, no emotion to delay compliance. There was no hesitation shaped by doubt or preference. Only instruction. Only execution.
Niqael had intended to teach her more.
To explain the interior functions humans carried like hidden weapons. Hunger. Thirst. Fatigue. Pain. Fear.
He had even considered—briefly, reluctantly—the subject of emotion.
Because emotion made humans predictable.
And predictability made them controllable.
But the forest shifted and the air changed.
Niqael stopped mid-step.
Serena stopped because he stopped.
Footsteps drifted between the trees.
Humans.
Careless, loud enough to mean confidence or stupidity. Voices followed, rough and amused, the kind of sound made by men who believed the world belonged to them because no one had punished them yet.
Niqael did not move.
He watched.
Serena remained in the clearing, white dress bright against green shadow.
Niqael stepped behind a tree without sound, dissolving into the forest's darkness as if it had swallowed him whole. Magic folded around his presence, quiet and old, ensuring that even if someone looked straight through the space where he stood, they would not register him.
He did not hide to protect her.
He hid to test her.
If Serena was a weapon, she would show it now.
Three men emerged first, then two more behind them. Bandits, by the smell of them and the way their eyes sharpened when they saw her. Their clothing was mismatched. Their weapons were cheap but sharp. Their faces held the greedy confidence of men made bold by war and lawlessness.
"Well," one of them drawled, stepping closer, "what do we have here?"
Serena turned her head slightly.
She waited one breath.
She did not speak.
The man circled her slowly, gaze running openly over her body in a way that would have made a human woman flinch. Serena did not flinch. She did not cover herself. She did not step back.
"She's pretty," he murmured. "Too pretty to be walking alone."
Another bandit grinned. "Maybe she got lost."
"Or maybe someone dumped her," the third said, laughing softly. "Wouldn't blame 'em. Look at that hair."
One reached toward Serena's silver waves, fingers stretching as if to claim what he wanted.
Serena's gaze tracked his hand.
The bandit's fingers brushed the hair and he gave a pleased sound.
"Worth something," he said. "Light Nation kind of pretty. Men will pay for this."
"And before we sell her," another added, voice thickening with amusement, "we can have a little fun. Can't we, sweetheart?"
They moved closer.
Not rushing but enjoying it.
Their bodies angled around her, the circle tightening with slow inevitability. Serena remained in the center, white dress shifting slightly with the wind, violet eyes fixed forward without fear or understanding.
Niqael watched from the shadow of the trees, silent and patient.
The bandits completed the ring around her.
And Serena stood alone in the middle of them.