Lilieth threw a straight right at Niko’s face, sending the healer tumbling backwards to the ground. His blood painted her knuckles, and she fought the urge to close her eyes as the headaches assailed her. More and more of “Nikolaos Argyri” flooded her mind—an experience so much worse than with Tethys and Fani. She started to be thankful that she was mostly unconscious when she absorbed Markosh’s memories; the process was almost mind-numbing.

  Niko laid motionless for only a moment before he reached out and grabbed the nearest weapon, slowly pushing himself back up to the rise of the crowd’s cheers.

  “Again and again, Niko refuses to stay down!” Camille’s voice blared. “Even after being toppled three times in a row, his determination holds strong!”

  “It’s certainly inspiring seeing him stand back up,” Sandrine added. At some point during the fight, she was given back her mic. “But the question here is: will he be able to persevere?”

  Lilieth shrugged off the headache, keeping her focus on her opponent. She could end the fight whenever she wished—destroy his bracelet, knock him unconscious, so on. So far, she’d dealt controlled blows to ensure she didn’t down him.

  No, not yet, she thought. I still haven’t harvested enough memories from him!

  She knew that she was being cruel, but she had to do it. There was no path left for her other than to pave her own through others. She couldn’t back off now.

  Niko barrelled towards her once more, swinging a small quarterstaff that he held like a sword. His eyes were unfocused—he probably didn’t even realize what he was holding.

  Lilieth blocked the staff with her blade, stopping him in his tracks. A closer look at his face revealed just how bad he was doing—beaten, bloodied, and desperate.

  “—?!”

  Niko used his other hand to grab hold of Lilieth’s shoulder, trying to grapple her down.

  She raised her free hand and slammed her fist against his face.

  Over and over and—

  —Over and over again, Nikolaos slammed his fist against the cottage’s door.

  “Open up!” he yelled. “I know you’re in there, hermit! Come out!”

  He was deep in the forest and exhausted as all hells after having spent literal hours trying to find the man’s house. With his father rescinding his training, he had to find other teachers, and he wasn’t just going to settle for any ordinary master.

  Nikolaos had heard that somewhere deep in the forest lived a weaponsmaster, rumored to have trained Artemest’s best warriors for decades. If he was going to train under anyone, it was going to be with the best.

  Eventually, the door opened to a disheveled-looking, very annoyed Basandran man with deep auburn hair.

  “—”

  His stare made Nikolaos feel like he was being stabbed, and an overwhelming pressure washed over the young lord. Before he knew it, he had taken a step back. He steeled himself, holding his ground. It would have been shameful to move backwards any further.

  “You have some nerve making me wait thirty minutes out here,” Nikolaos declared as he recomposed himself.

  “And you have some nerve assuming I give a shit,” the Basandran replied, his accent thick. “Who are you supposed to be?”

  “I am Nikolaos of the Argyri family. You would do well to remember that.”

  The Basandran narrowed his eyes. “Forgot Doran’s kid is old enough to have little liabilities of his own now. Well, what do you want? Better be something good since you’re waking me from my nap.”

  “I don’t care much for your tone, sir,” Nikolaos said with contempt. “I hear you train students in the art of combat. I will train under you, sir, and—”

  “Denied.”

  The young lord’s eyes twitched. “You—”

  “I am under no obligation to train an Argyri,” he continued. “My contract with Doran is only to accept the Healmages of your family as my students’ personal healers, nothing more.”

  Contract?

  Nikolaos had never heard of any contract before this. Hells, he didn’t even know that the hermit knew his grandfather and father.

  “You haven’t awakened to your Blessing yet,” the Basandran said. “There is little reason for you to know about the contract and even less reason for you to be here. You should leave.”

  He moved to shut the door when Nikolaos pulled out a blade and jammed it into the entryway’s hinges. The door was stuck open.

  “Little reason you say?” Nikolaos said. “If it’s money you want, then you underestimate me, sir.”

  “Money is useless to me,” he replied. “I refuse to train you because I do not see potential in you.”

  Niko growled. “What?”

  “Are you deaf, mutilxo?” The hermit opened the door wider and stepped out. He was tall, more than easily looming over Nikolaos. “I said that there is no future for you as a warrior. You are a healer, and you need to learn your place.”

  Nikolaos could feel his blood boiling. Who in Lye’s hells was this man, and who died and made him king? What gave this washed-up failure the right to judge him?

  “Fine.” Nikolaos breathed out, lightly rippling his grip on the blade’s handle. If the demented old man wasn’t going to show him proper respect, then it seemed the young lord needed to teach him a lesson.

  Of course, he knew he wasn’t going to win, but he could still certainly wound him. Barring his size, he didn’t look anything like a weaponsmaster like Nikolaos was expecting—just some old codger in the woods. A few cuts and bruises would show him that Nikolaos was one to be taken seriously.

  He jerked his blade loose and, without warning, swung it at the hermit.

  “—?!”

  It felt like his weapon struck stone. His arms tensed at how great the resistance was. He could see his blade against the man’s arm, the sharp edge clearly meeting his tanned skin, and yet, it left no mark ...

  ... No, not even that. The blade itself had chipped.

  The Basandran gently placed a hand on Nikolaos’ chest.

  “I have nothing to say to you as you are now, so fuck off.”

  Nikolaos did not even see the man move his arm when his vision swirled and the world tumbled around him. He felt his body pierce through the air then collide with something hard with a frightening crack. Then, another—crack—until, finally, one last collision halted his flight, dispensing him to the soil.

  His vision blurred and his ears rang and his lungs burned and his body screamed. Nikolaos crawled on the ground, hacking blood all over the grass below him in an amount that made him dizzy. He could feel that several of his ribs had broken just from the initial push itself.

  The young lord raised his head, finally seeing that he had somehow torn through two trees—and nearly through a third—their trunks having fallen to the ground. He’d have felt the vibrations of it all had he not been so disoriented.

  The hermit was gone, the door to his homely cottage closed, leaving Nikolaos on the ground, pathetic and humiliated, for what felt like hours.

  Lilieth placed her hand on Niko’s chest and pushed so hard she could feel her own shoulder strain. He flew back, skidding against the ground and kicking up a cloud of dust in the process.

  “Knocked down again!” Camille exclaimed. “Is this it for Niko?”

  The Healmage’s trembling hand found a shortsword, grabbing it by the blade. That likely counted as “carrying a weapon” since the crowd cheered for him despite his hold on it.

  “Looks like he’s still in the game! What an astounding display of will!”

  “If you ask me, Camille, it feels almost unnatural. Surely his injuries should have put him out of commission by now!”

  “I’m of the same opinion, Sandrine, but it looks like—hold on—it looks like something is going on with Lilieth!”

  Took them long enough to notice, the young mage thought as she cradled her head, resisting the urge to scream. Niko’s memories, pouring in with each blow, were threatening to undo her from the inside-out.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Each memory gave her a deeper understanding of Niko as a person. It wasn’t just that she was learning about his life—she was living it. She had lived it. And she knew that if she wasn’t careful, the boundary between “Lilieth” and “Niko” would grow too thin. She could end up losing herself. She had to separate herself from him.

  “...”

  Still, when she looked at Niko, she couldn’t help but feel her heart ache. With each memory she copied from him, her understanding of him as a person grew, and now, it felt like she’d known him for years.

  If all she had done was watch those memories, like reading pages from some autobiography, perhaps she’d have been left feeling disappointed instead ... maybe even disgusted at the person he used to be.

  No, she shook her head. It was pointless to empathize with him. There was no use she could acquire from that emotion. All she needed were the skills he had, not the thoughts nor feelings he bore. She wanted no part of his pain.

  “Keep us separate,” she whispered to herself, more a plea than a plan. “Don’t lose yourself. Take only what you need.”

  Niko stood up again. One of his eyes had puffed up so badly that he probably couldn’t see out of it anymore. His face was battered blue.

  Lilieth steeled her heart.

  Do not empathize.

  A year passed. Nikolaos continued his medicinal studies to little avail. Whatever talent he had as a child had evidently dried up, leaving only failure in its place. None of it made sense. The world used to be so simple to understand. How did his life get to this?

  His days were ... chaotic. There was so much shouting: at the workers, at Rhea, at Thales ... Just looking at them provoked something in him, and he wanted to find an excuse to relieve his own stress. Even his gentle and kind father would start arguments with him, and Nikolaos would simply yell back. Their relationship deteriorated rapidly ... and so did his father’s health.

  Another year—Nikolaos turned sixteen. Only a few weeks after that, his father, Maron Argyri, passed away from a rather severe illness that neither magic nor potions were able to remedy. He had been sickly for a long while by then and had likely accepted his fate. Of course, that didn’t make things any easier for Nikolaos to accept.

  The young lord sat in his room, contemplating everything. What now? His mother passed when he was born, and his father had no siblings. He didn’t either since his father never remarried. That meant that Nikolaos was the new head of the Argyri family as well as the new owner of the clinic. He hadn’t been there since his father died.

  He sucked in a breath and made his way to SilverRose.

  The tall building stood proud, bearing the weight of almost sixty years of service. An uncertainty about the future overcame Nikolaos. How was he to lead SilverRose when he didn’t even have his Blessing yet? He braced himself and entered the clinic anyway.

  He was greeted with an empty hall.

  Nikolaos wondered if it was closed for the day and moved past the reception area and into the next room, where he found a small crowd of staff members in conversation. The mood was tense, and that tension sharpened to a point when the murmurs were replaced with silence as everyone turned to face him.

  Something was off.

  As Nikolaos searched for words to say, Thales emerged from the crowd, looking like he hadn’t slept in days.

  The quiet was uncomfortably heavy.

  Nikolaos took a deep breath. “I assume that you’ve all taken the day to grieve,” he began, his voice echoing slightly in the hall. “My grandfather built this clinic with his own hands, and my father raised it to the height it sits at today. As the last surviving member of the Argyri family, I will ensure that their legacy continues. You will all continue your work as you always have but, now, under my leadership. There will be changes, of course—necessary reforms, perhaps—but it will all be for the ...”

  Nikolaos’ voice trailed off when he realized that everyone in the room was looking at him with sharp eyes.

  “I expect your cooperation,” Nikolaos continued, forcing his way through the silence. “SilverRose will rise to greater heights, and I—”

  “Nikolaos,” Thales interrupted. “There is something you must know before you continue.”

  The young lord frowned. “If there’s something you need to say, we can discuss it privately later. I am addressing my staff.”

  A faint ripple passed through the room when he said that. Thales ignored his words and withdrew a folded document from his jacket, thick parchment stamped with wax.

  “Your father drafted a trust a year ago,” he said. “SilverRose Clinic and the Argyri estate were both placed under its protection.”

  “Protection? From what?”

  Thales stared at him for a moment. “The trust names me as the sole trustee with full authority over both.”

  Nikolaos felt the heat rise to his face. “That’s absurd. I’m the heir.”

  “You are the beneficiary of the trust. As the trustee, responsibility of the clinic and the estate falls to me until such time that the conditions set forth by your father are satisfied.”

  “What conditions?”

  “First, you must become of age,” Thales explained. “Until you turn eighteen, I will manage both properties. And second, you must have the unanimous confidence of SilverRose’s senior staff.”

  It was only then that Nikolaos realized that, in the crowd, all of the senior staff were present, and they all shot the same glower in his direction. A chill ran down his spine. This didn’t seem like a joke.

  He reached his hand out to Thales. “Give me that document.”

  Thales made no move.

  “Hand it over! I’ll read through it myself.”

  “It is a blind trust. You have no right to read it.”

  “Enough with these games!” Nikolaos yelled. “I will not stand for this. The estate and this clinic ... they’re mine by right!”

  “They are not,” Thales said. “Your father penned this document himself.”

  “A lie! This is all a lie! My father would never—”

  “Is it, Nikolaos?” The older man’s voice became cold. “Ask yourself, truly: is it a lie?”

  Nikolaos bit his lips hard. He quickly wiped away the small drip of blood that ran down his chin and turned to the staff. “All of you! You seriously can’t look at this and stand by while he blatantly steals what is rightfully mine!”

  His vision darted from face to face, gesturing at them, hoping in his heart that they would see the injustice and fight for him. All he was met with was silence—and more than a little joy.

  Not a single person stepped forward for him.

  “You’re all conspiring,” Nikolaos said weakly. “You’re all in on this farce ...!”

  He felt the floor tilt, the world around him spinning. He felt … dizzy, like he was going to pass out.

  “The trust grants me authority to restrict access to the properties if the beneficiary’s presence endangers them,” Thales said. “Starting tomorrow, you are banned from entering the Argyri estate and from working at SilverRose Clinic.”

  Nikolaos jolted at those words. “What? You ... you can’t do that! You cannot exile me from my own home!”

  “I can, and I have. You have until sunrise to collect your personal belongings. I suggest you start now.”

  Nikolaos scanned the room, looking for her: Rhea, standing at the back of the crowd. Just one look in her eyes and he knew she wouldn’t stand by him now.

  The pain and anger in them was vivid.

  “All of you are mad.” Nikolaos’ voice was venomous and shaking. “Madness ... Lye’s madness upon you all! After everything my family has done for you, this is how you repay us?!”

  He swept his hands, his vision turning red from rage. “You ingrates! You think you’ve done something?! You ... talentless, good-for-nothing parasites! You honestly think you can be healers when the only thing any of you have ever done was ruin my image?! Do any of you even know the meaning of gratitude?! This will not stand! All of you will rue this day; I’ll make sure of it!”

  The workers shifted. Some were taken aback. Others flung his rage back at him with death stares of increasing hostility. Thales kept a calm face throughout it all.

  “The trust provides you a stipend so that you may live your life peacefully elsewhere in the city,” he said. “If you wish to—”

  “Keep it! I’m not taking even a single val of that!”

  Nikolaos turned his back to them and stormed out. His entire body was shaking, and he could feel his very blood aflame, coursing through his body.

  He left the clinic and meandered around, unsure of where to go next.

  The next few days were a blur to him. He didn’t go back to the estate to collect his things; all he did was wander the streets of the district. He did so even when the rain began to pour down hard, each drop feeling like a stone upon his skin.

  The streets had cleared of people, of course, so he was walking them alone, like a madman.

  His own people had abandoned him. They sided with Thales, the man who was blatantly stealing his birthright in plain sight! Commoners complained so loudly about injustices yet were so blind to ones happening before their very eyes!

  “Worthless,” he grumbled weakly. “Worthless ingrates, all of them ...”

  His vision dimmed, and he fell to the ground, his fine clothes already stained with mud dirtying further. He was Nikolaos of the Argyri family, descendant of the ancient healers of Crescaris Nocta.

  A man destined for great things.

  The young man, prone on a puddle in the ground, was assuredly not that.

  Nikolaos felt tired. He hadn’t eaten nor slept in days.

  Perhaps that was what he would do next.

  Sleep.

  “—————————”

  He heard a noise—a ringing noise. Every other sound disappeared, even that of the storm, as the noise began to assail him, like chaos had come to swallow him whole.

  Then, the chaos ceased abruptly, and he heard a voice—no, a layer of voices, all intermingling with one another.

  TULPHANA, the voices said.

  “...”

  Nikolaos had no strength to speak. Even if he did, what was he to say?

  He felt something change inside his own body, like it had ... expanded somehow, not in size but in depth. A gateway opened up inside him, and ... something was peering out, something that wasn’t alive but was watching all the same.

  Perhaps he’d have felt alarmed, or even reverent, in any other situation—but he just felt cold. His eyes fought to stay open as a figure approached him, boots splashing against the ground.

  “... you alright, lad?” the man said, his voice seeming distant. “Good Lords above ... stay like ... get you some ...”

  Nikolaos couldn’t focus anymore, and he drifted off into unconsciousness.

  Lilieth came to. Niko was rushing at her again, this time, with a war hammer. He was practically dragging his body forward, looking like he could barely carry his weapon despite his Blessed strength.

  “...”

  She blocked the war hammer with her arm. The attack barely had any weight to it, so it was a trivial thing to do, especially after all the training she’d had.

  Lilieth felt she was straying too close to the edge now. She already had enough memories to claim a few of his Healing spells; that should have been enough. She didn’t need any more of his memories.

  No, it wasn’t that she didn’t want to connect with him anymore. If she understood him any deeper than she already did, then it would prove more and more difficult to isolate his pain from the memories she needed. She didn’t want a repeat of the Markosh situation.

  It was something worse. If she kept going, she’d ...

  She needed to stop. It was far too dangerous to keep going.

  So, so much more dangerous than she initially expected.

  “I’ll end this now, Sir Niko,” she whispered. Then, she thrust her sword at his stomach, jabbing him with enough power such that she could feel the air ripple. Niko’s eyes widened then glazed over as he fell to the ground, unmoving.

  “A decisive strike from Lilieth, and Niko is down!” Camille announced.

  Lilieth turned and began walking back to the waiting room, ignoring the noise of the arena.

  “What a harrowing fight; don’t you agree, Camille? I feel a bit bad for him!”

  “He fought well to have made it this far, so we have to respect his determination. But with this, Lilieth moves to ...”

  Camille’s voice trailed off, and a shift in tone passed through the stands, shock being carried over the air.

  Lilieth stopped, turning behind her, and she felt something inside her snap.

  Niko had grabbed a spear, using it to push himself up, even as both his legs looked ready to buckle. His entire body was practically covered in blood and bruises, but somehow, he still hadn’t fallen.

  “Incredible! Are you seeing this, folks?”

  “Looks like he’s not out of the fight just yet, but how is this even possible, I wonder?”

  Lilieth couldn’t help but feel her blood boil seeing Niko standing, blood dripping down the sides of his mouth. His eyes were surely visionless now, and every bone in his body should have already shattered. Everything Lilieth knew about combat and fighting told her that there was no way in Lye’s hells he could still be conscious, even with a Blessed body.

  So how ... no, why was he still standing?

  “How bloody stubborn can you get ...?!” Lilieth grit her teeth, feeling a certain kind of anger towards him, bordering on self-chastisement.

  This is bad.

  She could feel it. Even if she didn’t want to acknowledge it, even if she wanted desperately to ignore it, she knew that the anger towards him she felt came from that which she just stole from him ...

  This is REALLY bad.

  ... and Lilieth found that she wanted nothing else but to kill the man in front of her.