"Come on, we have to leave," Cloe complained, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, frustration sharpening her voice. Her foot tapped impatiently against the cobblestone path, the morning sun casting long shadows behind her. "Relax, I was on time today," Vall replied, waving a hand dismissively. Her tone was light, almost teasing, as if Cloe’s impatience was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. "Next month, I have to leave. I won’t be here to help you," Cloe stated, her voice firm but tinged with something heavier. Vall stopped walking, her boots scuffing against the ground. She turned to face Cloe, one eyebrow lifted in disbelief. Her hands slid into her pockets, and her usual carefree expression hardened into something more serious. "Again?" she asked, her voice low. "Yes, again," Cloe answered, her tone clipped. She didn’t elaborate, didn’t offer the explanation Vall was clearly waiting for. Instead, she turned and started walking again, her pace quickening as if to outrun the conversation.

Vall stood frozen for a moment, her gaze fixed on Cloe’s retreating figure. The redhead’s shoulders were tense, her steps deliberate, and Vall couldn’t help but notice the way Cloe’s fingers twitched at her sides, as if itching to claw at something—or someone. "Let’s just go. We’re going to be late, Vall," Cloe called over her shoulder, her voice carrying a note of finality. She didn’t look back, but Vall could feel the weight of her words. Vall hesitated, then jogged to catch up, her boots crunching against the gravel. She fell into step beside Cloe, her hands still buried in her pockets. "You never explain anything," she muttered, her voice light but edged with frustration. It wasn’t an outright accusation—but it hung in the air between them. Cloe heard her but chose to ignore the remark. She didn’t have the energy for it, not with everything else weighing on her mind. Right now, all that mattered was getting to class on time. Vall, however, seemed determined to linger in her own world, her pace slowing as she drifted into thought. Cloe glanced back, her green eyes narrowing when she saw Vall lagging behind. With a sigh, she turned and marched back, her movements sharp and deliberate. She grabbed Vall’s arm, her claws digging into the fabric of her sleeve. The touch was firm—almost too firm—and Vall winced as the sharp points pressed into her skin. "Ow—Cloe!" Vall protested, but Cloe was already pulling her forward, her grip unrelenting. "Move," Cloe snapped, her voice low and urgent. They hurried through the academy gates, their footsteps echoing in the empty courtyard. By the time they reached the classroom, the door was

already open, and Miss Mcholly stood at the front, her ruler tapping impatiently against the desk. "You two are late. Sit down now," the teacher said, her voice stern and unyielding. There was no room for excuses, no patience for their usual antics. Cloe slid into her seat, her cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and irritation. She shot Vall a glare, her green eyes blazing with silent reproach. This is your fault , the look seemed to say. Vall, for her part, slumped into her chair, her mind already wandering as Miss Mcholly began her lecture. The teacher’s voice droned on, filling the room with the dry recitation of history. "After the Great War," Miss Mcholly began, her tone heavy with the weight of the past, "humans took over everything. They seized lands, forced the Gaians to bow, and stripped them of their rights as the first children of Mother Nature. The human admiral showed no mercy, slaughtering Gaians without hesitation. From then on, a new rule was set: no rights for the Gaians. They were banished to the other side of the border, forbidden to cross." The room was silent, save for the soft rustle of pages turning. Vall’s gaze drifted to the window, where sunlight streamed in, casting golden patterns on the floor. She wasn’t really listening—until a question broke the monotony. "How did the humans win the Great War?" a student asked, his voice cutting through the stillness.

Miss Mcholly paused, her lips pressing into a thin line. She set her book down and looked at the class, her expression unreadable. "This book," she said, holding up the thick, leather-bound volume, "was written by humans. It’s not the original story." The room seemed to hold its breath. Vall’s attention snapped back to the front, her curiosity piqued. Even Cloe, who had been staring at her desk, looked up, her green eyes narrowing as she studied the teacher. Miss Mcholly’s gaze swept over the students, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "The truth is far more complicated than what’s written here." Before she could continue, a sharp knock at the door interrupted her. Principal George stepped inside, his face pale and his breathing labored. The tension in the room shifted, all eyes turning to him. "Miss Mcholly," he said, his voice strained, "start all the military exams tomorrow." The teacher blinked, her composure faltering. "Sir, what’s going on?" she asked, her voice trembling. "It’s time," the principal replied, his gaze steady but grim. "We may need to send troops to the border again." Cloe’s stomach dropped. She exchanged a glance with Vall, whose blue eyes were wide with shock. The room felt suddenly colder, the weight of the principal’s words settling over them like a storm cloud.

"But... they are just children," Miss Mcholly protested, her voice breaking. Principal George’s expression didn’t soften. "Consider it as an order ," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. He turned and left, Miss Mcholly followed after him, the door closing behind them with a finality that echoed in the silence. "Hey, Cloe?" Vall turned her head toward Cloe’s table, but the redhead didn’t respond. Cloe’s green eyes, usually sharp and focused, now looked distant and clouded, like emeralds lost in mud. She was somewhere far away, her mind adrift in thoughts Vall couldn’t reach. "The hell now!" a student screamed, his voice cutting through the classroom like a knife. "I’m going to kill all of them," came another voice, low and guttural, followed by the sound of nails scratching against wood. Vall’s curiosity piqued, and she turned to see who was causing the commotion. Her gaze landed on Klerk, his face twisted in anger as he glared at a girl sitting a few rows back. "What are you looking at?" Klerk snapped, his eyes narrowing as he caught Vall staring. The girl he’d been insulting didn’t respond, her gaze fixed on the same spot as if she hadn’t heard him at all. "Fucking weirdo," Klerk muttered under his breath, his voice dripping with disdain. His fists clenched at his sides, the anger bubbling inside him as he realized the girl was one of the unmarked ones . The thought of sharing a classroom with them made his skin crawl.

Vall heard him loud and clear, and the words stung more than she cared to admit. Her jaw tightened, her hands gripping the edge of her desk as she fought to keep her composure. But the insult lingered, gnawing at her pride like a persistent itch. "What did you say?" Vall stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. Her blue eyes burned with defiance as she faced Klerk, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. Klerk smirked, clearly enjoying her reaction. "You heard me. I said fucking weirdo ," he repeated, his tone mocking. He leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed, daring her to do something about it. Vall didn’t think twice. Her temper flared, and before she could stop herself, she grabbed the chair she’d been sitting on and hurled it at Klerk with all her strength. The wooden chair flew through the air, and for a moment, time seemed to slow. Klerk’s eyes widened, but he moved quickly, dodging the chair with a practiced ease. He caught it mid-air, his grip tight as he growled, "What the hell is wrong with you?" The classroom erupted into chaos, students scrambling to get out of the way as the tension between Vall and Klerk reached a boiling point. Cloe, jolted out of her daze by the commotion, stood from her seat, her green eyes narrowing as she took in the scene. "Calm down, Klerk," Cloe warned, her voice low but commanding. She stepped between Vall and Klerk, her presence alone enough to make most students think twice about escalating the situation.

But Klerk wasn't like most students. He glared at Cloe, his canines bared in a snarl. "Back off, Cloe. This isn’t your fight," he spat, his focus still locked on Vall. He dropped the chair to the floor with a loud thud , his claws extending as he prepared to teach Vall a lesson she wouldn’t forget. "Klerk, I’m gonna say it again—that’s enough," Cloe said, her tone firm. She didn’t raise her voice, but the authority in her words was unmistakable. Her green eyes bore into Klerk’s, daring him to challenge her. Klerk hesitated, his claws twitching as he weighed his options. He didn’t want to back down, not in front of the entire class, but Cloe wasn’t someone he could easily dismiss. His teeth ground together, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he struggled to contain his anger. BANG! The sound of a powerful slam echoed through the room, silencing everyone in an instant. All eyes turned to the source of the noise, and the tension in the air thickened as the class waited to see what would happen next. The classroom froze, the air thick with tension as all eyes turned to the figure standing in the doorway. No one dared to move, let alone speak. Even the faintest sound—a chair creaking, a pencil rolling off a desk—seemed deafening in the silence. Cloe’s eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. She blinked, unsure if she was seeing clearly, but there was no mistaking the person who had just entered. Her face flushed a deep red, her usual composure slipping as emotions she couldn’t quite name surged to the surface.

Vall turned her head toward the door, her blue eyes narrowing as she recognized the intruder. Her heart sank. "Nix?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. Nix stepped into the room, her presence commanding and undeniable. She wore a sleek, armored chest plate adorned with the symbols of her rank, the metal gleaming faintly under the classroom lights. Her casual black pants and sturdy military boots completed the look, practical yet imposing. Her shoulders bore the full markings of a Gaian warrior, a rare honor that spoke of her unparalleled strength and connection to Mother Nature. She was a legend in her own right, the leader of the strongest troop, and someone no one dared to cross. Klerk, who had been so bold moments ago, now sat frozen in his seat, his throat tightening as he struggled to swallow. He couldn’t bring himself to meet Nix’s gaze, his earlier bravado crumbling under the weight of her presence. All he could think about was how much he wished he could be part of her elite Black Horns troop. Nix’s sharp eyes scanned the room before landing on Vall. She strode forward, her boots echoing against the wooden floor, and stopped in front of her younger sister. For a moment, she simply stared, her gaze piercing as if she could see straight through Vall’s defiance. "Come with me," Nix said, her voice low and hoarse, leaving no room for argument. Vall’s stomach churned. She knew that tone—it never meant anything good. "No," she said, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to sound firm. "I have to stay in class."

Nix’s expression didn’t change, but the air around her seemed to grow colder. "I’m not asking you," she said, her voice calm but edged with steel. In one swift motion, she grabbed Vall’s arm and yanked her closer. "Let go!" Vall screamed, her voice echoing through the classroom and into the hallway beyond. She thrashed against Nix’s grip, her teeth clenched as she tried to pull free, but her sister’s hold was firm. Cloe watched, stunned, her mind racing but her body frozen. She wanted to intervene, to stand up for Vall, but something about Nix’s presence kept her rooted to the spot. Klerk, meanwhile, kept his head down, his earlier behavior replaced by a quiet awe. He didn’t dare look up, didn’t dare draw attention to himself. Nix was a force of nature, and he knew better than to get in her way. "I said let go, Venix!" Vall shouted, her voice cracking as Nix dragged her toward the door. Her arm ached, her struggles growing weaker as numbness set in. She shot a desperate glance at Cloe, but her friend could only watch helplessly as Nix pulled Vall out of the classroom and into the hallway. The other students stared at them, the tension in the room slowly dissipating as the door swung shut behind Nix and Vall. Cloe finally found her voice, but it was too late—they were already gone.

Outside, Vall’s protests grew louder, her voice carrying through the academy grounds as Nix marched her toward the gates. "Stop fighting," Nix said calmly, her tone almost bored. "Save it for the match." Vall’s eyes widened as she felt herself being lifted off the ground, her legs kicking uselessly in the air. "What—?" she gasped, her head spinning as Nix hoisted her over one shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Before Vall could process what was happening, Nix leaped into the air, her powerful legs propelling them both onto the highest branch of a nearby tree. The forest loomed ahead, dark and endless, and Vall’s heart pounded as she realized there was no escaping what came next.

"Did you see her just now?" a student whispered, turning to Klerk with wide eyes. The classroom buzzed with murmurs, the tension still thick after Nix’s abrupt departure. Klerk sat frozen in his seat, his face pale and his hands trembling slightly. He felt like he’d just dodged a bullet—or worse, a charging Gaian warrior. If Vallary decided to snitch on him, he was done for. He should’ve remembered who her sister was. He should’ve known better. "Bro, are you okay?" another student asked, nudging Klerk’s arm. The boy’s voice snapped Klerk out of his daze, and he blinked, trying to regain his composure. "Yeah," Klerk muttered, his voice shaky. He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a long, frustrated sigh. "Did you really see her just now?" the same student pressed, his tone a mix of awe and disbelief. Klerk’s jaw tightened. "Yes, that’s her," he said, his voice low. He gestured vaguely toward the door, as if Nix’s presence still lingered in the air. "Venix. Leader of the Black Horns. Of course I saw her." "I can’t believe it was really her!" a girl behind Klerk squealed, her excitement cutting through the tension. "She’s, like, a legend!"

Cloe finally snapped out of her own daze. The chatter in the classroom grew louder, and she could hear every word—every whisper, every gasp, every nervous laugh. Her green eyes narrowed as she stood from her chair, the legs scraping against the floor. She walked over to Klerk’s table, her steps deliberate and her expression unreadable. "You should know better than to cause a ruckus," Cloe said, her voice calm but laced with warning. Her gaze locked onto Klerk’s brown eyes, and for a moment, he felt like she could see straight through him. "Hey, what does it have to do with me?" Klerk replied, his tone defensive. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest in a feeble attempt to appear unfazed. "I didn’t start anything." "You almost fought with Vallary," Cloe shot back, her voice rising slightly. She paused, choosing her next words carefully. "And you know she’s..." "Unmarked?" Klerk interrupted, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. He leaned forward, his eyes glinting with a mix of arrogance and challenge. "Yeah, I know. What about it?" Cloe’s hands clenched into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. "Know your place," she said, her voice sharp and cold. She wasn’t just defending Vallary—she was reminding Klerk of the hierarchy he seemed so eager to ignore. Klerk laughed, a harsh, mocking sound that echoed through the classroom. "Or what?" he asked, his smirk widening. He was pushing his luck, and he knew it, but he couldn’t help himself. Cloe’s calm demeanor only made him want to provoke her more.

Cloe’s eyes narrowed, her patience wearing thin. Klerk wasn’t someone she could easily intimidate, but he also wasn’t someone she could ignore. Her father, Orland Greyollf, was the wealthiest man in town, and while Cloe hated using her status to assert dominance, she wasn’t above reminding Klerk of the consequences of crossing her. "You’re pathetic, Klerk," Cloe said finally, her voice dripping with disdain. She turned on her heel and walked away, her red hair swaying as she headed for the door. The classroom fell silent, all eyes on her as she left Klerk sitting there, his smirk faltering. Klerk’s face burned with embarrassment, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. The other students exchanged glances, some stifling laughter, others whispering behind their hands. Klerk hated the feeling of being humiliated, especially in front of the entire class. As Cloe stepped into the hallway, she took a deep breath, trying to shake off the frustration bubbling inside her. She didn’t like confrontations, but she couldn’t stand by and let Klerk belittle Vallary—or anyone else, for that matter. Still, the encounter left a bitter taste in her mouth, —----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Stand up!" Nix’s voice echoed through the forest, sharp and commanding. Her words were like a whip, cutting through the stillness of the trees. Vall lay on the ground, her lip split and bleeding, her canines bared in a snarl of defiance. Her fists clenched around clumps of grass and mud, her knuckles white with effort. She wanted to fight back, to scream, to make Nix feel even a fraction of the pain she was enduring. But her body betrayed her, trembling under the weight of her sister’s relentless assault.

Nix didn’t wait for Vall to respond. Her fist connected with Vall’s stomach for the second time, the impact forcing the air from her lungs. Vall doubled over, tears streaming down her face as she clutched her ribs. She felt like she was going to vomit, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth. Her vision blurred, her left eye swelling shut, but she could still see Nix’s silhouette looming over her, cold and uncaring. "I said stand UP !" Nix roared, her voice shaking the leaves above. She grabbed Vall by the collar of her shirt, yanking her off the ground with terrifying ease. Vall’s feet dangled in the air, her body limp and battered. Blood dripped from her nose and lip, staining Nix’s hand as she held her sister like a ragdoll. Vall wanted to fight back. She wanted to scream, to claw at Nix’s face until it bled. But she couldn’t. Her body was broken, her strength drained. All she could do was glare at Nix through her one good eye, her hatred burning brighter than ever. Nix didn’t flinch. Her expression was unreadable, her eyes cold and empty as she stared at Vall. Without a word, she drew her fist back and drove it into Vall’s ribs. The crack of breaking bone echoed through the forest, and Vall’s body went flying, slamming into a tree with a sickening thud. She crumpled to the ground, unmoving. Nix stood over her sister’s lifeless form, her breathing steady, her face devoid of emotion. She didn’t kneel to check on Vall, didn’t show even a flicker of concern. Instead, she stared down at her with a look of disgust, as if Vall’s weakness was an insult to everything she stood for. —--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cloe left the classroom, her heart pounding as she followed the faint trail of pheromones lingering in the air. She could feel Vall’s presence, faint and fading, and the sharp, metallic tang of blood. Klerk’s words were forgotten, drowned out by the urgency driving her forward. She had to find Vall. The small town of Woodway was surrounded by dense forests, their towering trees and winding rivers was a striking contrast to the bustling academy. Cloe moved quickly, her feet barely touching the ground as she sprinted toward the forest’s edge. The wind whipped through her hair, kicking up dust in her wake. She leaped onto the lower branches of a tree, her movements fluid and precise as she navigated the canopy. It didn’t take long for Cloe to find them. She spotted the clearing below, her sharp eyes catching the glint of Nix’s armor and the crumpled form of Vall lying motionless on the ground. Cloe’s breath hitched as she took in the scene—Vall’s shirt was soaked in blood, her face swollen and bruised, her body broken. "NO!" Cloe screamed, her voice tearing through the forest. She dropped from the tree, landing in a crouch before sprinting toward Vall. She reached her just as Nix raised her fist again, her body moving on instinct to shield her friend. Cloe knelt beside Vall, her hands trembling as she pressed them to Vall’s chest. She could feel Vall’s heartbeat, faint and erratic, and the shallow rise and fall of her breath. Cloe closed her eyes, focusing all her energy on the task at hand. Her hands glowed faintly as her healing powers surged through Vall’s body, mending broken bones and closing wounds with agonizing slowness.

"A healer?" Nix’s voice cut through the silence, her tone laced with curiosity. She stood a few feet away, her arms crossed as she watched Cloe work. There was no concern in her eyes, only a detached interest, as if she were observing an experiment rather than a life being saved. Cloe ignored her, her focus entirely on Vall. She couldn’t afford to lose concentration now. Healing was a delicate process, one that required every ounce of her energy. If she faltered, even for a moment, Vall could die. Gaians healers were rare, their abilities a gift from Mother Nature herself. Humans called them delta blood , a term born from their fascination with the difference in abilities between Gaians and themselves. During the Great War, humans had captured delta Gaians, dissecting them in a futile attempt to understand the source of their power. But they never succeeded. The gift of healing was something no human could replicate. Cloe’s hands glowed brighter as she poured more energy into Vall, her own breath growing shallow as the strain took its toll. She could feel Vall’s body responding, the broken bones knitting back together, the bruises fading. But it wasn’t enough. Not yet. Nix watched in silence, her expression unreadable. She had a healer in her own troop, but she never used their services. To Nix, scars were badges of honor, proof of her strength and resilience. She didn’t need healing. She didn’t need anyone. Finally, Nix turned away, her boots crunching against the forest floor as she walked toward the edge of the clearing. Without a word, she leaped onto a low branch and disappeared into the trees, leaving Cloe and Vall alone.

Cloe didn’t notice her leave. Her entire world had narrowed to Vall’s heartbeat, faint but steady, and the warmth of her own energy flowing between them. She didn’t stop until Vall’s breathing evened out, her body whole once more.

The rain tapped gently against the window, a steady rhythm that filled the quiet room. Vall lay on her bed, her wounds looking better but still far from healed. She was sound asleep, her chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. Cloe sat on the floor beside the bed, her red hair spilling over Vall’s blanket like a fiery halo. Her arm shielded her eyes from the faint light filtering through the window, her body curled up in exhaustion. Cloe stirred, her eyes fluttering open as she rubbed the sleep from them. She stood slowly, her legs stiff and numb from sitting on the hard floor. Vall didn’t move, her breathing deep and even. She needed more rest—Cloe’s healing had done its part, but it wasn’t enough to fully repair the damage Nix had inflicted. Broken bones took time, even for a healer. As Cloe stretched her arms above her head, a familiar scent hit her—sharp and minty, cutting through the damp air of the room. She froze, her heart skipping a beat. Nix was behind her, her presence filling the small space like a storm cloud. Cloe turned her head slowly, her green eyes meeting Nix’s. The raven leader’s eyes were unlike anything Cloe had ever seen—galactic, shimmering with a mix of silver and gold, like twin stars burning in the night. "Move," Nix ordered, her voice low and commanding. Cloe hesitated, her body instinctively obeying before her mind could catch up. She took a step back, creating space for Nix to pass. The raven leader moved past her, her wide shoulders casting a shadow over the bed. She stood over Vall, her expression unreadable as she studied her

sister’s sleeping form. There was no remorse in her eyes, no hint of guilt for the pain she’d caused. Vall was lucky the broken rib hadn’t punctured anything vital. Lucky, but not forgiven. Cloe stayed rooted to the spot, her senses overwhelmed by Nix’s pheromones. They were strong, almost suffocating, a stark contrast to Vall’s light, unmarked scent. Cloe felt herself drawn to it, her body reacting in ways she couldn’t quite understand. She clenched her fists, forcing herself to stay grounded. "You shouldn’t have followed us," Nix said, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. Cloe blinked, her mind still foggy from sleep. It took her a moment to realize Nix was speaking to her. She swallowed hard, gathering her courage. This wasn’t just any Gaian—this was the leader of the Black Horns, a legend in her own right. Cloe couldn’t afford to falter. "She was hurt," Cloe said, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her. "I couldn’t just sit back and watch you beat her further." Nix turned her head slightly, her galactic eyes narrowing as she studied Cloe. "This isn’t your concern, healer. Stay away." Cloe’s jaw tightened, her green eyes flashing with defiance. "Venix, you almost killed her." Nix stepped closer, her towering frame looming over Cloe. The scent of mint grew stronger, wrapping around Cloe like a vice. Nix leaned down, her face inches from Cloe’s, her breath warm against her skin. "Healer," she said, her voice low and dangerous, "stay away from my sister."

Cloe’s heart pounded in her chest, but she refused to look away. She met Nix’s gaze head-on, her emerald eyes blazing with determination. For a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath, the tension between them crackling like a live wire. "What’s going on?" Vall’s voice broke the silence, weak but clear. She was awake, her hand clutching her ribs as she tried to sit up. The pain made her hiss, her face contorting in discomfort. Nix straightened, her expression unreadable as she glanced at Vall. "You’re awake. Good. Get dressed and come downstairs," she said, her tone cold and dismissive. Without another word, she turned and left the room, her boots echoing down the hallway. Cloe watched her go, her hands trembling at her sides. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down before turning to Vall. "Are you okay?" she asked, her voice softer now. Vall winced as she shifted on the bed. "Yeah, I’ll live," she said, her voice strained. "What happened? Why does it feel like I missed something?" Cloe shook her head, her green eyes darkening as she tried to push down the emotions swirling inside her. "Nothing important," she said, forcing a small smile. "I have to go. I’ll see you later." Before Vall could respond, Cloe turned and left the room, her footsteps quick and purposeful. She made her way downstairs, her mind racing as she tried to process everything that had just happened. Nix’s words echoed in her head, a constant reminder of the line she’d crossed.

The kitchen was warm and inviting, the smell of food filling the air. Nix sat at the table, her presence dominating the room even as she ate in silence. Miss Whitehill stood at the sink, humming an old song as she washed the dishes. She turned when she heard Cloe’s footsteps, her face lighting up with a smile. "Oh, Cloe! How nice of you to visit," Miss Whitehill said, her voice warm and welcoming. She wiped her hands on a towel and gestured to the table. "Would you like to join us for lunch?" Cloe forced a smile, her eyes flickering to Nix for a brief moment. The raven leader didn’t look up, her focus entirely on her food. "No, thank you," Cloe said, her voice polite but distant. "I have to go." Miss Whitehill’s smile faltered, but she nodded understandingly. "Of course, dear. You’re always welcome here." Cloe nodded, her heart heavy as she turned and walked out the door. The rain had stopped, leaving the street damp and glistening in the afternoon light. Cloe walked quickly, her mind still replaying the confrontation with Nix. Those galactic eyes, cold and unyielding, haunted her every step. She didn’t look back. —----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Miss Whitehill sat at the table, her hands folded neatly in front of her as she watched her eldest daughter with a mixture of pride and concern. The room was warm, filled with the comforting aroma of freshly cooked food, but the tension between mother and daughter was palpable.

"Venix, you should eat properly," Miss Whitehill said, her voice soft but insistent. She pushed a plate of food closer to Nix, her eyes pleading. "You’re always rushing off. At least take a moment to enjoy your meal." Nix glanced up from her plate, her galactic eyes cold and unreadable. She didn’t respond, her expression blank as she continued to eat in silence. The ticking of the clock on the wall seemed louder than usual, each second a reminder that her time here was limited. She had a mission to complete, another stretch of days away from this small town and its suffocating familiarity. The Black Horns, the elite troop Nix led, were a force to be reckoned with. Composed of the most skilled Gaians, they were tasked with protecting the high walls and eliminating any threats that dared to approach. They had faced humans in battle, fought until their hands were stained with blood, and emerged victorious time and time again. Gaians were blessed with speed and strength, gifts from Mother Nature herself, and Nix embodied those gifts more than anyone. "Stop bothering her," a deep voice interrupted, cutting through the tension like a knife. Gert Whitehill stood in the doorway, a newspaper in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. His presence shifted the atmosphere in the room, his gruff tone silencing any further protests from his wife. "Your daughter is a leader, Marie. Be proud." Miss Whitehill sighed, her shoulders slumping as she turned her attention to her husband. "I am proud," she said, her voice tinged with frustration. "But that doesn’t mean I can’t worry about her." Gert didn’t respond, his focus already back on the newspaper in his hands. He took a sip of his coffee, his expression unreadable as he leaned against the counter.

Nix stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. "I’m leaving," she said, her voice flat. She grabbed her jacket from the corner of the room, shrugging it on with practiced ease. Without another word, she headed for the door, her boots echoing against the wooden floor. Miss Whitehill watched her go, her heart heavy with unspoken words. She wanted to call out, to tell Nix to be careful, to come back soon. But she knew it wouldn’t make a difference. Nix was a force of nature, untouchable and unyielding, and no amount of motherly concern could change that. --- Upstairs, Vall lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as she listened to the sounds of her family below. The tension in the house was thick, even from her room, and she could feel it pressing down on her like a weight. Nix was gone now, and Vall knew she wouldn’t be back for days. That meant a brief reprieve—no more fights, no more bruises, no more broken bones. But it also meant more time to think, to dwell on her own inadequacies. Vall bit her lip, holding back the tears that threatened to spill over. She wanted to be strong, to prove herself worthy of her family’s legacy. But how could she, when she couldn’t even defend herself against her own sister? Nix was a warrior, a leader, everything Vall wasn’t. And no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she would never measure up. Her stomach growled, pulling her out of her thoughts. Vall sat up slowly, wincing as the movement tugged at her still-healing ribs. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her feet touching the cold floor. Standing was a challenge, her legs shaky and unsteady, but she managed. She grabbed the banister for support as she made her way downstairs, each step feeling like a mockery of her weakness.

Miss Whitehill heard the creak of the stairs and turned, her eyes softening as she saw Vall descending slowly, one step at a time. Her heart ached for her youngest daughter, but there was nothing she could do to shield her from the harsh realities of their world. "You’re up?" Gert’s voice broke the silence, his tone sharp and disapproving. He didn’t look up from his newspaper, his expression one of mild annoyance. Vall reached the bottom of the stairs, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She ignored her father’s comment, her focus on the table full of food. The smell was intoxicating, and her stomach growled again, louder this time. "I see," Gert said, finally looking up. His eyes narrowed as he studied Vall, his disappointment evident. "Unmarked again." The words hit Vall like a punch to the gut. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she fought to keep her composure. She wanted to scream, to tell him how hard she was trying, how much it hurt to be constantly compared to Nix. But she didn’t. Instead, she walked past him, her head held high regardless of the tears burning in her eyes.