Shiela lied to me.

I had suspected this from the moment I woke up. Yet, some distant part of my brain had remained hopeful. Trustful in the Goddess’s judgment, ignoring each red flag like I was some devoted worshiper. Now, faced with the masked men and a death mage, the last of my hopes were drowned.

Shiela, that lying excuse of a Goddess, had sent me to my death.

Adrenaline didn’t improve my presence in the staredown. I stood behind my two companions like a rat caught in a trap, as useless as ever.

Ry’s sword was all that defended us from a swift death. He appeared mostly composed under our assailants’ eyes. Yet, his shiny sword lacked threats in comparison to the purple eyes of the Priest Keeper and her staff.

“We can do this the easy way,” the Priest Keeper said. “Or I can kill you along with your lies. I hope you know what to choose.”

Ry’s limbs shook ever so slightly. His posture wavered. “We’ll comply with your requests.” He dropped his sword on the ground, then held his hands up. “Honest, we didn’t know this place was renovated. Trouble is the last thing I want.”

“A sensible decision,” the Priest Keeper said. “If only you had come to this conclusion fifteen minutes ago.” She turned to Em, whose left hand was half-hidden behind her back. “Put down the scrolls, girl. You cannot fight me.”

Biting her lip, Em complied. She placed the scroll back into her satchel with careful movements, then laid the satchel on the ground. She held her arms up.

Eyes turned to me. I carried no weapons, yet the stare I received was the most doubtful. I was seen as a real threat. This alone terrified me more than anything else. I did not belong here. I was a good kid. Why did a fantastical death mage look at me like I was some sort of killer?

The pressure inside my body kept me ostensibly composed as I emptied my pockets. I left my wallet, phone, earbuds, and sling bag on the floor next to Em’s satchel. I’d cry about my belongings later if I lived through the night, but right now the gaze of masked maniacs was enough to detach me from any attachment to homely memoirs.

“Tie them up.” The Priest Keeper pointed her staff at our heads. “Try anything funny, and you can be assured your quest for sniffing rats comes to an end.”

The two masked men took orders, grabbing rope from the rack. My instincts told me to run as the men approached. But even in my panicked state, I could deduce struggling was the worst of my options. I let the men manhandle my limbs as they wished. My hands were tied together hard and at an angle I knew would cause a sore wrist.

Ry and Em followed the same fate, after which the masked men slid a key into the cell door.

“No!” Ry called. “You can’t do this!” He glanced at the orange eyes. “That thing will eat us alive!”

“Never met a Gorthorn, my dear?” the Priest Keeper asked. “They’re friendlier than you might think. And certainly more courteous than you rat sniffers. Toss them in.”

Ry’s struggles and curses were useless as the two masked men held him by the armpits. His eyes wide in terror, he was tossed into the cell along with the orange-eyed thing.

Em struggled less, but her fear remained. I watched in dread, knowing I would follow next. To say I was scared shitless was an understatement. I wished to kiss the floor there and then—to beg Shiela’s more competent sisters for safety and forgiveness. I didn’t mean to jump off the balcony. Oh, God, if I knew this was the punishment for my bad decisions, I would have started a charity and devoted myself to volunteering for the sake of my soul. I didn’t—

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My body thumped against the stone floor, stomach and face taking the impact. Dirt in my mouth, I stumbled onto my feet, failing the first few times due to my tied hands, then joined Ry and Em in their corner opposite the orange eyes.

The Priest Keeper laughed. “Skittish children. Fighting is not allowed. That goes for all four of you. We’ll be back shortly.”

The cell door locked shut with a clasp. The masked men gave us one last stare, then walked off, leaving us with nothing but our clothes and the sound of our breath.

We hugged the left side wall, keeping our terrified stares on the orange-eyed figure sitting in the opposite corner. My eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. I could make out the shape in detail. It was undoubtedly a human, though not of a race I had ever seen.

It sighed. “No-breeds…”

Ry and Em twitched, afraid as ever. I, however, paused. The woman’s tone didn’t sound threatening in the slightest. Barely even annoyed.

“Hello?” I said.

The figure lifted its head, eyes wide staring at me. Em and Ry shared the shock, stepping away from me.

“Sorry?” I said.

“You speak Gorthorn?” the thing asked.

She asked. I was talking to a human. Though, I was too shocked to respond.

She snorted. “You learned the language yet fear me still. No-breeds never cease to surprise.”

“Who are you?” I asked. “What language?”

“Gorthorn, the linguistics of our current conversation.” The orange eyes studied me. “You’re under translation magic, aren’t you?”

My lips hung open. Em and Ry watched me as if I was a ghost, but I barely noticed. “How did you know?”

I saw the faint outline of a smile on her face. “Translation magic is famously awful with the Gorthorn speech. You talk without the touch. Without the poetic beats of sentences.” She paused. “That, and I doubt a man of your intelligence could ever learn a language of intricacy. Do forgive me.”

“Cillian?” Em asked, her voice shaking. “What are you two…?”

“Um…” I said, unsure whether I was talking to Em or the woman. The translation magic had a mind of its own.

“You must be a mage,” the woman said. “I sense power from you. Far more than from the last chorded no-breed of my acquaintances. You must be skilled. Translation is an arduous spell to learn.”

“I am an awakener,” I said, tone uncertain. “I don’t know translation magic. It was cast on me by someone else.”

“A man of importance, then?” she asked. “Odd place you’ve arrived in. What brings a man of chords down to the poachers’ cells?”

I licked my dry lips. Was there a reason to lie? “We are looking for a teacher,” I said. “It’s, uh, we might be in the wrong place.”

The woman let out a little laugh. “If the Corruption is the worry, I may offer my assistance. Would not be my first time working with no-breeds.”

“Cillian?” Em asked again, voice shaking. “Who are you?”

“My apology.” The woman stood up. Her accent changed, enunciation slightly less fluid. Something within my head instinctively knew she spoke in a different language, though both came out as English to me. “You have a curious friend. I speak Krose as well. Would not want to travel without words, would I?”

Em’s and Ry’s eyes opened wide. “You,” Ry gushed. “What are you?”

“My name is Rakash.” She stepped forward, closer to the light.

Features revealed themselves. Her brownish skin was reflective like a fish’s scale, yet as smooth as Shiela’s. Dotted freckles, the same color as her eyes, were spread evenly across her face and limbs alike.

Her nails were thick and sturdy. They grew to point like claws. The sharp tips were cut, but I doubted she would have much trouble clawing into a throat regardless. This woman was animalistically strong.

Yet she was undoubtedly human. Her confident smile and cute black hair made my heart thump. Something about her appearance made me immensely curious to see what was underneath her robe.

“I am,” Rakash said, “as your assailant informed, a Gorthorn.”