Cassie stepped into the village, a patchwork of movement and muted sound spreading out before her. Her guide walked a few paces ahead, his strides unhurried but purposeful, while she followed with the careful precision of a predator entering unfamiliar territory.

Farmers bent over their fields, their hands moving rhythmically as they tilled the earth or tended crops. Chickens clucked lazily in coops, their occasional squawks punctuating the chatter of women hauling water from the well. Children darted between weathered wooden houses, their laughter sharp and bright as they chased a ragged leather ball.

Cassie’s gaze darted constantly, noting details: the narrow alleys between buildings, the sturdy fences that bordered pastures, the paths that wound out of the village and into the distant hills. Her mind automatically mapped escape routes, cataloging places where she could hide, climb, or break through if needed.

The villagers spared her only the occasional glance. Some showed mild curiosity, others simply returned to their work. None seemed overtly suspicious, but that didn’t soothe the coil of tension in her gut.

The man ahead of her finally stopped outside a low, slanted-roof house with smoke curling lazily from its chimney. The door was slightly ajar, and the faint smell of herbs wafted from within.

He turned to her, his expression cautious. “The healer’s inside,” he said, jerking his chin toward the door. “She’ll patch you up. Won’t even ask too many questions.”

Cassie studied him for a moment, trying to read the subtext in his tone. Then, with a sharp nod, she stepped past him and entered the house.

The interior was dim, the air thick with the scent of dried herbs and faintly acrid smoke. Bundles of plants hung from the rafters, their leaves brushing against the crown of her head as she ducked inside. A woman stood at a table near the hearth, grinding something into powder with a mortar and pestle.

Cassie froze, her first impression jarring against her expectations. The healer looked... out of place.

She wasn’t weathered or calloused like the villagers outside. Her hands moved with the deftness of practice, but they were smooth, unscarred, and delicate, as if they had never known hard labor. Her dark hair was twisted into an elaborate knot, and her clothing—a simple, flowing dress—was spotless.

Her skin was so pale it seemed she had never stepped outside, untouched by the sun’s harshness, adding to the almost ethereal quality she exuded.

The woman glanced at Cassie’s torn and dirt-streaked clothing, then her sharp eyes met Cassie’s. “Do you need healing? Of course you are,” she said, her voice cool but not unkind. “Come closer. Let me see the damage.”

Cassie hesitated, every muscle taut. “I don’t need much,” she said, keeping her voice measured. “Just a quick patch-up.”

The healer let out a soft, dismissive snort. “And I don’t need a patient who’s half-dead collapsing in my house. Sit.”

The command carried an edge of authority that reminded Cassie uncomfortably of Robin. Against her better judgment, she obeyed, lowering herself into a chair near the hearth.

The healer moved with a practiced grace, pulling a stool closer as she examined Cassie’s wounds. Her fingers were cool and precise, probing the jagged cut on Cassie’s arm. “Clean slice,” she murmured. “Lucky for you, it didn’t hit anything vital.”

Cassie tensed as the woman reached for a jar of salve. “What is that?”

“Something that works,” the healer replied dryly. “Relax. I’m not about to poison you. Not today.”

The salve stung as it touched her skin, but the pain faded almost immediately, replaced by a strange, numbing warmth. Cassie watched, half in disbelief, as the wound began to knit itself together, the skin pulling taut in a way that shouldn’t have been possible.

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Her eyes snapped to the healer. “What the hell is that?”

The woman raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk playing at her lips. “You’ve never seen magic before? Not that I blame you—most people haven’t.”

Magic. The word lodged itself in Cassie’s mind like a splinter. She didn’t answer, her silence filled with suspicion and disbelief.

The healer sighed. “You’ve been through a lot, I see. Fine. Don’t believe it if you don’t want to. Just don’t rip the wound open again and make me do this twice.”

As she finished bandaging Cassie’s arm, the sound of muffled voices drifted through the open window. Two men stood just outside, their conversation low but audible.

“... the palace?” one of them said.

“Yeah, they’re recruiting again. Heard the pay’s good this time, and they’re offering lodging and board for anyone who passes the interview.”

Cassie’s attention sharpened. She strained to catch the rest of their exchange.

“You planning on going?”

The second man laughed, a short, bitter sound. “Not a chance. They’re only looking for servants, and I’m not about to get killed trying to play the obedient dog they want.”

Their voices faded as they moved further down the street, but the words lingered in Cassie’s mind. The palace. Recruitment. Lodging. Board.

‘A secure place to stay, food provided.’

Her jaw tightened. She didn’t trust this world yet—didn’t trust its rules, its people. But a secure base? Resources? A chance to stop wandering blindly? She couldn’t afford to ignore that.

A sharp click of the tongue broke through her thoughts. Cassie turned to see the healer standing nearby, holding a bundle of neatly folded fabric.

“Here,” the woman said, offering the clothes. “You’ve been staring off into space long enough. Take these. I make clothes as a hobby, and my drawer’s overflowing. You’d be doing me a favor.”

Cassie glanced down at her torn and dirt-streaked clothing. The garments in the healer’s hands were plain but well-made—practical. She hesitated. “I’m fine,” she said, though she knew her current outfit barely qualified as such.

The healer raised an eyebrow. “Suit yourself, but they’ll just end up back in the drawer. Seems wasteful, doesn’t it?”

Cassie exhaled, realizing the woman wasn’t going to drop it. With a reluctant nod, she took the bundle. “Thanks.”

The healer smirked. “Don’t mention it. I’ve got too many of them anyway.”

A few hours later, Cassie found herself in the back of a creaking carriage, her fingers brushing the plain tunic. After cleaning up, taking a bath, and making sure her appearance was presentable, she’d felt almost like a person. But the kindness of the healer still didn’t sit right with her.

Cassie’s fingers brushed a small pouch in the pocket—coins. Not only she gave her clothes, the healer had slipped them in there without her noticing too. The gesture made her uneasy, like an unspoken debt she hadn’t asked for.

Why had the woman been so persistent? Kindness like that didn’t come without reason—or strings. Was it pity? Obligation? Cassie’s jaw tightened at the thought. She didn’t want anyone’s sympathy.

Still, money is money and the clothes fit well, their sturdy fabric a welcome change from her tattered old ones. Whatever the healer’s motives, Cassie couldn’t deny she’d needed them.

She exhaled, staring out at the passing landscape. ‘Maybe,’ she thought, ‘not everyone had an angle.’ Although the idea was hard to trust.

The road to the capital was long and uneven, the carriage jostling with every dip and bump. Cassie sat quietly, her new clothes itchy but sturdy against her skin. The villagers had been right—the capital loomed ahead, its spires piercing the sky like jagged shards of glass.

As the carriage rumbled closer, the road grew crowded with people. Travelers of all kinds filled the path—merchants leading carts, farmers carrying sacks of grain, and hopeful recruits like herself.

When the carriage finally halted near the palace gates, the driver opened the door with a sharp clang. “End of the line,” he muttered, avoiding her gaze.

Cassie stepped down, her boots landing with a muted thud on the stones. The air was crisp, a faint tang of rain hanging over the morning. Around her, people adjusted their belongings—threadbare cloaks, patched satchels, hands that trembled as they clutched the last pieces of themselves. Cassie didn’t bring anything but her composure.

She joined the queue of applicants, feeling the buzz of nervous energy around her. Overlapping whispers filled the air, creating a tense, electric atmosphere.

“... only taking a handful this time.”

“I heard they send the rejects to the mines.”

“Do you think they’ll check our papers?”

Cassie ignored the chatter, her eyes fixed on the gates ahead. The palace loomed beyond them, a towering structure of stone and steel that seemed both ancient and unyielding.

A guard stood at the gate, his posture rigid as he barked orders to the crowd. One by one, the applicants stepped forward, their expressions shifting between hope and fear as they were sized up and separated.

When it was Cassie’s turn, she straightened her back, trying to project an aura of quiet, unyielding confidence.

For a moment, the guard hesitated, as if unsettled by the intensity of her stare. Then he nodded curtly and motioned for her to step forward.

Cassie moved past him, her steps measured, her mind racing. The gates of the palace loomed closer, each one feeling like a step into unknown territory.

If this was a gamble, it was one she was willing to take.