Miles away, under a starless sky, the bustling camp near the Rank A Gate stood in stark contrast to the solitude of the Tower’s trials. Fires flickered in metal braziers, casting long shadows against the outpost’s stone walls. Mi-Rae leaned against the cold stone, her armor streaked with dirt and blood, remnants of the raid that had only recently concluded. Her gaze drifted across the camp—hunters and medics moved with a practiced efficiency, tending to the wounded, cataloging loot, and reinforcing their defenses.
The air carried the faint metallic scent of blood mixed with the acrid tang of burnt mana residue, a harsh reminder of the battle they had barely survived. Mi-Rae’s body ached, but the weight pressing down on her chest was far heavier than any physical injury. Flashes of the raid played in her mind—the desperate shouts, the horrifying moment when a decision had to be made. She remembered the young archer who had trusted her implicitly, only to fall because of her hesitation. His desperate scream, cut short, haunted her like a ghost. Her hesitation had cost lives.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a voice, calm yet carrying a note of concern. “Mi-Rae.”
She turned to see Sungho, one of the senior members of the raid party. His weathered face bore the signs of exhaustion, but his sharp eyes softened as they met hers.
“You’ve been quiet since the raid ended,” he said, stepping closer. “Want to talk about it?”
Mi-Rae hesitated, her hand brushing the edge of her bracer. She glanced away, her expression guarded. “There’s nothing to talk about. We succeeded, didn’t we?”
Sungho’s brow furrowed. “We did. But not without losses.” He paused, his voice softening. “You’re blaming yourself, aren’t you?”
Her jaw tightened. She looked down, avoiding his gaze. “I should have made the call faster,” she admitted, her voice low. “If I’d acted sooner, those men would still be alive.”
Sungho placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Mi-Rae, listen to me. You made the best decisions you could in the heat of the moment. No one’s perfect, not even you. But if it weren’t for you, the rest of us wouldn’t have made it back at all.”
“But they trusted me,” she said, her voice trembling despite her efforts to remain composed. “And I let them down.”
“You’re still young,” Sungho replied. “You have potential, Mi-Rae—more than anyone else I’ve seen. Leadership isn’t about never making mistakes. It’s about learning from them. And trust me, you’ve earned our respect.”
His words, though kind, did little to ease the weight she carried. She nodded silently, a polite acknowledgment rather than genuine agreement. Sungho squeezed her shoulder briefly before stepping back. “Get some rest. You’ve earned it.”
Mi-Rae watched him walk away, her composure cracking the moment he was out of sight. Her nails dug into her palms as she fought to contain the tide of guilt and anger within her. The chill of the evening air bit into her skin, mirroring the coldness she felt in her chest. Her hands balled into fists, trembling as she struggled to keep her emotions in check. The chill of the evening air seemed to bite at her skin, echoing the coldness she felt within. She wanted to believe Sungho, but the faces of those they had lost haunted her—especially the young archer who had followed her orders without hesitation. The memory of his final, desperate scream burned like a brand in her mind. Could she truly call herself a prodigy if her decisions came at such a cost?
Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.
----------------------------------------
Later that evening, Mi-Rae found herself in the main hall of the guild’s outpost. The room was stark, its stone walls adorned with banners bearing the Silver Talon’s sigil. Her father, Min-Seok, stood at the far end, his imposing figure silhouetted against the flickering light of a brazier. Tae-Jun, her older brother, leaned casually against the wall nearby, his smirk as sharp as ever.
“You completed the raid,” her father said, his tone as cold and measured as always. “But barely. Your performance left much to be desired, Mi-Rae.”
She stood rigid, her expression unreadable. “The gate was cleared. The objective was met.”
“At what cost?” her father snapped, his voice rising. “You lost men. Valuable assets. That’s unacceptable.”
Mi-Rae’s fists clenched at her sides, but she forced herself to remain calm. “I’ll do better next time.”
“You’d better,” Min-Seok said, his piercing gaze locking onto hers. “You’re a prodigy, Mi-Rae. That title comes with expectations. This guild demands perfection. And I will not tolerate failure—not from you.”
He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous tone. “I’m sure you don’t want to be a failure like your dead brother.”
The words struck her like a physical blow, but she didn’t flinch. Her face remained impassive, though her nails bit into her palms hard enough to draw blood. Anger surged within her, threatening to spill over, but she swallowed it down. She couldn’t afford to let him see her weakness.
“Understood,” she said evenly, her tone devoid of emotion.
Her father regarded her for a moment longer before turning away, his words lingering in the air like poison. The cold authority in his voice reminded her of the chains that bound her to the Silver Talon Guild, chains she wasn’t sure she could break. Tae-Jun’s smirk widened as he gave her a mock salute. “Better luck next time, little sis.”
She ignored him, her movements stiff as she left the hall. Once outside, she exhaled shakily, her composure slipping for just a moment. Her father’s words echoed in her mind, each syllable like a knife twisting in her chest.
----------------------------------------
Back in her quarters, Mi-Rae sat on the edge of her bed, her phone clutched tightly in her hand. The soft glow of the screen illuminated her face as she stared at the message she had sent earlier:
Mi-Rae: “I still can’t believe you’re alive. I’ve been thinking about you non-stop since earlier. How have you been? What happened all this time? Are you okay? I really want to hear from you soon.”
Hours had passed, but there was no reply. Doubt gnawed at her. Had she mistyped his number? Was he ignoring her? Or worse… was he in danger?
Her thumb hovered over the keyboard before she typed another message. The memory of Jae-Hyun’s steady presence resurfaced—a quiet reassurance that had always been her anchor in moments like these. But now, without him, the silence was deafening:
Mi-Rae: “Are you okay? I’m starting to worry. If I got the wrong number…” She hesitated, deleting the last part before continuing. “Please let me know if you’re safe.”
She hit send, her heart pounding as she set the phone aside. Her gaze drifted to the window, where the faint outline of the A-Rank Gate loomed in the distance. The cold air seeped through the cracks in the stone walls, sending a shiver down her spine. Even the faint flicker of light from the brazier in the corner seemed feeble, barely holding back the encroaching shadows.
I want to leave, she thought, her fists clenching. This guild, this family… they’re suffocating me. But leaving would mean freedom—and it would mean making enemies of them. Will they try to kill me like they tried with Oppa? I don't stand a chance against Father or Tae-Jun. Not as I am now.
Her thoughts turned to Jae-Hyun. The last memory she had of him played vividly in her mind: his protective smile as he ruffled her hair, promising he’d always have her back. What was he waiting for? What was he planning? Did he even know how much his absence had cost her?
A single tear slid down her cheek, but she wiped it away quickly. There was no room for weakness, not here. Not in the Silver Talon Guild.
But as she sat there, staring at the faint glow of her phone, one thought burned brighter than the rest:
Whatever happens, I have to be ready—even if it means facing Father and Tae-Jun sooner than I’d like.