The first problem arose as soon as she stood from the bed, and the supply connection strained, stabbing her heart with another wave of pain.

Light handed her a bracelet with glowing mana gems, which would cost her a fortune if she purchased it. Amaryllis didn’t deny it, as there was no point; she had to reach the Hall of Forge. She told herself that she’d repay it once she had the money.

Light took off the mana supply, and Amaryllis immediately felt the toll of the seal. It was heavy. She felt thirsty; her throat dried like she had not drunk anything for days, almost splitting from dryness.

The underside of the bracelet had an array of half-inch needles that bit into her skin as she wore it on her left arm, which had the seal. The pain wasn’t anything to write about, a minor sting at best. And the mana pumping through her veins strangled whatever pain she felt, filling her clarity and energy. Amaryllis blinked. It’s like… caffeine? She mused.

“This will keep the seal fed for 24 hours, but this is the only time you’ll use it, and before it runs out, you will have to increase your mana pool and absorption rate. Don’t worry, it won’t be as big of trouble as you might think,” Light smiled, patting Amaryllis’s back as she took the first step forward.

Amaryllis nodded. She didn’t need to ask why. It seemed expensive, so wasting another on her wasn’t worth it. She couldn’t tell why Light would waste even one on her, but that was an abyss that she was better off not falling. Light looked at her as if knowing what she was thinking.

“This will hurt your mana channels. Anything more than once a month will ruin your personal capacity to absorb mana,” Light clarified, “Let’s go.”

Light handed her another set of grey shirts and pants, but the shirt was thicker than before, probably to keep the seal hidden. Can people with mana sense not sense it? She questioned Light.

“No… it will disturb people, but the seal was created to disguise itself from probing or sensory types of spells for obvious safety concerns. The seal is less known than most forbidden spells to the outside world. Many people in Soul Hunt know of it but outside the Soul Hunt? No one. It’s not even known as a rumor. Once it does spread, it will be like wildfire…. Everyone in the world will know it. I will enchant the seal with another layer of masking runes before you step into the lobby, where every assessee is socializing and discussing the strategies for the next assessment. You’ll meet them after the soul forge,” Amaryllis grimaced at those words. She’d rather not meet them, “If you wish to, that is. Or you’ll be guided back here.”

“Thanks…” Amaryllis whispered, following behind Light.

“Now. Take deep breaths, and keep your head still. Every assessment has a chance of death, and this one is no exception.”

Amaryllis nodded, following Light’s instruction.

Light led Amaryllis through a passage, dull and sharp, silvery reflections putting her on edge, before stepping her in the elevator, down the uncountable number of floors, and after through an empty hall which, last time, had people who somehow knew about her sister, and then, she once again stood in front the door that led her into the darkness.

“Go ahead,” Light said, “You’ll be received by Dr. Henneth, in charge of explanations and getting you up to speed on your lacking knowledge,” she gave her an amusing smile. One that already told Amaryllis she needed to be careful of this new character.

Amaryllis took a deep breath and stepped into the darkness. The boreal atmosphere enveloped her. Her steps made no sound even though she intentionally ground them against the smooth floor. She wondered if she should try calling Fia, but Light’s words reminded her that Fia needed mana, something she didn’t have right now. So far, Light seemed to be the only trustworthy person in this place. And that made her scarier than anyone else.

Kind people are the cruelest of all. Except for her sister. She was the only one who cared about her.

After walking for another minute, Amaryllis reached a door that opened as she stood in front of it. A deathly cold wind drifted from inside and struck her face. She shivered and stepped inside the chilly hall.

Amaryllis had expected the Hall of Forge to be like a smithy, hot and dazzling in flames and melted iron, but it was nothing like that. The flames were still there, green, ghastly, and cold, burning without any fuel, hugging the edges and corners of the hall from all sides.

In one corner, an old, bony man, his skin was greenish-grey like the flames themselves, sat mumbling something to himself. In front of him was a gravestone, bone-like in both color and texture.

The walls were tessellated in weird symbols and runes — aurora green contrasting against silver-white canvas. The wall at the end showed outside, into a foray of white grotesque creatures like skeletons crushed and mangled into critters. Their eyes growled in blue flames. They went about their ways, ignoring her. The Smith, Amaryllis assumed, also ignored her.

She looked around and finally noted the blonde-haired lady wearing a doctor’s coat. Her hair hung loose, barely reaching down her shoulder, and she, too, wore spectacles — narrow and serious, unlike the softer edges of Light. Whether intentional or not, Amaryllis couldn’t say for sure. Henneth’s silvery-white eyes glowed as she observed her.

Amaryllis waited for her to say something, but she received no response. “Excuse me,” she said.

“Ah, excuse me,” the doctor cleared her throat. “I was just marveling at your… seal.”

“You know…” Amaryllis muttered, remembering Light’s words. “So much for keeping it hidden,” She said under her breath.

Henneth laughed in amusement. “You don’t think she sealed Blackfrost and kept you alive at the same time, though you will have to repay me for my help. I’m not charitable like her, unfortunately. Panic not; I’ve no intention of collecting debt right now. Just at the right time,” Henneth showed her teeth. “Call me Doctor Henneth. I’ll go over the explanation about… well, everything I’m sure you should know but you’re ignorant of. That’s after the forge. Feeling tense?”

Amaryllis shook her head. She would be lying if she said she felt anything much. Her emotions were laggy. She should have been feeling more after the incident in the carnival, but she wasn’t, and hopefully, she would stay like this for the rest of the week and complete the assessment before feeling whatever she knew she should be feeling.

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“That’s a good thing,” Henneth said, patting her back with enough force to throw her off balance. Amaryllis managed to stay on her feet, feeling the sharp sting that would leave a mark on her back. “The moment you get a soul-forged weapon, you’re already a Soul Hunter. Actually, when you receive the invitation, you’re already a soul hunter. The invitation does not state it, but it means: you are allotted an Anvil to have your soul forged into a weapon. It’s the fairest thing in the world. No soul hunter, including the leader of the Soul Hunt, has any say on who gets the invitation. You are selected by an absolutely unbiased and untempered system that deems you worthy of an Anvil — the most precious and legendary grade artifact. Are you feeling proud of yourself?”

Henneth waited a moment, which was so small that Amaryllis couldn’t even open her mouth, let alone tell her what she felt. “But, there’s still an assessment, which is the deadliest of all examinations slash competition in the world. Do you know why the assessments are conducted?”

“No,” Amaryllis replied. She didn’t believe she knew the answer anymore, but she was sure it was for someone’s entertainment, the Soul Hunt’s internal politics, or something equally vain. A sick joke was on the tip of her tongue.

“The answer is simple, really, but far too many. To weed out the weak. To find the prospective talent to recruit, take them under our wings as an apprentice. To make sure the world does not face the consequences of your foolishness. Blah, blah, and blah. But I have an answer that may satisfy you. The purpose of this assessment is to make you strong enough that when you walk out of this assessment, no adventurer, police commander, or some noble big shot will make you reassess your words. To ensure you are seen and addressed as a soul hunter without raising a brow, and when you speak — the weight of your soul should leave everyone around breathless. Even if you’re wrong, they shall not dare question the words of a soul hunter, and for the sake of that image — you’re plunged into this hell,” Henneth smiled, staring into her eyes. Amaryllis felt breathless under the weight of Henneth’s soul. “And when you survive and step on the other side, no one in the world will look down on you, tell you you’re wrong even when you are. Or dare to question your authority. The current you are a tarnish to the name of a soul hunter, just like every other invitee. But when this assessment concludes, you’ll be more than you can even dream of, in both status and might. That concludes the monologue I prepared. Let’s get a weapon forged just for you.”

Henneth stopped in front of the old guy and the gravestone. “This is… well, I forgot. And this gravestone-looking thing is the Anvil that I was hyping. You will get your soul forged into a weapon by this thing. The process goes something like this: first, the soul smith, that creepy-looking old man, creates hollow indentures in your hand, which is not painful,” Henneth looked at the man. “We can begin, Lord Smith,” she said reverently and received a nod.

The gangly, old man looked at Henneth and then at Amaryllis. His hollow grey eyes glimmered with mana, or perhaps soul energy or something mystical that Amaryllis had no way of knowing. “Come. Sit here. My child,” he said in broken sentences. His words were tight. He raised his bony hands to gesture her to sit beside him on a stool. Amaryllis nodded tersely, turning her gaze to Henneth as if asking if that was right.

“Listen. He will create a tattoo on your hand, the same as the one you’ve seen on Huan’s hand. It will be black, but once you put your hand on the anvil, it will reflect the color of your soul. As you can guess from my words, the color of the soul is never the same. Some are white, some blue, and so on. You get the point. Once the tattoo is complete, we will get to the anvil, the second part. The Hollow indenture is never painful, but you will hear things, not from ghosts, but the voices may or may not scare you,” Henneth expression turned serious, “I don’t want you to be scared. Your mind must stay clear, focused, and unbothered, tense. My point is to ignore everything you hear. It’s hard, but if you’re tilted, this is your final place. This forge is an assessment, much like the carnival, and death is but a guarantee upon failure.”

Amaryllis nodded. Taking a deep breath, she sat on the stool, pulling up the sleeve of her right arm. The old guy slid to her side. His eyes glowed brighter as he picked up a chisel and a hammer that was not connected to the handle directly but held in place by a green-colored energy. He clutched her arm with his icy cold hands, swiveled it on the gravestone, and pressed his thumb on her shoulder. Her arm fell limp.

Alarms rang in Amaryllis’s head. Her eyes darted toward Henneth as if she trusted her more than the old guy. Maybe that was due to how Light didn’t seem bothered by her taking the assessment, unlike the last time when Clownman was taking it.

“It’s fine,” Henneth smiled, “I was alarmed just like you.” She pulled up her sleeve and showed a weird symmetric formula covering her arm — all of it in golden white. “He may not look like it, but he can touch the soul and see the things we cannot. By that extension, he knows everything he must to carve a passage that would fit your soul in the physical realm. And as I said, it’s not painful.” Henneth’s eyes turned to Amaryllis’s arm, and Amaryllis followed the direction.

The man had already begun. The sound of clang as the chisel’s flat met the hammer’s slam. The metallic clang rang as they both fell silent. He chiseled out the skin from her arm like bark from a tree, but delicately enough to make her believe he handcrafted it with a pencil on soft clay. And his hammer slammed with enough strength that Amaryllis thought her bone cracked. Yet, it did nothing. It just took out the skin.

Beneath the skin, Amaryllis saw no sign of flesh, instead a dull grey, smooth plain texture. On one hand, it should alarm her. But on the other, she marveled at the craftsmanship. The old guy somehow chiseled out a hair-thin skin for the entire stretch of her hand, creating an arch line. He slammed his hammer, creating a parallel line beside the first line. It was perfect. She couldn’t imagine someone doing it without a ruler. Then again, he had some sort of ability without a doubt.

He then switched the chisel for something smaller and flatter and began gouging more skin, which turned grey and vanished as they touched the anvil. He detailed engraving. It was a single petal, then turned into a tiny flower, followed by leaves. It looked eerily similar to the one on her right hand. The flower was not a lotus, though. Something else. There was a single denture housing five petals in a rose-like shape. Her entire body felt cold. She couldn’t tell anything apart anymore.

Amaryllis heard a cold, unknown voice.

“Oh, you make us proud,” it said. “Our only chi—”

Amaryllis shrieked and jolted to the side, snapping her limp hand away from the smith’s hold. “No!” she screamed. Her mind shrank in fear. She blinked, and she was back in the Hall of Forge. Not in the cold white room. Henneth watched her unamused.

“It’s fine. If you’re going to react like this… We’ll never get to the anvil part,” Henneth intoned monotonously. “Sit still.”

Amaryllis nodded and sat back on the stool. Her limp hand dangled, and the soul smith placed it on the anvil again and began.

“Oh dear… Why?” a disappointed voice asked. “Why?!” It glowered in rage.

“Sis… please… No…”

Amaryllis tried not to listen to them, yet they rang inside her head. The voice continued to ring for a long while — screaming, begging, crying, blaming, scoffing, then screaming again. She kept her head low, and her jaws clenched, ignoring them.

Monster! A soft, scared voice screamed.

Then everything went silent. She let out a tired breath, haggard. Her mind refused to listen to the mental notes she should be listening to. After another minute, the tattoo was completely reaching her shoulder, and a single flower carried by a vine without any leaves crawled to the base of her neck. Amaryllis sighed as the voice vanished without a trace, leaving her in cold breathless sweat.

“Are we done?” she asked. Her eyes were blurry to see what had been engraved on them.

“We are,” Henneth answered.

Amaryllis looked at the smith. He seemed tired. His hands were shaky as he placed the hammer and instrument he used to cover her hand in a tattoo. His entire body seemed to be shivering in the cold. “Thanks…” she whispered as he shrank deeper into the corner, covering himself in greenish flames. The creatures outside gazed at him, let out a growl of pain, and went about their way.

He didn’t acknowledge her, which stung since he had poured at least half an hour of exhausting effort on her.

“What are those?” Amaryllis asked, raising her newly tattooed hand at the creature.

“Once you’ve climbed high enough rank, ask again, and I’ll gladly tell you. Knowledge of what they are is confidential information for you,” Henneth intoned. “Now, the anvil part.”