The tiny park had no name as far as J-65 knew. It was simply a small space that held a single, ancient star-oak with a stone bench ready for any passersby to sit for a while. She had been coming here for years, and she had yet to see anyone else sitting to enjoy a brief break from the responsibilities of the Imperial Academy. As the sun drifted below the horizon, above her head, silver leaves began to shimmer with captured moonlight in the evening air. Normally, she would be enjoying the gentle light herself, being a star elf. But not tonight.


    In her gloved hands rested the white mask that had defined her for over a decade — a polished, featureless thing designed to strip away individuality and replace it with one purpose. Being a Sentinel. She stared down at it, her thumbs tracing where the features of her face would have been painted on a different mask long ago.


    The mask Jezeri had worn as a child.


    Jezeri continued to stare down at the symbol of her position in the Imperial Academy, her thoughts swirling in a way they rarely had over the past decade. Sentinels were trained to be present, efficient, and, above all, without distractions. But here, in this quiet park, hidden away from the endless demands of duty, memories she had long buried rose to the surface, whispering to her like ghosts.


    Jezeri.


    That name felt fragile now, distant and worn like a fabric faded by time. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had spoken it aloud. It had slipped from her life the day the previous scion of House Blacksword had been removed from the Imperial Academy. Though over a decade ago, thinking over those memories revealed that the ache of that severance lingered down to her bones.


    Jezeri idly flipped the mask over, revealing the intricate runework on its interior that allowed her to speak, see, and hear through that blank, featureless white visage. House Blacksword. The name still carried weight, even if the House itself was still dwindling away. And yet, for Jezeri, it was more than a name — more than just another noble House — it was an anchor of her past, the source of both her greatest joys and sharpest sorrows.


    She had fled a life she refused to remember beyond that mask she had worn as a child. What came before the Hall of Bonds was a dark blur, stained with shame and pain. So much pain. That place had offered her a fresh beginning, though at a cost. There, girls like her were assessed, cataloged, and sold to scions able to purchase their service. Some that had been sold alongside her became chambermaids. Others companions or scribes. Jezeri hadn’t cared at the time. She only wanted escape.


    She started paying more attention when her escape came in the form of a contact signed by none other than the scion of House Blacksword of the time.


    Before arriving at the Hall of Bonds, Jezeri had known well the reputations of the most important Houses of the western region of the Empire, House Blacksword chief among them. House Blacksword was synonymous with brutal efficiency on the battlefield and cold detachment in political circles. Their warriors were forged in harsh conditions and trained from a young age to wield weapons and strategy without hesitation. To outsiders, they were a House of unyielding steel, ruthless in pursuit of victory and survival against the myriad threats that worked to destroy them.


    Yet she knew that there was an unsettling undercurrent to that reputation as well. Rumors spoke of harsh discipline, fractured family ties, and a relentless expectation of perfection that crushed many under its weight. Their scions were said to be merciless, both to their enemies and their own kin, living by the creed that weakness had no place in the Blacksword legacy.


    Being chosen by such a House was a mixed fate — prestigious, certainly, but dangerous for any who couldn’t meet their exacting standards. When Jezeri had been claimed by the female scion, she had braced herself for a life of cold commands and exacting servitude on and off the battlefield.


    Instead, she had been trained as a simple maid.


    Her duties were easy, light even: maintaining the scion’s chambers, tending to garments finer than anything she’d ever touched, and other small, miscellaneous tasks that might need doing. For all the monotony, life had been good then. There was a simple dignity in the work, and for the first time, Jezeri had felt safe.


    But that peaceful routine hadn’t lasted. She still didn’t know why the scion had chosen her, of all her servants, but her role changed roughly six months into her service. Under her Mistress’ direction, she was trained in the arts of observation, subtlety, and self-defense. Her hands, once accustomed to polishing silverware and folding dresses, learned to wield daggers and extract secrets from guarded lips. Jezeri slowly became more than a simple servant — she became a confidante, a shadow moving unseen through the corridors of power. A spy in plain sight.


    Looking back, those days had been even better. She had found purpose, a true calling, doing something she had been good at. And despite the differences in their ranks, she had forged an unlikely friendship with her Mistress.


    Mistress Blacksword, as she asked to be called, was fierce and brilliant, with a laugh that could light up the darkest room of Blacksword Manor. She treated Jezeri not as a servant but nearly as an equal in all but name. They shared whispered conversations late into the night, discussing matters far beyond Jezeri’s station. Politics, strategy, even dreams for a future where House Blacksword might rise again to its former glory.


    Jezeri smiled faintly at the memory, though the smile did not reach her eyes. Those days had ended abruptly. Mistress Blacksword had been forced to leave the Imperial Academy, and Jezeri’s place at her side had ended. The bonds that had once given her a sense of belonging were severed, and Jezeri found herself adrift. She hadn’t been with Mistress Blacksword when it started, but she later learned what had happened with the scion of House Brightcoin from others.


    It had started with words. A subtle insult here, a veiled remark there — sharp-edged barbs exchanged between Mistress Blacksword and Scion Brightcoin.The Brightcoins were one of the most influential noble Houses in the western region of the Empire, in large part due to how their coffers were overflowing with wealth accumulated from trade and their covert war against House Blacksword. House Brightcoin had a reputation for getting what it wanted, no matter the cost, and their scion that shared Mistress Blacksword’s year was worse than most of that greedy House. Valdar Brightcoin had a reputation for getting what he wanted, and for arranging accidents for those that prevented him from doing such.


    Mere rivalry, even open hostility between Mistress Blacksword and Scion Brightcoin she could understand, even expect. But what Jezeri hadn’t expected was what Mistress Blacksword had confided in her several weeks into the escalating conflict. The star elf remembered that night, and the fury and disbelief with which Mistress Blacksword spoke, well.


    “Valdar Brightcoin had the audacity to ask for permission to court me,” Mistress Blacksword had said, pacing the length of her private study. “He claimed it was to mend the rift between our Houses. But the truth is far uglier. He lusts after me, Jezeri, and worse — he has a plan to ensure I won’t survive past our wedding night.”


    Jezeri had felt her blood run cold. “How do you know this, Mistress?”


    Mistress Blacksword had given a bitter laugh. “Because I listen, and I watch. Much like you, Jezeri. There are always whispers if you know where to find them.”


    Jezeri had been kept at the edges of the ensuing conflict, her role limited to support and intelligence gathering among other servants outside House Blacksword. She had watched from the shadows as Mistress Blacksword navigated the dangerous terrain of noble politics, maneuvering against Valdar Brightcoin and his scheming allies. Jezeri had admired her courage but had also felt growing unease that things were slipping beyond her Mistress’ control.


    The final blow had come swiftly, as such things often did. A command had come down from House Blacksword itself — her Mistress was to be withdrawn from the Imperial Academy. No formal reason was given, but Jezeri understood the truth. House Brightcoin had won.


    Jezeri still didn’t know all the details of how it had happened. Other servants spoke of betrayals, political pressure, and perhaps even bribes exchanged. What mattered was the outcome: Mistress Blacksword was gone, exiled from the Academy and stripped of nearly everything she had once commanded. The estate’s vast assets the Mistress had painstakingly built up were liquidated in a humiliating series of auctions, leaving only the manor itself intact. Even the servants had not been spared. Jezeri, despite her close ties to Mistress Backsword, was also to be included in the auctions.


    Jezeri’s hands clenched tightly around the Sentinel mask in her hands, so tight the edges began to cut into her palms. Mistress Blacksword had sworn to return, that she would find a way to reclaim what was being taken from her. Jezeri had believed her then. Mistress Blacksword had never been one to break her word after all. But days turned to weeks, and weeks to months. No representative came for her.


    The auctions were to proceed.


    And so, Jezeri had stood on that dias once again, her hands trembling despite her best efforts to appear composed. The auctioneer’s voice had droned on, detailing her attributes and skills in impersonal tones. Though she was no longer a wide-eyed girl, Jezeri knew her features — soft and exotic yet marred by faint scars — still made her desirable in a way she wished they did not. She had caught more than one pair of eyes lingering on her during that wretched event, but none had filled her with more dread than Valdar Brightcoin.


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    The scion of House Brightcoin had lounged casually near the front of the audience, his rank affording him excellent seating. Her eyes had unwillingly drifted his way, attention attracted to how his golden hair gleamed in the light. His lips curled into a smile that didn’t reach his cold, predatory eyes. Jezeri had known that smile too well; it was the kind worn by those who saw others as unthinking prey.


    She remembered the moment his gaze had locked onto her, a spark of cruel amusement flaring in his eyes. Lust and violence simmered beneath his aristocratic veneer. Even now, years after he had graduated from the Academy, the memory made her skin crawl. He had leaned toward one of his syncophants, whispering something while looking in her direction that made his supporter chuckle darkly.


    that he was a Blacksword, a surge of anger had nearly undone her composure.


    Academy campus with practiced efficiency. Klarion had thanked her sincerely, his expression genuine, and something about that simple gratitude lingered with her long after she watched him disappear into the grand Amphitheater of Induction.


    known would be woefully unprepared for the dangers of the Dungeon. It had been an assassination attempt, clear as day to someone like Jezeri, who had seen her share of backroom plots and deadly ambushes. Klarion was strong, but he was naive—too trusting, too inexperienced in the treacherous world of noble politics. That combination made him an easy target.


    The path ahead for Klarion would be filled with challenges, but she found herself hoping he would rise to meet them. He was different, yes—but sometimes, different was exactly what was needed. Exactly what she needed.