The Umbra Hall slept.
But Reymond—
Reymond wandered the veins of stone and shadow, unable to rest.
Askalid's words still echoed in his skull like a prayer said too late:
"They wear innocence to survive."
But the creature from that morning—its shrieks, its twisted form—had not answered the question that burned behind Reymond's eyes:
What about the one that didn't whimper?
The one that smiled like it had sewn its face shut with lies?
The one that took Angelo… and never gave him back?
He moved like a ghost through the sleeping keep, the dark cloth of his cloak whispering along the walls.
The blade at his hip thudded softly against his thigh, a reminder of purpose.
Down, always down—
to the cold belly of Umbra, where the cages sat like forgotten coffins.
Here, the air smelled of iron and damp earth, like the world's breath had gone stale.
There it was.
Still draped in its mourning cloth.
He didn't hesitate.
He yanked the cover off—
and found a child curled at the center of the cage.
A girl, no more than six, her hair tangled like roots pulled from mud.
Her skin pale, eyes too blue in the flickering torchlight.
She trembled. Whimpered.
So small.
So wrong.
Rage bloomed in Reymond's chest like black fire.
"You—!"
His voice cracked like a whip.
"You look like this, don't you?! This is the mask you wear!"
He kicked the cage.
Steel howled under his foot.
The child flinched.
"Liar!"
Another kick.
"You pretend, you beg—my brother—my brother was devoured by something like you!"
His voice broke at the edges.
"Don't you dare look at me with his fear!"
The girl sobbed harder—until she didn't.
She lifted her head slowly.
Eyes dry now.
Too calm.
"It wasn't me, Reymond Steiner."
Reymond froze.
The name struck like cold water across the spine.
"How do you know that?"
A slow smile curled the corners of her lips—
but it wasn't a child's smile.
"I know many things," the creature said.
"Things that whisper in places men forget.
Your brother… Angelo. The one with the bright spirit.
Consumed by the 'Wound That Smiles,' yes?"
Reymond's breath left him like a punctured lung.
"The... Wound That Smiles?"
"Not one of us," the creature murmured.
Its voice shimmered now, like heat over a dying fire.
"No. It is an echo. A hunger shaped like familiarity.
It feeds not on flesh—but on recognition.
Once seen, it is remembered. Once remembered, it owns you."
Reymond leaned in, voice tight.
"Then how do I kill it?"
The creature's eyes glittered.
"You unmake its reflection. You deny its existence.
You blind yourself to its face—strip it of meaning.
Only then will the true wound open.
Only then will it bleed."
"But…" it tilted its head.
"The wound takes something with it.
A piece of you… must vanish, too."
His mind reeled.
"What are you saying? What does that mean?"
"It makes sense," the thing whispered,
"to those truly hungry."
Its hand, small and pale, slipped through the bars.
It beckoned.
"Let me help you.
Unlock this cage, and I'll show you how to kill it.
Your vengeance… for freedom. A fair trade, isn't it?"
Reymond stared at the outstretched fingers.
Everything in him screamed yes.
Everything his soul remembered screamed no.
He reached for the latch.
Then—
"Fool."
The voice wasn't loud.
But it hit him harder than any shout.
He spun around.
In the doorway stood a woman, shadow-etched and still.
Jhelina.
Not cloaked in armor, but in presence.
Her frame was tall, cut from coiled muscle and moonlight.
Her dark hair cascaded in loose braids, charms threaded through like teeth on a hunter's necklace.
Her cloak was short, wind-slashed, her leggings wrapped in leather.
And across her back—
a massive obsidian blade hummed faintly, as if thirsty.
She stepped into the room, eyes glowing faintly beneath the torchlight.
Commanding. Beautiful. Lethal.
"They fool you to do things," she said, her voice calm, almost bored.
"But only the fool believes them."
Reymond stumbled away from the cage.
"It knew… it knew about my brother," he said, half-defensive, half-lost.
"It offered help."
Jhelina stepped forward, never even glancing at the creature.
"They offer what you want most.
They smell your need, boy.
Then they wrap it in just enough truth to taste real."
The creature whimpered again, trying to curl smaller.
Jhelina ignored it.
"They are lies shaped like promises.
They don't give help.
They give ruin with a pretty bow."
She stopped just before him.
Close enough that he could smell the blood-soaked leather, the sweat of battle, the iron edge of her.
"You want revenge?" she asked.
He nodded.
"Then you don't get it from cages.
You earn it in the dirt. With the sword.
With what's left of you after fear's chewed you hollow."
Reymond swallowed.
"Then teach me."
Jhelina raised an eyebrow, amused.
"Finally. Something smart."
She turned, her voice drifting back like ash:
"Tomorrow. First light. The training fields.
Council will be watching. So don't be late."
She paused at the doorway.
"And Reymond?"
He looked up.
"Next time you hear a monster whisper,
remember—
truth doesn't beg."
She vanished.
The chamber fell quiet.
Only the soft, repeated whimpering of the creature remained.
But Reymond no longer looked at it.
His eyes were on the door.
His hands still shook,
but his heart had chosen where to stand.
Tomorrow, he'd stop chasing answers from shadows.
Tomorrow, he'd learn to kill them.