Chapter 8: Hayeon

"I feel weird," I croaked, pulling my knees to my chest. My voice sounded dry, raw.

Revien paced across the room, his movements restless. He paused and looked at me, his expression uncertain. "That's normal," he said finally. "Most people don't wake up until two days after the ceremony. The fact that you're awake already means you're doing better than great."

I nodded and looked down at the silk sheets beneath me. The room fell quiet, but I could still feel his presence lingering. Revien eventually sat down on the bed beside me.

"What did you see?" he asked softly.

I bit my lip, hesitating. "I killed my father," I whispered. My voice trembled as I continued. "I tried to save my mother... but I couldn't."

Revien reached for my hand, his touch warm. It reminded me of my mother, and before I knew it, tears spilled down my cheeks. My lip quivered, and a sob escaped me.

Revien pulled me closer, letting my head rest against his chest. His hand patted my hair awkwardly, unsure but comforting in its own way. We stayed like that for what felt like forever, the silence broken only by my quiet cries.

The sound of the door opening made me lift my head. Standing there was the man who had flown with us on the plane. His long hair was tied back, the sides of his head shaved down to a buzz cut. He was tall and muscular, with a scar near his eyebrow. His skin was tanned, and his cold, sharp eyes scanned the room.

"Azail," the man called, his voice deep and authoritative.

Revien's expression darkened, and he glared at the man. "What does he want?"

"Your father would like to see you," the man replied curtly.

Revien hesitated before letting go of my hand. His fingers brushed my cheek briefly, almost tenderly, before he rose and left the room.

The man—Shavon, I remembered from before—turned his attention to me. His gaze wasn't lecherous, but something about the way he stared made me uncomfortable.

"My mother said staring is rude," I frowned.

Shavon blinked and looked away, his expression softening. He stepped further into the room, his eyes sweeping over the surroundings. "Are you feeling okay? Hungry?" he asked, his tone noticeably gentler than when he'd spoken to Revien.

"No, I'm not hungry," I replied quietly.

Shavon nodded, pulling his hands from behind his back.

"So... now I'm an assassin," I mumbled, unsure what else to say.

He shook his head. "No. Not yet."

"Then when?" I blurted out, frustrated.

"Once you've been properly trained and can handle yourself like one," he said simply.

I frowned, wiggling my toes in irritation. "Who's going to train me? That man—Mikha'il Ra Gul?" I mocked, imitating the reverent tone others used for his name.

Shavon's head snapped toward me, his expression instantly sharp. I shrank back under his intense glare, my defiance evaporating.

"First, you need to understand who that man is," Shavon said, his voice firm. "He is our leader. The one who made you, me, and everyone else here anew. Never speak his name lightly. You say it with respect."

I gulped and nodded quickly, my heart pounding.

Shavon stepped closer, towering over me. I tilted my head up to meet his gaze, feeling small under his scrutiny.

"I'll be the one training you," he continued. His tone softened slightly, though it remained serious. "The things you'll go through will be tough. They might break you. But if you endure, you'll come out stronger. And I'll be there to help you when you need it. You're under my care now."

He placed a heavy hand on my head, his touch unexpectedly gentle. Pausing at the door, he glanced back. "Training starts in two days."

As the door clicked shut, I touched my head where his hand had been and smiled faintly. Despite his cold demeanor, there was something kind about Shavon.

I flopped back onto the bed, dragging my arms through the silk sheets like I was making a snow angel.

This place felt like a blessing—maybe even a gift from my mother. I had a roof over my head, real food, and people who seemed to care. All I had to do was train and work hard.

I'd stolen, conned, and scavenged for scraps to survive. I'd slept in abandoned buildings, lost my mother, and endured the worst the world had to offer. How hard could training really be?

Two Days Later

The maids helped me dress before leading me to Shavon. I trailed after him, my eyes wide as I took in my surroundings. The hallway felt like a cement cave, lit only by flickering torches mounted on the walls.

Shavon pushed open a pair of thick metal doors, revealing what he called "the training room." Inside, weapons of every kind lined the walls, a bizarre obstacle course stretched across the floor, and other strange contraptions loomed in the corners.

"You're tiny for your age," Shavon muttered, glancing at me.

"I am not," I scowled, crossing my arms.

"How old are you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Ten," I huffed.

Shavon turned fully toward me, his expression unreadable. "It's fine. We'll fix that," he said, tapping a finger against his chin.

I frowned, not liking the sound of that.

"Let's start with endurance," he announced.

I tilted my head in confusion. "What's that?"

"R-U-N-N-I-N-G," he spelled out slowly, smirking.

"When you're on a mission, you'll need to run long distances without getting tired. So... start running."

I rolled my eyes but obeyed, darting across the room. Running wasn't new to me—I'd been running all my life, and I was good at it.

"Ha... please, I need a break," I gasped, collapsing to the floor after what felt like hours of nonstop running.

Shavon appeared above me, his face calm and unbothered. I groaned, realizing he wasn't going to let me rest.

The sound of the training room door opening made me lift my head. Revien stood there, hands on his hips.

"I'll be joining the training with Hayeon," he announced. His tone was casual, but his eyes burned with determination. "You don't mind, do you, Shavon?"