Chapter 4

As the arrogant woman and her entourage left me alone, I began searching for the owner of the piercing gaze directed at me. My eyes scanned like those of a hawk, seeking out the culprit.

There.

A man walking among the trainers noticed my movement. At first, all I saw was someone approaching me, dressed in dark clothing, his movements confident and determined. As he reached a close enough distance, he stopped and looked straight into my eyes.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. His voice was deep and cold, just like his eyes.

"I came for the training," I answered directly, trying not to show that his gaze had an unsettling effect on me.

"What kind of training?" he continued. "Not everyone belongs here. And you, for sure, are not someone who should be in this place." His voice was deep, raw, and unlike anything I had heard before.

His stare felt like it was burning me, scanning my face so intently as if trying to uncover a secret that existed only in my own mind. I could only see his poison-green eyes—the rest of his face was covered by a mask. But only his.

"So you do know where you are, don't you?" he added, pausing his steps for a moment. "Not everyone finds their place here. If you're not strong enough, you'll leave quickly. But if you want to stay, you'll have to prove yourself."

I didn't answer; I just looked at the man. I knew why I was here. I knew that in the coming weeks, I would do everything to show what I was truly capable of.

And as I observed him, something told me he wasn't the kind of person who would allow anyone to pass through the obstacles set before them so easily.

He cast one last deep glance at me before turning and walking off toward the trainers.

The cold sensation on the back of my neck faded for a moment, but something told me this man was no coincidence. I had the feeling that the real challenges were only just beginning.

Since no one paid attention to me after I was brought here, I adapted to the situation, quietly slipping through the massive double doors, ignoring the occasional curious glances thrown my way.

"Avarka Rozinay!" a deep female voice rang out. "My first command: do not wander around as if you're on a group excursion! Follow me!"

"I apologize!" Though it was difficult to get used to the fact that politeness wasn't exactly a trend here, I tried to remain respectful. I had chosen to come here, so I needed to adapt.

"Come!"

With that, she set off with determined steps, and I hurried to keep pace with her.

The hallways were long and somewhat oppressive—not a surprising turn of events. The walls were covered in gray stone, illuminated by modern, cold-toned lights. Our footsteps echoed in a steady rhythm, as if the very walls were listening to our every move.

We arrived at a massive double door. The woman firmly pressed down on the old metal handle.

As we stepped inside, an overwhelming cacophony hit my ears. The room was enormous, the ceiling so high that it was difficult to make out its details. Long tables stretched across the space, surrounded by chairs occupied by dark-clad figures—some sitting in orderly fashion, others more chaotically.

Some ate in silence, while others spoke loudly or joked with one another, yet the whole scene had an inexplicable order to it. As if the chaos itself operated by some unspoken rules.

I noticed a few people glance at me briefly before returning to their meals or conversations. Perhaps they had already heard of me. Or maybe they just saw me as another outsider who had no idea what they had gotten themselves into. Either way, it was best if I remained in the background for now.

The woman did not stop; she cast a glance at me and then continued forward. I followed as she led me through the hall and into another corridor through a different door. As we walked, she stated dryly:

"Breakfast is at six every morning, lunch is at one, and dinner is at seven. Do not be late!"

With that, we continued on, and I slowly began to grasp just how vast this building truly was. We crossed long corridors, doors opened to the right and left, each hiding a separate world within. In the training rooms, guardian angels were exercising—lifting weights, practicing combat moves, testing weapons, or sparring with each other. The scent of sweat and concentration filled the spaces as we passed by.

The library was enormous, its walls lined with endless shelves packed with old volumes and modern folders filled with notes. A few figures sat quietly reading at tables, while others were hunched over papers, as if immersing themselves in some mysterious knowledge.

Finally, we arrived at another door. The woman stopped, scanned me once more, then pressed down on the handle and entered.

Inside, an entirely different world awaited me. The room exuded a rustic atmosphere, blended with modern elements. The bed was made of solid wood, yet it was arranged with military precision, as if every inch of the space adhered to strict regulations—but that description applied to everything here. The elegance of the angels and the survival instincts of humans were seamlessly woven into every detail.

I walked over to the window and looked out. The view was breathtaking: in the distance, atop the enormous mountain, stood the royal castle. But even its appearance was no longer what one would expect. It retained its regal charm, a location so stunning that it almost felt like I should immediately go there, find a prince, and dance with him—yet the perpetual army surrounding it made it resemble a prison instead. Cold, rigid, as if it had been transported here from another world.

For a moment, my heart clenched—was I truly ready for this place? It was heartbreaking to experience this reality up close. We had always lived in a world where norms were no longer defined, where one could never be sure where the boundaries lay or how far the human mind was capable of going. But the fact that we had not only crossed into the existence of other entities but had completely shattered those boundaries—that was truly an achievement like no other.

I tried to see it as though the existence of the guardians was a path to correcting our mistakes. A responsibility we had to bear once the damage had already been done. If every angel was even a little bit as selfless and inherently good as Clara, John, and Elis, then fighting for this cause would already be worth it among the countless struggles and battles of the world.

"Well, that's all you needed to see," the woman cleared her throat, breaking the silence. Her gaze swept across the room, as if she was checking one last time that everything was in order.

"Don't let the rustic look deceive you," she continued firmly. "We have a modern system."

She held out a clipped access card.

"This is your entry card," she lifted it slightly. "With this, you can enter and exit everywhere. The doors only open for those who have permission. You don't need to type in codes; just touch this to the right spot."

As she handed me the card, she continued explaining:

"Despite serving a higher power, we are not outdated. We operate with the most advanced technology, and once a week, you may leave the city. If you wish, you can visit other areas of Switzerland, but you must return within a specified time. This place functions like a workplace. There are rules and systems that must be followed."

She paused for a moment before continuing:

"Of course, you may interact with people, but you must not say a single word about what happens here."

Her voice had been neutral until now, but something in it changed at that moment. It became colder, sharper.

"Your presence here is bound by strict laws. Every single resident takes a vow of silence. Even the smallest word that so much as hints at angels or our city carries a death penalty. A modern one, of course," she added icily, "but a death penalty nonetheless."

She stared deeply into my eyes. She did not explicitly threaten me, but the weight of her words pressed down on me.

"Clara may be your adoptive mother, and perhaps because of that, the leadership will be somewhat more lenient with you—but don't get too comfortable. No one here is exempt from the laws. If you break them, the punishment will be the same as for anyone else."

She gave me one final, cool glance, then turned. As she stepped toward the door, she spoke once more, this time without looking back:

"Dinner is happening right now—it lasts for another half hour. Don't be late!"

Then she stepped out the door and disappeared down the hallway.

Knowing I didn't have much time before dinner, I didn't waste any. On the bed, a form-fitting, long black jumpsuit had already been laid out for me. The material was flexible, fitting my figure perfectly, and as I examined myself in the mirror, I felt that the outfit didn't just suit me—it somehow reflected my personality as well. Somber, simple, but resolute.

With a single motion, I tied my hair into a tight ponytail to keep it out of my way. It was more practical this way, and it somehow matched my current mood better.

I took a deep breath and set off toward the dining hall.

My navigation skills were still far from the best, but the increasing noise and the presence of the guards helped me find my way. As I stepped into the massive hall, the buzz of the crowd immediately hit me. Everyone was lost in their own world—talking, arguing, laughing—exactly as they had been ten minutes ago.

I didn't want to draw attention to myself, so I quietly searched for a more secluded spot, sat down, and began eating.

I had barely taken my first bite when someone dropped into the seat beside me with a forceful motion. I didn't even need to look up to sense their energy—confident, raw, and challenging. Was everyone here always this tense and reserved?

Slowly, I lifted my gaze and saw a small group towering over me. The girl sitting next to me had short, dark hair, sharp features, and eyes that flashed with hostility. A small, mocking smile played at the corner of her lips.

"Who the hell are you?" she asked, her voice cutting through the noise of the room.

I tried to ignore the blatant provocation and return to my meal, but before I could take another bite, she spoke again.

"What's wrong? Don't you have a name?" she raised an eyebrow. "Just because you put on the suit doesn't give you the right to ignore me."

Right. Staying composed at times like this was difficult, but Clara had taught me that the one who wins is the one who refuses to stoop to a certain level of behavior.

"I do. Avarka." I finally spoke, striving to maintain my composure while forcing a faint smile onto my lips.

It was ridiculously hard to always be nice, but I had to control myself if I wanted to fit in. These kinds of initial taunts could happen anywhere.

The girl beside me let out a mocking chuckle.

"Oh, so she does have a name!" she said theatrically before turning to her group. "Isn't that adorable?"

The whole situation clearly amused her.

The boy sitting next to me, who had been quietly observing until now, leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, and grinned as he spoke:

"I know who she is. I saw her being brought into the city. Pretty interesting story…" he said to the others, glancing at me. "I'll tell you about it later. It's pretty pathetic…" he added, a half-smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

I felt the tension slowly building up in my chest. For a while, I said nothing, just twirling my fork between my fingers, trying to ignore them. The group chuckled quietly, clearly enjoying the situation.

"So?" the girl asked again, tilting her head to the side. "Aren't you going to tell us yourself how you ended up here? Or is it a secret?"

The others' laughter died down to a quiet giggle as they waited for my reaction.

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes for a moment to swallow my anger. Then, slowly, I lifted my gaze to them.

"If someone doesn't meet my basic level of communication, I don't feel the need to talk to them," I said, my voice calm but firm. "So, if you don't mind, could you move away?"

The figures seated around the table exchanged glances, but of course, no one moved. If anything, they seemed to inch even closer to me.

Before anyone could make another remark, a loud bang sliced through the air. The table trembled as a strong hand slammed down onto it.

A figure dressed in dark clothing stood there, arms crossed, face stern. The group around me fell silent for a moment. But he wasn't the one I had to worry about.

Behind him, a familiar figure emerged.

Blonde hair, cold, sea-blue eyes. The same man who had been at the stairs when my suitcase had spilled open. The one who had made that cynical remark about how my belongings didn't belong scattered everywhere.

Of course, he was the only one missing from my already unwelcome dinner company.

But at least my intuition had been right—I hadn't seen the last of him back then.

Now, he looked at me with the same icy expression before slowly opening his mouth.

"So, do you feel like kicking my ass?" he asked, and though his voice was entirely serious, a barely noticeable smirk played at the corner of his lips.

For a brief moment, silence settled around the table as I spoke:

"It was Elis wish, not mine," I tried to respond firmly, but I felt a hint of restraint behind my words. It wasn't fear—more like cautious restraint.

I was wary of the situation, wary of the man, because I knew how easy it was to lose balance in moments like these. Maintaining that thin line between determination and anger had always been a challenge for me, and here, in this unfamiliar world, I couldn't afford to lose control.

For a moment, the silence weighed heavily on us. Then, the blonde man finally spoke, his gaze sweeping over those around me:

"You lot, get lost. Go back to your seats, or better yet, go run a few laps at the training ground before bed."

The others obeyed, albeit reluctantly. The dark-haired girl glanced at me once more before patting my shoulder and whispering softly in my ear:

"By the way, sorry, I was just messing with you a little. But be careful with the general—one wrong move, and you might not walk away."

There was no cynicism or malice in her words, only a genuine warning that made my throat dry and my heart pound harder in my chest.

As the girl left, the blonde man looked at me again. For a moment, I thought he had been bluffing when he had challenged me earlier, but now I saw that spark of determination in his eyes that shattered any doubt.

"Get yourself together," he said coldly. "Now come with me to the outer garden so I can assess what you're capable of."

The lump in my throat grew larger, but I didn't let it show. As I stood up and followed him down the hallway, I played out at least fifty different ways in my mind that he could finish me off.

I knew I had to fight. Against an opponent who was nearly two meters tall, eight times stronger and more skilled than me.

I had never been weak or timid. There had always been a strong energy raging inside me, and through years of training, I had learned how to harness it. Clara and Joan had prepared me for every possible situation, especially when it came to martial arts. I had learned how to defend, attack, and apply strategies. I wasn't someone who could be easily defeated.

Yet doubts gnawed at me.

Was I ready to face someone who wasn't just trained in defense but had built his entire life around fighting?

The motion-sensor lights flickered coldly as we silently followed each other down the corridor. The blonde man walked ahead with determined strides, never sparing me a glance.

As we stepped into the garden, and the cold air slapped against my face, one thing became clear: there were no rules here like back home.

Although it was a structured institution, it had already become obvious to me that people here lived at their own pace. No lights-out, no mandatory rest periods.

If someone wanted to train, they could do so even in the middle of the night.

So if a general felt like beating an inexperienced recruit to a pulp just because her friend had a big mouth, he could do so without restrictions.

The man stopped in a clearing, finally lifting his gaze to meet mine, his cold blue eyes gleaming with challenge.

"So? Feel like kicking my ass?" he asked again, his voice icy calm as he stood perfectly straight, his arms clasped behind his back, as if waiting for me to make the first move.

I had no choice. I had to fight—not just him, but my own fears as well.

Summoning all my courage, I took an attacking step toward him, but the moment my boot touched the ground, I found myself flat on my back.

His movement was so fast that I didn't even register it.

His elbow slammed into my chest like a nail being driven into wood, pinning me down with an inexplicable force. He stared into my eyes as I struggled to escape his grip, but it felt impossible.

It was as if his strength was crushing me, his elbow pressing through my heart, splitting it in two.

My breathing turned ragged, but I couldn't give up so easily.

Sweating, I thrashed, screaming inwardly, gathering all my strength to push him off me.

I couldn't afford to be this weak.

I couldn't show that I had barely arrived and was already failing.

At this rate, I wouldn't even be fit to carry weapons.

I clenched my teeth and gripped the blades of grass with all my strength, as if they could help me find a hold in this situation. I inhaled the scent of daffodils deeply, trying to think as clearly as possible. Although my energy sometimes wanes, one thing never changes in me: my positivity. I have always been able to find the path most favorable to me, even in the most hopeless situations.

I tried to gather all my courage and make an attacking move toward him. But the moment the sole of my boot touched the ground, I lost my balance in an instant. The next second, I was already on the ground, pressing my arm against my chest as his elbow pinned me down, as if an enormous weight was crushing me.

He looked into my eyes, and in his gaze, I saw neither anger nor mercy—just pure dominance. I tried to break free from his grip, but the strength with which he held me felt as though it was breaking through my bones, reaching my heart, as if he wanted to suffocate me—or perhaps even more…

I cannot remain this weak. I cannot show that I have barely arrived here and I am already useless. My hands clenched the earth, my fingers grasping the cold blades of grass as I took a deep breath. The scent of daffodils filled my nose, and this small sensation gave me a strange kind of strength.

I cannot give up.

My mind took control over my body, as if I were moving a puppet. With a determined, swift motion, I jerked my knee up, hitting directly under his jaw. It wasn't a strong blow, but it was enough to surprise him for a brief moment, and that moment was all I needed. I slipped out of his grasp, and before I was completely free, I struck his back with a quick, forceful move, then his groin.

The crowd, which had been watching from the windows with amused chuckles, suddenly fell silent. As if everyone was waiting to see what would happen next.

The man slowly lifted his head and looked at me. His eyes were no longer just cold—there was something else lurking in them. Something that warned me in advance of what was about to happen in the next few seconds.

Before I could react, he swept my legs out from under me with such force that, for a moment, I felt as though I had not only lost my footing but reality itself. I didn't feel the weight of my fall. I didn't feel the ground. Only the deep, icy swiftness with which he had undone me in a single move.

When I finally hit the ground, my ankle twisted, and a sharp pain shot through it immediately. It went numb almost instantly, but I could tell something was wrong.

The blonde man loomed over me, blocking the moonlight, with a faint, mocking smirk at the corner of his mouth.

"Unfair attacks are acceptable in a robbery or a life-or-death fight," he said quietly but firmly. "In a fair fight, however, they are a sign of weakness and an unacceptable action."

He slowly shook his head and looked down at me as if I were nothing more than a pitiful mess at his feet.

"I wouldn't even call what you did a fight. And even then, you chose the most miserable way to go about it," he continued coldly. "A warrior never runs."

With that, he kicked my leg aside, making me wince in pain, but he didn't even glance at me again. He simply turned and walked toward the exit, accompanied by several men dressed in black.

And I was left there, lying on the ground, shame and anger burning in my chest.

I didn't know what to feel more—the pain in my ankle, or the deep, gut-wrenching feeling of being treated as nothing.

A hand reached down toward me.

It was the black-haired girl who had laughed at me earlier.

"Are you okay?" she asked, and though her voice wasn't exactly kind, there was no mockery in it this time.

Before I could answer, the others gathered around me, and before I could protest, they had already helped me up from the ground.

"Well, at least you tried," someone remarked as the group practically carried me to the door.

By the time I somehow limped my way to my room, my body felt heavier than ever. I gripped the frame of my bed for support and made my way to the window, finally settling on the cushioned ledge.

I let out a deep sigh.

That sigh carried everything.

My pain.

My suffering.

My joy of life.

Every single moment of the past hours.

A whole life's story in a single breath.