Chapter 56

A few minutes pass, and Eska has stopped trying to help.

She wants to, but she mostly gets in the way. Every time she reaches for something, someone else is faster.

Every time she moves to assist, someone redirects her elsewhere. Eventually, she gives up, standing near the edge of the infirmary, watching.

That's when she notices her.

Lenna moves through the space much like Eska had—trying to help, trying to do something, but only getting in the way.

She reaches for a bundle of bandages, only for a medic to take them from her hands. She kneels beside a wounded hunter, only to be waved off by someone more experienced.

Then, she stops.

Her gaze shifts around the infirmary, uncertain, her shoulders tight. It's not just that she doesn't quite belong—it's that no one wants her there.

The way people move past her, the way they don't meet her eyes, the way they leave space where there shouldn't be any.

Eska watches, something nagging at her. Curiosity, yes. But also something else—something worrying.

She steps forward, hesitating for only a second before gently tapping Lenna's shoulder.

"A-Are you alright?"

Lenna flinches. Not out of surprise, but fear.

Before she even registers who it is, her foot steps back, instinctively putting space between herself and the unknown presence.

Then, her head snaps toward Eska, eyes wide for just a moment before her expression shifts.

They stand there, silence stretching between them. Eska tilts her head, waiting. Lenna stares at her, and after a long, heavy pause, her shoulders slump, like something inside her has given up.

"What do you want?" she mutters, voice flat.

Eska doesn't answer immediately. She just looks at her, the same curious concern still in her gaze. Then, she repeats, softer this time—

"Are you alright?"

Lenna furrows her brows, confusion flickering across her face. Her mouth opens, the start of an answer forming—

"I—"

But she stops. Her jaw tightens. She turns away, taking a single step before pausing again.

"…I'm fine," she says, her voice quieter.

This time, she actually walks away.

***

Lenna walks through the streets, quieter now, emptied by the pull of duty as most tend to the wounded in the infirmary. She moves slowly toward the cathedral.

She isn't in pain. She isn't exhausted. But her shoulders curl inward, drawn forward as if trying to make herself smaller. Her fingers fidget at her chest, picking at the seams of her gloves, pressing against each other in a restless rhythm.

Those who notice her whisper but do nothing else.

They always do.

Ever since she was a child, she's heard them. The daughter of two paladins. The one who can't do anything right. She tells herself it doesn't matter. That she's used to it. That it's just noise.

But the truth is, it's always bothered her. Ever since she met Valen, and people started comparing them.

She reaches the cathedral and her posture straightens a bit.

Here, there are no whispers. No prying eyes. No judgment. Everyone is too preoccupied with their prayers to Nakisk to notice her.

And that's why she finds solace in this place—not because of devotion, not out of some need to prove herself but because here, she is left alone.

She steps into the elevator, feeling the familiar descent pull at her stomach. The further down she goes, the tighter her chest feels. The expectancy. The weight of what comes next.

Reaching the lower floor, she moves through the quiet hallways, each step measured, until she stops before a door. She raises her hand, hesitates for just a moment, then knocks.

"Come in," a woman replies from inside.

Lenna exhales sharply and pushes the door open, stepping in before closing it behind her.

Athos sits on a sofa, a book in his hands. Even while reading, his cyan eyes are sharp, intense, like they see through the pages, through everything.

Behind him, a woman stands by the bookshelf, mirroring his presence in more ways than one.

Just as built, just as composed, clad in the same paladin uniform. She is tall—just as tall as Valen. Her brown hair is tied neatly into a ponytail, her brown eyes scanning the text in front of her.

Lenna doesn't move further. She stands just inside the doorway, shoulders squared but her hands clenching at her sides.

Waiting.

Italia's eyes shift toward Lenna, sharp and unwavering. "What are you doing there? Get inside and give your report already."

Lenna steps forward, closing the door behind her. Her thoughts churn—Where do I begin? What do I tell them? The weight of failure already presses against her chest, her pulse quickening as she hesitates.

She notices too late—Italia is already moving.

The slap lands hard against her cheek, sharp and precise. She doesn't stumble, but her head turns with it. Instinct takes over before she can think.

"I'm sorry!" The words slip out instantly, her eyes squeezing shut.

"Your report, girl!" The woman's voice cuts through the air.

"Yes mo—" The second slap comes just as fast, striking the other side of her face.

"At the cathedral, you call me by my name, Lenna," Italia corrects. Her tone is controlled. Lenna never sees her expression. Ever.

"Yes, Italia," she replies quickly, forcing her voice steady. She swallows hard before speaking again.

"I gave Cole the order to take Es—the heretic—to the nest. But…" She can feel the glare on her, her breath catching. She flinches instinctively but, when nothing follows, she forces herself to continue. "But she survived. She fought the Queen with Valen and lived. They even defeated it."

Italia exhales sharply and turns away.

Lenna's shoulders ease—just slightly—as her mother walks further into the room.

"I knew I should have gone myself," Italia mutters, more to herself than anyone else. "I keep thinking I can trust my own daughter to deal with important matters, but it never pans out. Do you have any idea how hard it is to steer an entire Thaxil nest to a specific location? In that amount of time? All that effort wasted."

Lenna's breath stills.

Then, Athos speaks, his deep voice cutting through her like steel.

"Leave, Lenna. Had Valen not been assigned to the heretic, it would have already been taken care of."

The comparison slams into her like a punch to the gut. She flinches, fingers tightening at her sides, but says nothing.

Without another word, she turns and quickly makes her way out of the room, her face burning, her steps light, as if the ground itself might break beneath her.

Lenna walks briskly, putting as much distance between herself and the room as possible. Her breaths are uneven, her chest tight, but she refuses to stop—not here, not where they might see.

A few tears slip down her cheeks before she can stop them. She wipes them away quickly, almost angrily, her fingers pressing hard against her skin as if trying to erase the feeling entirely.

She makes her way up to the praying room.

The cathedral is quiet, the usual hum of prayer filling the halls. She moves toward the benches where people kneel in silent devotion, their whispered prayers rising toward Nakisk.

She sits at an empty bench. Alone.

Her frown deepens, her fingers curling into fists on her lap as she forces herself to hold back the tears threatening to spill again.

If she had succeeded, would they be happy? Or would they just find another excuse to reprimand her? Would there ever be a version of herself they would accept?

Her mind spirals, grasping for something solid. Then, without meaning to, her thoughts drift back—to Eska.

Eska, standing in the infirmary, looking at her—not with mockery, not with disdain, but with legitimate concern.

Are you alright?

She had seemed genuine. Not like the others, not like someone pretending. Lenna presses her knuckles against her lips, staring blankly ahead.

Why did I walk away?

She doesn't know.

Her mother and father had told her what Eska was. A heretic. An enemy. A mistake.

But sitting here, isolated in the one place where no one would bother her, she wonders—

Is she really as bad as they say?

Or does the church simply need her to be?

…But isn't she also a mistake?

Isn't that what they've always told her? The daughter who never measures up. The one who fails, who hesitates, who disappoints.

Her fingers dig into her palms as the thought settles deep. If Eska is only a heretic because the church says so… then what does that make her?