She woke to Vickers’ hand on her back and a desperate thirst.

  “Water.” The word scraped out.

  “Water’s coming. Focus on breathing.”

  Alessia shook her head. “Something’s wrong.”

  Master Vickers pressed two fingers to Alessia’s wrist. “Strong pulse. That’s good.” She released Alessia’s hand. “The thirst will pass, it’s normal after the Trial.”

  “Nothing about this is normal.”

  Vickers hesitated. “The thirst is normal. But we don’t know what else to expect. Not with you.”

  Varian appeared in the doorway, water container in hand. His eyes fixed on Alessia and he nearly dropped it. “You’re actually alive.”

  Konrad stood frozen behind him. “I didn’t believe Master Tormund.”

  “Water. Now,” Vickers said, “Konrad, your cloak.”

  Alessia’s hands shook as she gripped the container. The water went down in desperate gulps.

  Konrad draped his cloak around her shoulders, then looked at her face and flinched. “What happened to your eyes?”

  Vickers went very still. She leaned closer, studying Alessia’s face. Her breath caught.

  “Speak up,” Alessia rasped between drinks. “I can barely hear you.”

  Silence.

  Konrad cleared his throat. “We’re not being quiet. I think something happened to your hearing.”

  Alessia touched her ear. “What about my eyes? What’s wrong with them?”

  Master Vickers’ voice was unsteady. “They’re not black like theirs. They’re silver.” She paused. “I’ve never seen or read about anything like it.”

  “What does that mean?” Alessia’s hand trembled against her eyelid. “What’s happening to me?”

  “I don’t know. We’re in uncharted territory.”

  “You’re a Huntress now,” Varian said quietly. “First woman to survive the Trial. But that means you’ve got the same thing we do living in your head.”

  Heavy footsteps echoed from down the corridor. Master Tormund filled the doorway, Scribe Willem behind him. Both stopped when they saw her upright.

  Willem studied her from where he stood. “Silver eyes. I’ve never seen anything but black.”

  “There’s something else,” Alessia said. “I can barely hear any of you.”

  Willem frowned. “That shouldn’t happen. The Trial enhances senses, it doesn’t diminish them.” He turned to Tormund, troubled. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

  “Has she changed?” Tormund asked carefully. “Did the Trial complete?”

  “She’s a Huntress,” Willem confirmed. “The first woman to ever survive. But beyond that, everything about her condition is unknown.”

  Alessia broke the silence. “I can feel it. Something moving behind my thoughts. Watching.”

  “She has all the signs,” Willem said to Tormund. “The Presence. She’s one of us.”

  “Can you stand?” Vickers asked.

  Alessia pushed herself up, legs shaking. “I think so.”

  “Perhaps we should wait until morning—”

  “No,” Alessia replied. “This is nothing compared to what I’ve endured. I want my ceremony now.”

  Vickers glanced at Tormund. Something passed between them.

  “I’ll get Vithorkin,” Vickers said quietly.

  “What’s Vithorkin?” Varian asked.

  “Something that hasn’t been used in over a century,” Willem said.

  “It belongs to a Sister,” Tormund added.

  Willem studied Alessia’s silver eyes. “If not her, then who?”

  Something cold moved in Alessia’s chest when she thought of what came next. The medallion she’d dreamed of. Damian should be here. The Presence inside her stirred, feeding on the thought.

  “Assemble in the main hall,” Scribe Willem said. “Allow our Sister a moment to dress.”

  “Perhaps she’s not ready—” Vickers began.

  “I’m ready.” Alessia wiped her eyes. “I just need a moment.”

  They filed out, leaving her alone with her clothes and the weight in her chest.

  This was supposed to be a triumph. She’d imagined this moment a thousand times. Receiving her cloak, standing among the Hunters, finally belonging. But all those fantasies had included Damian’s smile, his quiet pride. Without him here to see it, the victory felt hollow, like she’d won a prize without an audience.

  The worst part wasn’t just his absence. It was that she’d caused it.

  Something stirred beneath her ribs when she thought of Damian’s death, not just grief this time, but anger. The thing inside her had fed on the moments, grown stronger from her pain. She pressed her palm against her chest, feeling for the boundary between herself and it. Where did Alessia end and the Presence begin?

  Calm. Calm. Breathe. I acknowledge you, parasite, but I refuse to feed you.

  She pulled the tunic over her head, but the fabric felt wrong against her skin. Too rough, too heavy. Everything seemed amplified now, as if the Trial had stripped away a protective layer between her and the world. The simple act of dressing made her wonder if anything would feel normal again. She couldn’t tell where her changed senses ended and her trauma began.

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  She took a final steadying breath and moved toward the staircase. Each step upward felt deliberate, measured. Not the eager climb she’d imagined in all those fantasies, but the careful ascent of someone carrying invisible weight.

  The main hall felt too quiet. Alessia remembered it filled with all those voices. Arguments, laughter, steel on steel. Now only three of them remained, and the silence made the space feel like a tomb.

  Her footsteps echoed as she entered.

  Scribe Willem held a Hunter’s cloak, the fabric catching torchlight. Master Tormund stood beside him, the silver hawk medallion in his palm. Neither had noticed her yet.

  Konrad and Varian stood apart from the Masters. When they saw her, their whispers fell silent. Konrad met her silver eyes and bowed deeply, the gesture carrying genuine reverence. Varian followed, his bow stripped of theatrics.

  “Huntress,” Scribe Willem said, bowing his head. “Welcome home.”

  Tormund bowed. “The first. Come, kneel.”

  Alessia knelt on cold stone.

  Master Vickers entered carrying an elongated rosewood box. Her footsteps seemed unnaturally loud.

  Willem stepped forward, his weathered hands lifting the cloak. “Sister Alessia. For four hundred and twenty-seven years, no woman has worn the Hunter’s cloak. Today, you shatter that silence.” He draped it across her shoulders. “Wear what no woman has worn.”

  The weight surprised her, not heavy, but substantial. The outer fabric was coarse against her neck, designed for weather and battle. The inner lining was silk-smooth. She felt the presence of all who had tried before her. Every Sister whose name in the Book of Names ended with the same notation: Did Not Pass Trial.

  She was wearing their unfulfilled dreams.

  Master Tormund took Willem’s place. “Dear Sister. It is my privilege to present you with what once was Damian’s.” The silver hawk caught the torchlight. For a moment, Alessia could swear she saw blood on its blade-like wings. “I give this to you without hesitation. Do you accept this gift, knowing fully its weight and burden?”

  The tears came instantly. “I do,” she choked. “Even though I’m the reason he’s not here to wear it.”

  Silence.

  Her Brothers looked down. Vickers stood frozen, her usual comfort nowhere to be found. Tormund studied her, unsure.

  It was the truth. She wouldn’t pretend otherwise.

  Konrad finally looked up. “He would have wanted you to have it. Damian always said you deserved the Trial more than any of us.”

  Alessia straightened, wiping her eyes, and looked directly at Tormund. “I’ll carry the weight of what I did. But I won’t let his death stop me from becoming what he wanted to be.”

  Tormund lifted the medallion over her head. The silver hawk was heavier than she’d expected, the chain cold against her skin. For a moment she smelled copper. His blood, still there.

  “Then rise for him,” Tormund said. “As Huntress.”

  Alessia stood. The cloak settled on her shoulders. The medallion rested over her heart. She felt whole for the first time since emerging from the Trial. Not healed, but complete.

  “One final thing.” Vickers stepped forward as Willem opened the rosewood case she carried. A silver rapier rested inside on dark velvet, its pommel set with a ruby. “This is Vithorkin. Phantom Ophelia carried this blade for years before her death. The Dark Elves forged it in the Whisperways for her service to their people.”

  Vickers lifted the blade. Torchlight caught both the silver steel and Alessia’s eyes.

  “Look how they match,” Vickers murmured. “Silver calling to silver.”

  “Phantom Ophelia earned this blade by walking between light and dark,” Willem said. “Now a silver-eyed Huntress takes up her burden.”

  Alessia accepted the rapier. The weight was perfect, the balance flawless. Unfamiliar script ran the length of the blade. A crescent moon was crafted into the hand guard.

  “What does the script say?” she asked.

  “Silver Sister,” Willem translated. “Be guided through twilight. Be grounded through the presence of your enemies.” He paused. “At least that’s how the Dark Elves explained it to Phantom Ophelia, according to the records.”

  “Silver Sister,” Alessia whispered, turning the blade. It felt alive in her hands.

  Vickers studied her face. “Your hearing, your eyes. We need to understand what the Trial did before you can take assignments.”

  “I can still fight.”

  “Of that, I have no doubt,” Willem said. “The issue becomes how the Presence affects you.”

  “Hunts aren’t the concern now,” Tormund said, looking from Konrad to Varian to Alessia. “Now comes the Trial of Adjustment. Learning to live with and control the Presence. Once I’m satisfied you can manage it, we’ll discuss assignments.”

  “How long does that take?” Konrad asked.

  “Usually a few months,” Tormund said. “Master Reynauld’s next wave of children should arrive before your assignments.”

  The next wave. Desperate twelve-year-olds trying to escape starvation. Most would die in the Trial. Alessia hoped she’d be gone before they arrived.

  “Blessed relief,” Varian said, placing a hand over his chest. “My heart cannot bear more sorrow. Let the werewolves and corpse ghouls wait their turn.”

  “I’m ready to leave Last Pass,” Konrad said quietly. “This place is full of ghosts now.”

  “Trinovia is a big place, Brother,” Master Tormund replied. “There will be plenty of Hunts in the future, especially now that…” He trailed off. “A problem for another time.”

  War meant corpse ghouls, Alessia realized. Lots of them. The thought made her stomach tighten.

  Varian cleared his throat. “May I hold it, Sister?” His eyes fixed on the blade with unmistakable longing.

  She offered him the pommel. He examined every inch with reverence.

  “That’s it then,” Master Tormund said. “The Order’s first Huntress.”

  “No.” Scribe Willem shook his head. “Sister Alessia has done something unprecedented. Like Phantom Ophelia before her, she deserves an epithet.”

  Master Vickers nodded. “A fitting close to the ceremony. But what should it be?”

  “Normally the Brothers would decide, but this situation has no precedent. Perhaps we all should weigh in,” Scribe Willem suggested.

  “Silver-eyed Alessia,” Konrad suggested.

  The main hall fell silent as everyone considered his words.

  “No.” Varian studied the blade, seeing his own black eyes reflected in the steel. “We’re all marked by darkness. But she…” He looked at Alessia. “Silver cuts through shadow. That’s what she is. Silver Sister Alessia.”

  Master Vickers stepped forward and knelt. “Silver Sister Alessia.”

  “I’ve watched you endure. Persevere. In this hall for years, but now I see who you really are. Silver Sister Alessia,” Konrad said, bowing.

  Master Tormund placed a hand over his heart. “Silver Sister.” The simple words carried more weight than any speech.

  Varian knelt last, returning the blade. “Silver Sister. I’m honored to stand in your presence.”

  “I still can’t believe my eyes, over a century now since the last female attempted,” Scribe Willem murmured. “I assumed the legacy ended with Phantom Ophelia.” He bowed lower than she thought possible. “The Book shall remember this day. Silver Sister Alessia walks among us as the first Huntress.”

  The words hung between the fluttering hawk banners in the torchlit silence. After years of preparation, she had earned her place.

  They departed slowly, giving her final looks. Their footsteps echoed away.

  Alessia stood alone.

  She touched the medallion. “I did it, Damian.”

  The Presence stirred. A reminder that her victory was incomplete. She would carry this thing for the rest of her life. Learning to control it. Prevent it from consuming her the way it had consumed so many others.

  But tonight, in this moment, she allowed herself one clean feeling: pride.

  She was Silver Sister Alessia.

  She had survived. And tomorrow, she would learn to live with what that meant.