It wasn't even a fair comparison.
He had cultivated for two months.
Two.
In that short time, he had reached a realm the previous batch of disciples needed six months for — and he had trained combat skills alongside it. That wasn't normal talent. That was monstrous. And that was before his elemental affinity even really came into play — the thing that made Elder Kael wipe out witnesses in the first place.
But Mira didn't see any of that.
She didn't want to see any of that.
Her hatred had nowhere to go.
She couldn't touch Elder Kael.
Couldn't challenge the sect.
Couldn't even raise her head without risking a beating.
So the only direction left…
Was down.
At someone close enough to blame but too kind to retaliate.
"Enough."
Vaern's voice cracked the air like a whip.
Mira flinched, but she kept her eyes locked on Riven — desperate, wild, drowning in her own logic.
Vaern stepped forward, his shadow falling over both of them.
"That's enough," he growled. "Stop blaming him for your weakness."
Mira looked up sharply, lips trembling with rage.
"He—!"
"He," Vaern cut in, "was a child thrown into the same pit as you. He pointed you out because he thought it would help you. He didn't kill your brother. Elder Kael did. The sect did."
He jabbed a finger at her, voice growing sharper.
"And instead of cultivating, training, getting strong enough to face the real culprits — you chose the easiest target you could find."
Mira's breath shuddered. Her mouth opened, but no words came.
Vaern's eyes narrowed.
"You wanted revenge? Good."
His tone darkened.
"Then aim it somewhere that makes sense."
Silence fell.
A trembling passed down Mira's shoulders — her first real crack of doubt.
Vaern took a step closer.
"And don't think I don't know why you chose now," he said. "Because he didn't win the trial? No. You saw him fight. And you panicked. Because you knew that in another year? Two?"
His voice dropped low.
"You wouldn't even be able to approach him."
Mira's breath hitched again.
Tears collected at her lashes but didn't fall.
His palm clenched.
The air vibrated faintly around him.
He wasn't shouting.
But the anger was far worse for how quiet it was.
"You disgust me."
And then —
He moved.
A sharp crack of displaced air. No wind-up. No ceremony. Just a blur of motion and a dull, heavy impact like a drum struck underwater.
Vaern's hand pierced forward, striking Mira square in the chest.
Her breath left her in a single silent gasp.
For a moment she didn't fall.
She just stared — eyes wide, pupils shrinking, mouth opening as if to speak.
Then her body sagged.
Her knees buckled.
The bindings pulled taut.
Finally, she slumped sideways, only held in place by thread binding her.
No scream.
No cry.
Just silence.
A servant girl with dust on her knees, finally still.
Riven didn't move.
He thought he'd be horrified.
Angry.
Sick.
Something.
But all he felt was… quiet.
A deep, tired ache that had nothing to do with poison or wounds.
She'd wanted to kill him.
She blamed him for something he didn't do.
But he also knew her. Occassionally talked to her. Helped each other.
They hadn't been close, but they were familiar at least.
He stared at her still form.
At the faint line on her wrist from the bindings.
At the loose strands of hair across her cheek.
He swallowed.
Life is worth so little here.
"Don't," Vaern said quietly, "make that face."
Riven blinked.
He hadn't realized he was making any face at all.
"This is the Venomthread Sect," Vaern continued. "People kill servants for spilling tea. You think attempted murder gets a second chance?"
Riven didn't answer.
Vaern's tone sharpened.
"You've got to start assuming the worst of everyone. Even the ones who smile at you. ESPECIALLY them."
A muscle in Riven's jaw twitched.
"You're talented," Vaern said. "Too talented. That makes you a target whether you want it or not."
He pointed at Mira's body without looking down.
"This is your warning. And the last one you're getting for free."
Riven let the words sink in, heavy as wet cloth.
Vaern stepped back, giving him space.
"You get one day," he said finally. "Rest. Clear your head. Pick up your rewards tomorrow."
He paused at the garden path.
"Then come to my residence. Next to Master Kael's. I've got new training for you."
He vanished into the dim lantern light — no sound, no footsteps, just gone.
Riven stayed behind.
Alone with the corpse of a girl who hated him more than he ever knew.
He didn't know how long he stood there before moving.
Eventually, he knelt beside Mira, removing the bindings, sliding his hands beneath her shoulders and lifting her gently. Her body was light, frighteningly so. Too light for someone who had carried so much rage.
She just looked small.
Like a broken girl who lost too much and lashed out wrong.
But there was not much else to do now.
He just carried her.
To the far side of the garden. There was a small patch of earth behind the outer wall — quiet, secluded.
He dug with his hands.
No qi.
No tools.
He didn't want this to be easy.
But it was.
His body was strong and even limiting himself like this barely made a difference.
In a matter of minutes a small hole was formed.
When it was done and he set her down, he still didn't know what to feel.
Gotta cover up.
Shaking his head, he reached for the pile of dirt and began pushing it back into the grave. But partway through, a thought struck him.
Maybe… he should put something of hers in with her.
Something that meant something. Even if it was small.
With no hesitation, he turned and walked back to the house — feet silent against the stone, hands dusty, heart still quiet in his chest.
He made his way to the room he'd never stepped into before.
Mira's.
The door creaked softly as it opened. The air inside was faintly stale, still.
It was sparse.
Neat.
Too neat.
Blankets folded with a weird kind of precision.
A small hand mirror on the shelf.
A chipped ceramic cup that clearly didn't match the rest of the set in his kitchen.
A few hair ties, coiled with care.
Everything here was simple. Worn. Tired.
He stepped inside.
For a second, he just stood there, looking.
Then, carefully, he began sorting through the room — not to take anything, not really. Just to find something she might've cared about. Something to bury with her. He was hoping for a picture.
Maybe then he could put an image to him. Or even a name.
He opened the top drawer of the desk. Nothing.
A second drawer — loose string, a torn comb, a dried flower petal folded into a napkin.
He frowned.
There was something about that flower petal that seemed familiar.
As he pulled it closer he soon realized what it was.
The scent.
This flower had the same scent as whatever drugged him had.
Is this it?
He quickly put it down again, shutting the drawer.
Then he moved to the shelves. Shifted a few cups. Lifted the folded blanket at the end of the bed.
Still nothing personal. Nothing meaningful.
No letters.
No trinkets.
No sign of the brother she'd died over.
He crouched down near the storage trunk at the base of the bed and opened it slowly. Inside were neatly folded servant robes, each smoothed and pressed flat. Riven ran his fingers lightly across the cloth.
And then — between two robes near the bottom — something stiffer.
He pulled it out.
A small, neatly folded booklet, tied shut with thin hemp twine.
Different from the rest. Older. Its cover bore no title, but the parchment had the fragile stiffness of something read and reread many times.
Riven stared at it for a long moment.
Then untied the string.
Inside — lines of delicate script. Faint ink, precise strokes.
This?