Hunger gnawed at Rhen's stomach, leaving her feeling weak and woozy. She could barely even manage to stand, the dizziness of hunger making it difficult for her to focus on anything else when she awoke. When she reached the bedside table, it took her a moment of staring at the bare surface for Rhen to realize that there were no chores listed for her today. Either Rona forgot, or she'd decided to have mercy on Rhen today because of Lars leaving – Rhen was willing to bet it was the former.

At least with Lars gone, only Rona would be terrorizing her, but nothing could be said for Ylitta and Hector... But without Lars around, Rhen doubted they would be entertained by bothering her for very long.

Once again steeling herself for Rona's screaming, Rhen was surprised when nothing came as she entered the living room. Instead, Rona was in a full-blown panic, too absorbed in whatever issue she had to immediately notice Rhen.

"Oh, dear, where is Lars? The emissaries will be here any minute!" Though Rona's shrill voice was normally laced with disdain and disgust for Rhen, this time, there was genuine fear in her tone. Rona started to push Rhen towards the door, ordering her to "Don't just stand there; go and get my son, you worthless slave!"

...Well, at least Rhen wouldn't have to spend any more time with the woman than she had to. She immediately set out for the town square, figuring that was her best bet to find Lars. Even before she entered the square, she could hear Lars's cruel laughter before she saw him.

"What do you think you're doing, Lars?" Rhen demanded as she stomped over, hardly even noticing the young slave boy who ran away when she approached. She was cranky and honestly, she was still angry with Lars over the way he'd treated her yesterday.

"Who's going to stop me? You?" Lars retorted, repeating his words from the other day as he shoved her to the ground.

The anger Rhen was already feeling flared up, her blood roaring in her ears again. Who was he, deciding that he could flaunt his power just because the slaves couldn't fight back? Terlin was right – even a slave deserved more respect than this! She grabbed the nearest thing she could feel – a respectably-sized stick, in this case – and thrust it at Lars...

Only for a loud crack of lightning to jump from the stick to him, causing his cabbage-green hair to stand up on end, along with an acrid burning smell emanating from his clothes. Lars cried out in pain as he whirled around to face her.

"You're going to pay for that!" he roared, his expression twisted in pure fury.

Bewildered, Rhen dropped the stick, backing away until her back hit the wall behind her. Lars raised his hand as though to hit her, but before he could, his whole arm – from his shoulder to the tips of his fingers – seemed to freeze. Lars snarled, struggling to move against the force holding him back.

"Interesting..." A feminine voice spoke above them, and when both Rhen and Lars looked up, they found two adults in front of them: a lithe blonde woman in elaborate green robes, and a slightly shorter, stockier red-headed man in similarly styled red robes. The woman delicately held the stick that Rhen dropped, closely inspecting it. The stick seemed to be largely unaffected by whatever Rhen had done with it – the only sign of its usage was its slightly charred, smoking end... And the fact that its charred end was still glowing with heat.

Lars scowled at the strangers; his face was still red with anger, making him look especially petulant. "This is no business of yours, strangers!" he responded fiercely, his arm finally dropping.

"This must be Lars," the man said to his companion, completely ignoring Lars. "Harald said the boy had a fiery temper."

"Yes," the woman agreed, "I thought Master Harald exaggerated, but apparently not."

The woman turned to Lars, regarding both him and Rhen coolly. "I am Ghelda, and this is Lorad," she said, gesturing to her companion as she introduced him. "We are the envoy that has come to take you to Shadwood."

Lars's face went even redder and his scowl deepened even further. "That slave tried to kill me!" he insisted, sounding every bit as shrill as his mother. "You saw her!"

Ghelda hummed thoughtfully, her hands now tucked into her sleeves. "I cannot feel her gift, but I am sure I saw her use magic..."

"Magic? Not me!" Rhen protested, finding the very idea incredulous. Whatever had happened with the stick had to be a fluke.

"She does not have the gift! She can't!" Lars shrieked, his voice rising higher and higher.

"She does not have your gift, Lars," Ghelda retorted; although she didn't roll her eyes, her tone implied that she would have if not for her manners. "If she did, I would have felt it. Did you feel it, sword singer?"

"I did... But it doesn't make any sense. She used a stick to draw power." Lorad was inspecting the stick himself now, observing it as if it were a particularly interesting specimen.

"Is that not impossible?"

"No, not impossible... Improbable," Lorad corrected.

Ghelda nodded, seemingly satisfied with Lorad's answer. "Very odd, indeed," she remarked. "I thought your kind only used metal to wield your powers."

"Yes and no. We have no one strong enough to draw from a stick, of all things," Lorad explained. "There have been strong ones in generations past, but no one alive... Until now." He looked over at Rhen, his gaze prickling her skin. "Girl, what is your name?"

"She is a slave, a nobody!" Lars cut in, but again, Ghelda and Lorad just ignored him.

"Rhen, sir," Rhen responded bashfully, shuffling her feet a little.

"Is it true? You are a slave?" Lorad's voice was gentle and kind; on instinct, Rhen didn't want to trust him.

"Yes. Yes, sir, it is true," she confirmed.

Lorad's expression grew contemplative as Rhen answered his questions; after a moment, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small coin. It was engraved with a sword on one side, while the other had a crossed staff and sword, encircled by a laurel wreath.

"Here, take this token. You must travel to Veldarah where you can train at Shadwood Academy," he told her. "Present the token to Master Harald to gain admittance. You belong to the empress now."

"What?!" Lars cried out indignantly. "You said it yourself! She doesn't have the gift!"

"The girl has sword magic, you foolish boy," Ghelda said disdainfully, the cutting edge in her voice leaving no room for argument. "Like all magic wielders, including yourself, she now belongs to the empress." To Rhen, she concurred Lorad's statement: "You are free, girl. A slave to none but the empress."

Lars huffed in annoyance, scowling at the ground as if he were a petulant child – which, in every way, he was.

"Ghelda, please take Master Lars home," Lorad requested. "I am sure his mother is waiting for us. I will stay here to answer any questions the girl may have."

Ghelda nodded curtly, turning to walk with Lars towards his home. Lars's expression was sour, his head hanging and metaphorical tail between his legs like he was a kicked dog.

As soon as Ghelda and Lars were out of sight, Rhen turned to Lorad and asked warily, "Who are you?"

Frankly, she still didn't quite trust the pair of magic-wielders. It was one thing when they were just retrieving Lars, but to show up and tell her that she had a gift as well? Not only that, but they could also sense it? Something about it seemed fishy to her.

To his credit, Lorad didn't seem offended by the question at all. "My name is Lorad Rethwell," he answered, his tone even despite the revelation that Rhen was now someone like him: another sword singer in the empress's ranks. "I am an emissary from Shadwood Academy and a sword singer, just like you will be one day. My companion who just left us is Lady Ghelda Gentrie, a sorceress."

"Oh... What is a sword singer, anyway?" Sorcerers were easy enough to figure out – they used magic, simple as that. What Rhen couldn't figure out was why she'd never heard of sword singers until now.

"Sword singers use motion to draw magic," Lorad explained. "Most can only do this through metal. I am surprised that you were able to do so through a stick, unaided and untrained. I believe you will be very strong one day... That is, if you survive the training."

"Am I really free, then?" Rhen asked, her brow furrowing as she frowned. "You said I was, but... Ghelda also said that I was still a slave to the empress."

Lorad let out a low chuckle, but unlike Lars's laughter, his was not cruel. "You are. Slaves who have gifts are decreed free by law. Even if you were not, all citizens of the empire 'belong' to the empress: slaves, peasants, nobles... Even sorcerers and sword singers."

Rhen relaxed only incrementally at that information; in a matter of moments, she went from a lowly slave to a sword singer in training. She was glad to be free, but what of the other slaves?

"When do I leave?" she asked Lorad, her expression steeling and her chin lifting just slightly.

"You can leave at any time, but I, Lady Ghelda, and Lars will leave tomorrow morning at dawn," Lorad answered. "If the guards give you problems, show them your token. Is that all?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you," Rhen said politely. Lorad dipped his head in acknowledgment, stepping away to head towards the inn.

Still awestruck by the new information, Rhen found herself returning to the Tenobor residence out of habit. As usual, Rona's wrath was turned to Rhen as soon as she crossed the threshold – but this time, it was for a very different reason.

"Stupid slave! Today was to be Lars's special day, not yours!" Rona screamed, practically rupturing Rhen's eardrums. "Get out of my house and never come back! Now that you're free, you can find your own place to sleep!"

Rhen walked right past Rona as the woman screamed at her, no longer fearing Rona for the first time in the three months since she'd arrived. She made a beeline towards her now-former room, gathering the few possessions that she'd gathered during her time here: a few coins from the attic, along with a few knick-knacks from the other slaves. Having no bag to hold them in, Rhen clutched them in her hands.

The dirt billowed up in between her toes as she made her way towards Ghalarah's entrance gate, her calluses protecting her feet from the rough wooden planks that made up the pathways.

The guard stopped Rhen as she approached the gate, blocking off the entrance with their spear. "Slaves are not allowed to leave the city," they said firmly. "Step back, or I will have to detain you." Their eyes widened when Rhen showed her token, and they immediately raised their spear with an apologetic bow. "My apologies, good citizen. You may pass."

Rhen passed through the gates, feelings of euphoria and giddiness overtaking her. The jungle loomed before her, a far cry from the relative safety of Ghalarah and separating her from what would eventually become her new home at Shadwood. With newfound confidence, Rhen took one step forward, then another, taking her first steps into the wilderness...