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Slumping in the saddle, exhaustion tugs at every muscle within me. They twitch and ache, eager for a change in position from the stiff saddle, but no such relief comes.

I don't stop. I can't stop. Hunger scrapes at my insides. My eyes burn from lack of sleep. The muscles in my legs have long since given up.

I know the way to Wymler, the direction I have to travel to reach the city that most only dream of seeing. The might of the rebellion. The backbone of Rupteran. I didn't believe in it when I was younger. The stories about the gods and their various wars seemed more believable than a walled city nestled within the Midland, untouched by the war and the demons.

But I saw the delegates from the Association in the Order. There isn't a doubt in my mind that it's real. Maybe the walls will just be a lot smaller than what people say.

I break through the tree-line and something makes me lift my head. Maybe it's the cool wind or the sun that suddenly warms the top of my head. But I lift my head and realise the stories weren't exaggerating.

The walls rise up, scratching the blue from the sky, foreboding and monstrous. They were built to withstand the full might of what Rupteran can throw at it, dark against the greenery that surrounds it.

I approach on horseback, my hands curling in the reins. The height of the walls is almost dizzying. I can't even begin to imagine the blood and pain that went into building them. The stories say the city and its great walls were built by escaped slaves, slaves who had been forced to construct the Empire.

They were the first of the rebellion, never again would they submit.

As I near, I spot soldiers by the gates, hands on their swords, their steel armour shined to glisten under the sun. Capes of crisp white and gold drape from their shoulders, rippling in the breeze.

One of them steps forward, a hand raised and I bring the horse to a stop, my gaze flicking over the numerous soldiers around me.

"State your business," the soldier demands and something within me swells to hear the voice of a woman behind her helmet.

The Empire doesn't enlist women into their ranks. The change is like a punch to the gut.

"I suppose I'm here to see Head Master Rashida," I state, inclining my head.

The woman's eyes narrow in the slits of her helmet. "Head Master Rashida is a busy man. What's your purpose with him?"

I shift in my saddle. My purpose? I'd love to know that too. "I'm from the Order of Hunters," I tell her, deciding to stick as close to the truth as possible. I don't know who I can trust here. I don't know if Rashida is on Palmira's side and is complicit in the things she's done.

The woman sighs and steps back. "Gregor, escort this woman to the Association."

A soldier approaches. "Yes, ma'am."

I nudge the horse forward, following the soldier into the shadows of the wall.

"Another stray," the woman mutters and I quirk a brow. She probably doesn't realise how right she is.

I stay atop the horse's back, needing to be higher, to feel safer as the soldier leads me into a world of the unknown. We pass through the walls and I'm thrust into the city.

Wymler is a wave of noise, smells, and sights. My senses don't know what to focus on. The wafts of foods and perfumes, the sight of crowds of people or the vibrant colour. There's music and there's laughter. I hear the birds, the breeze in trees, and the far-off flow of water. My eyes widen and my heart pounds against my ribs as I struggle to absorb it all.

We pass brick buildings that rise up three to four stories high, the sounds of a harp drifting from the the open window of one of them. My eyes are drawn to it, a smile tugging at my cracked lips. A slow-moving horse passes, its eyes lazily taking in its surroundings as the cart its dragging clangs with odd trinkets that I can only assume are scavenged from the Old World, the owner leading the horse through the cobbled streets.

The sounds of the harp mingle with a guitar, the bark of a dog makes me jump, the raucous laughter of a group of kids around a well causes my chest to ache.

Warroll was never this lively, never filled with the chatter of people, the sounds of music. Never did it carry the scent of flowers on the breeze.

How different life would have been if I'd stumbled here instead of Warroll.

I shake my head, that stray thought making bile rise in my throat as memories of Warroll claw at me, reminding me of the things I did. The things that were done to me. The things I couldn't stop being done to others, or the things I chose not to stop just to save myself.

I lose track of how long we move, the soldier keeping a steady pace through the city. We break free of the brick and wood buildings and the land sprawls before me, green and lush. It steals my breath, the sight of it. Alive with life. Farms and buildings and animals and travelling people dot the land. And behind it are the Wymler Mountains, jutting into the sky.

My lips part to see it all laid out before me, more like paintings I've gawked at than something tangible.

I've seen a lot of the world. More than most. I've seen lakes so clear I could watch colourful fish dart within. I've seen the ocean, rolling before me with angry, frothing waves. I've seen the land blanketed in a layer of stark white. I've walked through crumbling structures of the Old World, creaking with ancient ghosts.

But none of it compares to this. To Wymler.

"We're nearly there," the soldier says, snapping me from my gaping. I squeeze my aching thighs, urging the horse forward, and let out a shaky breath.

We follow cobbled roads that cut through meadows, travelling quickly now that we don't have to traverse narrow roads between buildings.

The soldier leads us towards a manor of dark brick, surrounded by a wall of iron and stone. The gates are open and the people that mill about the carefully tended grounds are almost welcoming. They don't regard me with hostile looks. None of them seem to even carry weapons, more content to have books.

As we approach the structure, I slip from the horse's back, hissing as I put weight on my numb legs.

A girl approaches, a smile on her face as she takes the reins from my hands. "I'll look after him," she says, patting the horse's neck.

I narrow my eyes at her but don't argue as I grab my pack and continue to trail after the soldier. He doesn't lead me much further.

"Someone will be with you shortly," he grumbles and turns on his heel, walking away. I blink, glancing around me.

The discomfort that straightens my aching spine reminds me of when I first entered the Order, following behind Erasmus, pretending I wasn't intimidated. I knew with certainty I had nothing to lose then. Now I don't even know what I have anymore.

"Azura."

I stiffen at my name, especially since I don't recognise the voice. I turn, curling my hands into fists at my sides, prepared for a fight, perhaps itching for one too.

The man I face is old. His chestnut skin is lined and resembles scrubbed leather. But it's his eyes I can't stop staring at, their paleness almost eerie and he can't seem to meet my stare.

I tilt my head. "Head Master Rashida," I say, putting a face to the name. I briefly saw him at the ball in the Order but I didn't care to acquaint myself then. I wasn't in the rebellion to be part of their war, I had no reason to sidle up to their leaders and introduce myself. But things have a way of never working out the way I plan. I should just stop planning things.

"I had a feeling you'd find your way here." His voice is soft, the huskiness of it almost soothing but my shoulders are still stiff and my fists are still balled.

"Are you planning to kill me?"

Rashida blinks, a lazy thing, but he still doesn't meet my eye, looking somewhere over my shoulder. "Kill you?" he questions as I study him more closely.

That's when I realise; he's blind. And that raises the question of how he knew I was standing here and who I am. "You were expecting me, so I can only assume you're aware of my situation." I choose my words carefully and lick my lips, hoping that this isn't some sort of trap.

Rashida's lips curve a little, a small smile that speaks of the things he knows but won't share. "Your friends are here, Azura, so I can only assume you're here to see them."

I draw in a breath, my pulse fluttering in my throat. "Is she alive?" I manage as my mouth is dry and my chest is tight.

"Come. I won't keep you waiting." Rashida turns, white and gold robes flaring around him with his movements. I walk with him, a pit forming in my stomach.

"Is Suri alive?" I ask again, needing to know. Erasmus told me she was alive, but after everything...

"She's alive," Rashida assures me, his voice still gentle. "Though, she's unconscious to help with her healing."

I let out a shuddering breath and nod, blinking the tears from my eyes. My hands finally loosen at my sides and something like relief settles in my chest.

I don't think I'd live through losing her too.

"How did you know who I was?" I question instead of letting such a thought overtake me.

Rashida leads us along a path shadowed by trees with golden leaves that rustle in the breeze. "There's something about you that sets you apart from others," he replies with a tilt of his head. "I noticed it at the ball."

"You noticed me at the ball?" I frown. I didn't think he or any of his people would have noticed me. Though, I was quite drunk.

"I notice many things. I may not see, but sometimes sight can be a distraction."

"Have you..." I stop before the question fully forms. Am I allowed to ask such things? Especially of someone I don't know?

"Have I always been blind?" he finishes, a note of amusement in his tone.

I chew the inside of my cheek as we stop outside a door and Rashida turns to me.

"I have," he answers, pushing the oak door open. "But I've been alive for a very long time. Adequate time to get accustomed to it."

I hum and enter the manor, slinging my pack over my shoulder. Arched window line the long corridor, sunlight streaming through them. The brick is sturdy, the floorboards are polished, the air is clear, and the people are polite as they pass Rashida. They also don't wear the colours of Wymler, the gold and white. People in the Order wore the navy and green of the school, even I did, usually under a black sweater. But the students here seem more comfortable to do as they please.

There's laughter in the corridors. There are no pockets of darkness. The sun is allowed in. The students have smiles. A group of kids run past, young and giggling.

That feeling returns. It snags in my throat, stops the air from reaching my lungs, and makes my eyes prick. The feeling of what if. What if I had come here instead of Warroll? What if I had ended up in the Association instead of the Order?

Rashida continues walking and I hurry to catch up with his stride, squashing down my thoughts once again. They won't aid me, the pit of sorrow in my gut that just keeps growing won't be helped if I insist on asking those questions.

The place is beautiful. The corridors are wide and the windows are lacking the stained glass with depictions of the gods within them. It's a small mercy, one I realise I need. I've heard enough about the gods, their stories are no longer an escape. All they remind me of is his blood pooling on the marble.

"Through here," Rashida says, his gnarled fingers tracing along the wood of the door before he finds the handle and opens it.

I regard him for a moment, wary of traps, but all he does is look in my direction, the expression on his features almost sad.

Stepping past him, I take in the room with my breath stuck in my throat. Curtains have been thrown open, allowing the soft sunlight to stream through the room and paint the floorboards with gold. But my eyes stray instantly to the white sheets draping over the girl within them.

My heart stutters and I blink, taking her in.

Suri's chest rises and falls in even breaths, her body carefully propped up with pillows. I approach her, my thudding boots the only noise in the silent room.

"Suri," I breathe, standing by her side. A part of me expects her eyes to open, to reveal the emerald of her gaze, for her lips to stretch in a lopsided smile, for her light laugh to echo in the room. But it doesn't, and I'm left with a hollowness gnawing in my chest.

"The injury to her spine was sever," Rashida speaks from behind me, but I don't take my eyes off Suri. "We're doing everything we can for her."

Gloved fingers reach out, hovering in the air, a breath from touching her too pallid skin. Gone is the healthy golden glow. Her cheeks are sunken and her lips are chapped. She looks like a shell, a husk of the girl who always shone the brightest in a crowded room.

"I did this," I breathe, tears pricking my eyes as I draw my hand back. "If I had just..." My teeth sink into my lower lip.

"If you had just listened to me."

My eyes lift and there—standing in the sunlight without it touching him—is my brother.