Hesi scampered down the wall to the beat of the water splashing on bare stones. The walkway ended in the fortress' center, right in another courtyard. Buildings as tall as rock formations flanked the open space, each one peppered with arches guarded by balconies across a minimum of five floors.

She tightened her grip on the knife's hilt buried into the mortar and flattened her body against the wall. Down below, about six women hunkered into themselves, shaking like blades of palms against a sandstorm. The Mayaware in the courtyard bore buckets of water, drawn from wells she saw on the way here. Another synchronous swing, and waves of fresh water zipped out of the rim and towards their target. An angry array of splashes rained against the stone.

Much to her surprise, a man sauntered into the courtyard bearing dry towels. He started drying the women, not bothered about the fact he touched them in places not meant for anyone, much less strangers. It must be a harrowing experience, especially for the women. Not only did they witness people get butchered, it also became clear that by some twisted coincidence, they avoided such a fate. And now, they were handled like lost cubs, touched and viewed in ways that weren't proper.

But it wasn't what held her attention the longest. The man, characterized by a dark mop of curls on his head, ran and ushered the women towards the western building. How in the world could a human thrive in this place, even as a servant? Were they simply lucky, handpicked by the general or some other demon playing a god?

Perhaps the Mayaware culture has changed since the Great Shadow. When the demons first took over Ser-Djare, they were nothing but a pack of hungry beasts humans thought were easy to handle. According to stories from veterans and lucky sods who lived past their prime, the Mayaware began attacking with better accuracy and planning after a few years, as though they spent time studying human civilization moments after the historic upheaval. Darpeh, they even adapted and changed much of Berijyet in a few months.

The Mayaware changed in ways humanity couldn't predict, and did it faster than a blink. Now, most people accepted they were merely food, and that survival must be as primitive and essential as an instinct to use in a proper playing field. They became no better than the fowls and critters they used to hunt for meat, and she hasn't processed how she felt about that. Perhaps human slaves were a recent addition and only available in this part of Setene. Maybe it was only in this fortress.

She watched the women do various rituals after an impromptu bath. One had a damp towel around her shoulders, covering most of her chest. Another swiped her fiery red hair off her face and followed the male slave out of the courtyard. As the others fell in line, they jumped over streaking streams of water bearing most of the blood, grime, and traces of the desert that once plagued their bodies. The water, itself, had emptied into the edge of the courtyard, where a waiting trench-like contraption waited for it. It was almost mesmerizing to witness the murky water drain into the trench and, because of an engineered incline, flow past the interconnected network of pipes and trenches leading to who knew where.

She turned to the western building where the women headed towards. That would be her goal. Inside, the scratches of bare feet and muffled chatter of the male servant rang through the hollow darkness. She strained her senses, predicting where they were. A flint clicked and sparked. Bright orange light streamed from an arch meters away. There.

She eyed the flickering light as it changed intensity at random intervals. Sometimes, a shadow snuffed it, but it would come back stronger and brighter. The amber glow stopped at a room on the second floor, almost the same level as where she hung on with her knife and hands. It wouldn't be too far to reach, and after trudging across bottomless pits and an unforgiving desert without getting enough winks, this was a relief.

Seconds ticked by. She waited for the male servant to leave the lights on and the women alone. She scanned the lower floors, then the courtyard. None of the bucket-toting Mayaware returned, as if their only purpose in being in the courtyard was to clean humans.

Guards were nonexistent, save for the ones posted on the walls she departed. They multiplied in number over the last hour as the night plunged deeper into a lulling monotony. She craned her neck to the sky, noting the stars winking as though mocking her for her life's futility. This was part of the plan to become a part of the slate of the demon prince's brides. She came this far, endured enough trials. It would be too late to stop now.

So, she scurried down, her knife stabbing and pulling free of the mortar. The smell of deshet tickled her senses upon tucking it inside her scarf and tying some to the tangles of her hair. Her feet slapped the ground, and she took off running, using the shadows made by the torches' flickering lights as her veil. She reached the western building's facade. Her teeth dug into her lip as she studied the quickest way up the second-floor balcony. A tall palm tree presented a solution. Despite not being sturdy enough to remain upright, it was high enough to require a small distance leap towards the balcony. She only has to make sure to grab the clay balustrade. No big deal.

The wood creaked under her weight when she threw herself against the tree and clambered up. Her calloused palms scratched against the blunt thorns lining small pockmarks painting the trunk. When she reached the top, she gripped the base of the leaves' stems and hauled her limbs to match the second floor's height. One glance down, and her heart plummeted. It was a long way down.

She exhaled a long gust through her nose, attempting to steady her erratic nerves. It was a short jump. She could do this. She has to. Pai and Unsu were waiting. Her sister's moon-cycle would not stand back any longer either. Her siblings held on, and here she was, hesitating over a mere jump.

The more rational part of her brain reasoned there wasn't anyone to fulfill her promise if she died here, hence the caution. Before the two hemispheres of her mind clash, she shook her head and peeled off the palm tree, launching her weight off. Her fingers slapped the balustrade, straining joints and knuckles. With a muffled groan, she dug her nails against the molded clay and hung on for dear life, her legs dangling in open air. It was better she did this during the night and not in broad daylight. The demons would have caught her earlier.

Another set of groaning swallowed by her pursed lips rumbled in her throat as she hauled herself deeper into the balcony. As if fate mocked her, she landed on the adjacent space and not on her target—the one connected to the women's room. Darpeh. How much did the heat of the desert fry her brain?

That was how she ended up crawling through the brief chunk of wall between balconies. When she reached her designated place, she pressed herself against the foot of the arch. Thank the heavens her torn dress was dark enough to blend with onyx and ink.

Something shuffled from the inside. Gossamer—fabric she only glimpsed in ancient tombs and expensive rolls in merchants' carts she never dared touch—rustled, and light footsteps slithered across the stone floor. No rugs muffled the steps either. She drew her knife and pressed the hilt to her chest, stilling her breaths with false comfort brought by the glinting blade. She waited. And waited.

At the first sign of a face ripping through her periphery, she lunged. Her fingers gripped an arm, and before the woman could cry out, Hesi pinned her to the wall. The knife poised to pierce the chin.

"Scream, and I will slit your throat," Hesi whispered. Her voice came out as harsh as the summer breeze against exposed skin. "What is your name?"

The woman's eyes were wide, her thick lashes and round eyes reminding Hesi of a wild doe. Her lips quivered, but her voice remained clear when she answered. "Maiskha."

"You don't have to die," Hesi said. "Let me take your place."

Maiskha knitted her eyebrows. The woman wasn't an idiot. It was madness to offer to be in the sandals of the doomed. "What makes you think I don't want to die?" she asked. It was an innocent question, but one coated with so much venom. "Who are you?"

"You can escape this place." Hesi lowered the knife and edged backward. Her shoulders remained tense though. She wasn't sure this woman wouldn't go feral and see her as the enemy. "There are no guards from this section to the next. You can scale the wall from there and run to the desert."

Maiskha leveled her gaze. "I do not want to run. Not anymore," she said. "If you truly wish to take my place in Festophis's slate, then you must kill me."

Hesi faltered, her foot skidding backward until her waist hit the balustrade. "You do not have to die," she insisted. "You can be free and forget everything that happened."

A glint passed across the woman's eyes. Was it from the torches' light or something else? Mania, maybe. "Forget it?" Maiskha echoed, her tone bordering on shrill and sardonic. "You don't forget humiliation. You don't get over disgrace. It is a privilege not given to many to even ponder about."

Maiskha narrowed her eyes, her benign features turning deadly against the amber glow burning against the night. "I will say it one last time," she said. "If you want to take my place, you will kill me."

Hesi lowered her arm. "No."

A passive expression passed across the woman's face. "Then, I will scream."

Before the woman could open her mouth, Hesi's knife flicked in the air on its own, running across Maiskha's throat in one, clean slash. The woman fell to her knees, hands cradling the hand-length cut at the base of her throat. Her lips moved, but no words formed. Hesi sheathed her knife in horror and lurched forward. She caught Maiskha before the woman keeled to the other side.

"I'm sorry," Hesi muttered under her breath, pressing Maiskha's face deep into Pai's scarf. The soft fabric muffled the choking sounds emanating from the dying woman. "You should have lived. You should have been free."

Maiskha exhaled a long drawl, squirming. "Call me Hesi," she said, making sure it was the last thing the woman heard before she passed on. "Utter my name, and let my soul stand against the seat of judgment. You are free."

As if adhering to her permission, Maiskha closed her eyes and slumped against Hesi's shoulder. Blood coated both their arms, neck, and clothes. This time, it was she who spilled it. For the first time, she brought it upon her hands.

Her heart didn't quiver nor beat out of time. Her hands didn't shake. Didn't twitch the slightest bit. Do not hurt another life to survive—the rules said that. But once she crossed the line she drew, there was no turning back.

This was a point of no return, one to usher her towards an age of cold and asperity.

When Maiskha didn't not move for a full minute, Hesi pushed the woman off and propped her on the balustrade. With a shove, the weight eased off her arms but not off her mind. She watched as the earth's pull engulfed the body, hurtling faster towards the ground. Bones and flesh squelched against the ground when it hit. She didn't look over to check the result of her work. This wasn't a battle of morals. She did what she had to do to survive and save her family. The woman asked for it, and Hesi obliged. It should never come as a surprise. Humans always put living over ethics.

She ducked inside the room where Maiskha came from. "Maiskha?" A quiet voice called from the blurry figures shifting in the darkness. Once Hesi's eyes adjusted, she made out the other brides sitting cross-legged on the floor despite their gossamer dresses. "Have you cleared your head? I should try it as well."

It was dark, and Hesi, by some cruel coincidence, resembled the murdered woman in form. She would pass off as Maiskha, at least for the night. She has to think of a different excuse come morning and upon the fateful news. "We have an early day tomorrow," she answered, taking the spot farthest from the women. "Let's sleep."

"What happened to your voice?" another woman asked. The voice came from Hesi's left.

Hesi shrugged even though it was too dark inside for them to see well. "The water got to me," she said. "I've always got a weak body. Maybe I'm coming down with a cold. We'll see tomorrow"

With that, she shut down every thread of conversation. She stretched her legs on the flat stone floor, marveling at how warm it was despite the desert's biting cold at this hour.

"I doubt I'll be able to sleep tonight," yet another woman remarked. The rest followed through with muttered agreements.

Hesi closed her eyes, tucked her hands under her head, and relaxed her limbs. It has been a long and tiring day, so it was easy to surrender her consciousness to the waves threatening to take it away. And she let go without a fight.

That night, amid unvoiced fear and monstrous dread ripping through the souls of her companions, Hesi Renen slept. And she slept like the dead.