*Serve your purpose.*

  The words circled in my skull like carrion birds during my shallow sleep. Barely regenerative.

  But I couldn't afford to drown in despair. Not yet. Not while there was still a chance Pandora would keep Her end of the bargain.

  If She didn't... well, I'd spent the night mapping exactly what that would mean.

  My purpose—but their world. Their war. Their survival. It all forcefully became mine. For the time being.

  And Evadne's. Evadne's war. Evadne's survival.

  Damn.

  The crowd's chanting from the Prayer Room still resonated in my ears when my thoughts drifted away. "Saint, Saint, Saint!" Their hands reaching, grasping. Brutus having to clear a path.

  A symbol. What I'd never wanted. Their hope made flesh. Mine—a phantom, unspoken promise from Pandora.

  Evadne witnessed that. Held me when I broke. Saw me at my lowest.

  Fuck.

  If Pandora doesn't take me back... will I... fulfil my promise?

  Will I turn against Her?

  Easily.

  She summoned me. Gave me a task, then just watched. Or maybe not even that—maybe ignored me completely. Until I broke. Fell to my knees in that Prayer Room.

  People here were the only relief. Knights who cheered on me on the first day of the Crucible. Guards who protected me every day, who saved me from the attack, who invited me to their quarters many times despite my dismissal.

  Would I turn against them?

  Sadly, yes. Won't pretend otherwise. They serve Pandora—blindly. If She squeezed me like a lemon and then threw me away, they would be complicit. If they chose Her over me, they'd be choosing against me.

  Wouldn't they?

  And Evadne?

  She chose me. Proved herself many times over.

  She would choose me again.

  Wouldn't she?

  The new spark of hope that I carefully looked after was fragile.

  When I thought about Pandora betraying me, it blew into something far stronger. More dangerous.

  No. Maybe I'll find another way and all this is just pure overthinking. Making scenarios up. Reality is, I need to finish Crucible first. You should focus on that, Leonard.

  I *will* focus on that.

  My training—previous day existed only as fragments—images and sounds drifting through feverish fog. Ironically, it was the first day of combined training. All previous 'tortures' merged into one, merciless exercise.

  Water sloshing in the yoke's buckets, throwing me off balance as I climbed stairs. The helmet pressing down my neck. Level five. Ten kilos.

  Plaster dust falling from the gym wall where my shin and foot had struck. Strangely, bruises there were almost gone already.

  Weight bars stacked on my sternum, bending my ribs under pressure "that makes diamonds," according to Pylades.

  "Your bones are much stronger already!" Evadne's hopeful voice. "You're 9 kilos (20lbs) heavier and restored more than 1kg of dry bone mass!"

  Despite the "wonderful" numbers, Evadne kept shoving white pulp into my mouth every chance she got. "You need to gain more weight quickly," she'd said. When I asked why, she replied like a child awaiting reprimand: "You'll need it for the next phase."

  No need to ask what she meant. I'd find out soon enough.

  Wall squats that tore at my Achilles tendons. "Just get into position and stay there." Simple. Torture within minutes.

  Explosive push-ups from the wall. Push myself back into position. Did fifteen. Maybe less. My muscles gave out quickly, but Pylades just readied his belt to pull me back. "Don't worry," he'd said, "we can continue together."

  He explained this would be my routine for the next week—combined exercises strengthening bones and soft tissue, with slow attempts at muscle building. "Getting your body ready for the real work," he'd said, eyes gleaming with what might have been dark humor.

  But humor had left me in the Prayer Room. It hadn't returned.

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  Whole night, memories of the training circled in my head. Mixed with the confrontation in the Prayer Room. Both felt like lucid nightmares—neither dream nor reality.

  How long can I go on like this? Without sleep? Deep, regenerative sleep. Why is this happening?

  A cold shiver gave me the answer. Fever. Addiction.

  The blanket hit the floor—desperate attempt to cool down. The result: uncontrollable spasms from the cold. Pulled it back. Too hot. Threw it off. Too cold.

  Consciousness finally drifted away just as dawn was already breaking.

  ~ ? ? ~

  "Saint Leonard." Silas's voice pulled me back.

  The breakfast was silent. Evadne kept glancing at me, eyes full of concern I didn't want to see. It was unbearable. Being naked would be less embarrassing than what she witnessed yesterday. Although that line had already been crossed before.

  She knew me more and more each day. She grew on me, anchoring me to this world. Making me more dependent on her. Unacceptable.

  One day I'll have to leave and come back to Victoria. She'll have to stay. There's no place for her in my world.

  "How are you feeling?" Evadne asked during our walk, but lookint at me carefully. Silas was supposed to watch the surroundings. Yet his head covered with armor pointed to me far too often.

  Stop. Don't pity me.

  "Good," I lied, they wouldn't understand anyway. How could they?

  She placed her hand on my elbow. We walked together. There was no strength in me to push her away. She pulled me closer, her warmth added to my fever—boiled me inside.

  My arm moved, distancing me from her. Temperature drop gave relief, but the grimace on her face did quite the opposite. Evadne fell silent and I tried to focus on the path ahead of us.

  "You seem different, Leonard." Althea didn't hesitate like the others. "Pandora's words changed you."

  Silence was all she got. Only my deeper breath and narrowed eyes betrayed anything.

  "Tell me, Leonard. *Whatever* you decide, you have my help." The mark inside the seal warmed in a way that felt soothing despite the fever.

  "I'll hold you to that promise, my Guide." The words came out cold.

  “I’ve never broken a promise before, my Leonard," she replied like confessing.

  My Leonard? The word should have bothered me, but didn't.

  She was my Guide, she was part of me, she resided in my wrist. That made me hers, right?

  "It's time for training, L—" Evadne started, correcting herself, "Saint Leonard."

  Direction changed toward the Holy Knights Armory. Near the mess hall, a phrase cut through the fever haze:

  "What's the stray cat doing here?"

  Mockery. Clear and sharp.

  Stray Cat. That's new. Not a Street Cat anymore? They dare to mock me again?

  Wrong day, whoever you are. Maybe I'm weak and vulnerable now, but that's temporary. And my guards will protect me if this goes wrong.

  The source—a group in a half-circle near one of the tables. Backs to me. Focused on someone else.

  Informal guard robes, recruit style. Simple grey and black linen.

  White priest robes at surrounding tables. Watching. Silent.

  Silent steps toward them, unnoticed in the chaos.

  "I asked you a question, can't you eat elsewhere?"

  Close enough now.

  "What is going on here?"

  Louder than intended. Weaker than wanted.

  But the reaction was immediate. Bullies turned to me with surprise painted all over. They made way, which allowed me to see who was the target.

  At the table sat a young woman—no, a wonder. Pale white skin like mine. Long, charcoal-black hair framed a face with... ears on top of her head. Hidden within puffy hair. Cat ears, pressed flat against her skull in distress. A thick tail swept the floor nervously from left to right, and back again. Her eyes—green with vertical cat-pupils—were wide and teary.

  Her body looked strong despite the fear. Toned muscles, a figure both feminine and petite. But those eyes screamed vulnerability, and it clenched my stomach.

  She was surrounded with people, but she was alone.

  Like me, right?

  Evadne's soft, "It's better if we—" went ignored and I crept closer.

  I leaned over the table. Focused on not falling. One hand steadied me against the surface. The other cupped her jaw. Her skin was cool to the touch—not cold, but pleasantly so. My fever eased slightly at the contact.

  Her head lifted. Teary cat-eyes met mine.

  "Althea," whispered words in my mother tongue, "do you see a woman here? Cat ears, tail, vertical pupils?"

  "Yes, Leonard. All of it."

  Her eyes held something familiar. The same isolation mirrored in my own reflection.

  With suppressed grunt my body straightened. The bullies saw the weakness, but the Saint title held them frozen.

  "I asked a question." Flat voice. Controlled.

  "Saint Leonard, don't lower yourself to this beast."

  My tired eyes went back to her. "Did you know they call me Street Cat?" I chuckled.

  "Leonard, we need to start your training." Evadne insisted, but her voice lacked conviction. Her eyes flickered to the cat-woman, then away. Something unreadable crossed her face.

  No reply to Evadne. Instead, a stare. Judgmental. Waiting.

  Her eyes lowered. Is this guilt or ignorance?

  My focus returned to the cat-woman. She didn't deserve such treatment. I could look away. This instant I could just turn around and walk away. Nobody would judge me. But it felt wrong.

  Damn it.

  "What is your name? My name is Leonard."

  Fear melted into uncertainty in her eyes when she spoke.

  "Vespera." She lowered her face just like Evadne, but she had no reason to do so.

  "Vespera, look at me please."

  The words recalled a memory of my brother cheering me up. Despite my best intentions to remain neutral, I sounded like him.

  Vespera's eyes darted up. Surprised. Vulnerable.

  "Keep your head high. You are Pandora's child."

  I locked my eyes with each of the bullies. Behind me, Silas's armor clinked—closer now, a wall of support.

  "Pandora is the Mother of All." Words flew like wasps. "She cares for all her children."

  Bullies tensed. It wasn't what they expected. Evadne's hand touched my arm. Light. Uncertain.

  Over my shoulder: "Isn't that right, High Priestess?"

  Did she recognize her own words? She used this dogma as deflection before, now they served as my weapon.

  Evadne's lips pressed to a thin line. Face pale. There was no answer so I returned to the bullies.

  Words didn't want to come out, but I forced them out. "Perhaps you don't realize, but Pandora has a way of guiding lost souls to where they need to be."

  They cowered under the Saint's words.

  Fools.

  "And I see a lot of souls that forgot Pandora's teaching."

  The words sank in for another moment. Then a nod to Silas.

  As we walked away, a fragment reached me: "...sit with us, Vespera?"

  Maybe something good can come out of my sainthood too. The thought was a risk.

  Evadne walked beside me in silence. She'd wanted me to leave the girl alone—did she turn a blind eye to discrimination, or was she part of it?

  The former, surely. Evadne could be pushy, overbearing even, but never cruel. Not her.

  She was different. The exception that proved the rule.

  The fever made everything distant, but one thought cut through clearly: they'd believed me. Every word I didn't believe myself, they'd swallowed whole.

  The Saint title wasn't a burden.

  It was a weapon.

  And I intended to use it.

  However I needed to.