This Beast-Tamer is a Little Strange

The dagger remained in Serena’s side—but her spiritual energy flooded out, wild and wrathful. It surged into Soreia’s chest through her grip like a dam breaking, slamming her across the room with a force that cracked ribs.

The dagger clattered to the floor.

Soreia hit the cavern wall and slid down, coughing violently.

Serena stumbled too—one hand pressed against her bleeding side, her body shaking as black-gold veins pulsed wildly across her skin. But she stayed standing.

Across the chamber, Soreia wheezed. Her conjured necklace flickered one final time, then crumbled to ash. The foreign energy in her body flared violently without its suppressing effect. She convulsed once. Twice. Her mouth opened in a silent scream.

The statue still stood motionless, its burning eyes watching as both girls trembled in pain and exhaustion.

“Enough…” Serena murmured, barely audible over the hiss of acid and echoing breaths. “You’re done.”

But even as she stepped forward—limping, clutching her wound—Soreia moved.

Well, crawled was more accurate. She left a bloody streak on the floor in her wake.

One bloodied hand scraped against the stone, dragging herself toward the statue, which had paused its relentless attacks as if recognizing both combatants had reached their final reserves.

It was one last push. One last plea. Soreia wasn’t strong enough to stand—but maybe, just maybe, sheer desperation might be mistaken for resolve.

Serena saw the motion and raised a shaking hand to stop her.

Too slow.

Soreia’s fingers brushed the base of the pedestal—just as her vision dimmed. Her breath hitched in her throat.

The statue reacted immediately to the touch, almost as if she’d triggered some kind of hidden mechanism or condition of the trial.

The entire chamber began to shudder. Cracks spiderwebbed across the floor like the planet itself was rejecting her. The air went still. The mist pulled inward unnaturally, condensing around Soreia’s prone form in thick, coiling tendrils.

Then—

A beam of dark gold light descended from above, enveloping Soreia’s body.

It lifted her.

Her limbs dangled. Her hair floated in the shaft of light. Her expression twisted—hope, maybe, or was it relief? Expectation? Her lips parted faintly, but no sound came. Her eyes fluttered half-shut as her battered body was drawn upward like a holy offering summoned by a god.

——————–

With quiet returning to the ‘waiting area’ after the departure of Kain and Cassian, Bai Lian sat leaning against the wall, twiddling her thumbs and staring into the silence of the chamber.

She’d lost track of how long it had been. Minutes? Hours? A full day?

Her sense of time had started to blur the moment she’d watched Cassian storm into the relic of Verdara. And now, waiting for Serena or Soreia to return from the unknown fourth inheritance… it felt like an eternity.

She glanced toward the archway Serena had entered, biting her lower lip.

‘Should I tell whoever comes out everything…?’

Kain had asked her not to reveal much—especially to Soreia. But she didn’t owe him anything. All she really knew about Kain was that he was in a relationship with Serena and that he was intimidating. Dangerous, but oddly polite. Not particularly loud. Not particularly warm.

Someone who made people nervous without trying to.

Or perhaps that was a new addition to his personality… Bai Lian didn’t recall him being quite so intense before the last trial, where he almost died. There was something colder about him now—something heavier behind the eyes.

Her foot tapped anxiously against the floor. She wasn’t sure who she wanted to see reappear more.

Naturally, she felt closer to Serena. After all, Serena had been the one who helped her during the last trial, who defended her when she couldn’t defend herself. She wanted her to succeed, to gain the power she deserved.

But if Serena passed…

Would they ever speak again?

Would she even learn whether Kain survived?

The thought twisted something in her chest.

But if Soreia reappeared—

Bai Lian’s stomach turned.

Soreia was cold. Distant. Not just intimidating, but calculating. And after what Kain had told her—after finding out that Soreia had stabbed him in the back—Bai Lian wasn’t sure what to say. Or if saying anything at all might get her attacked.

Would Soreia lash out in frustration? Interrogate her for details? Demand answers she wasn’t allowed to give?

Then—

A shimmer of light.

Bai Lian stood immediately, eyes wide.

From the archway, a figure emerged.

Bloodied. Burned. Barely standing.

But standing, nonetheless.

Long strands of hair clung to her cheek. A slash in her robes revealed raw burns along her hip and shoulder. Her aura… it was different now. More solemn. Tired. Weighted.

She didn’t say anything at first—just stepped out into the light, eyes distant, expression unreadable. A bandage of scorched cloth, likely torn from her own clothing, hung limply from her ribs, and something in her presence had undeniably shifted.

Bai Lian swallowed thickly. “S-Soreia?”

There was a pause.

Then, with the faintest twitch of her brow—just a flicker of disdain—Soreia answered.

“…Yes.”

Bai Lian froze. “Wait. Then that means…”

She turned toward the gate behind her, heart hammering.

The archway that had once shimmered with power was now dim. The mist had vanished. The elegant carvings lining the frame had dulled into faded stone.

Just like the archway that had transformed after the Holy Son claimed his inheritance.

It was over.

Serena wasn’t coming back through that gate. And Soreia would only come back if she’d lost…

Bai Lian stared at her, breath caught in her throat.

‘Then… what do I tell her? Do I even need to tell her anything?’

She almost hoped she wouldn’t have to speak. That Soreia would keep walking and ignore her completely.

But Soreia didn’t move.

She stood there for a moment, still breathing heavily.

Then her head turned—slowly.

Her solid white eyes locked onto Bai Lian’s.

Bai Lian’s stomach twisted into a knot.

Not a word had been exchanged, and yet she could feel the pressure bearing down on her. That uncanny gaze. Not openly hostile, but sharp enough to draw blood if she made the wrong move.