Sabal opened her amber eyes, fevered limbs tangled up with cool sheets. She could vaguely hear the normal, routine movements of Xullae in the other room—muffled footsteps and the clatter of dishes being set down carelessly on the table. It had been a week since she'd killed Nhilae. It seemed strange to the girl how little had changed.

Whenever it was brought up, Xullae simply repeated to Sabal that it had been necessary. That it was right. That made it easier to swallow the feeling and push it back. Most of her life had been conditioning for that very purpose, after all. She had been prepared. And as Xullae confided, it would become easier. Perhaps that was the worst part about it.

There was a soft knock on her half open door, and then it gave way to reveal the armored figure of her mentor. "Sabal, up. You'll be leaving today."

She sighed, nodding slightly despite herself. "I do not wish to," Sabal admitted, sensing those dark red eyes focused on her.

"It is often an uncomfortable experience to leave what is known," Xullae said. The inquisitor leaned against the door frame, studying her student. "But this will be a chance to discover for yourself who you are, before you take your place among us."

Sabal swung out of bed, plucking at the loose shirt she was wearing. The traces of cold sweat still lingered and she looked forward to a warm bath. "And after that I will take my vows?" she asked idly, picking up clean and folded clothes.

"Yes, just as others return to houses to take their places. But I would not rush it if I were you. There is much to come between now and then," the inquisitor said. "We will speak more over food."

The amber-eyed girl nodded, padding out through the halls to the baths. They were mostly empty, save for a few Dread Fangs she recognized and Ryld. However, there was nothing particularly uncomfortable for a drow about being undressed, even around the opposite gender. Sabal was confident and comfortable in her own skin, untroubled even by her scars. After all, she was no soft priestess. She shed her clothes and tossed them aside, nodding slightly to Ryld before sinking into the water. Soap and warmth scrubbed everything away, soothing muscles even as it allowed her mind to wander freely.

It was the fact that she didn't feel guilty that unnerved her. After she'd been sick and spent one night tossing and turning, her mind appeared to be moving on already. Was that normal? Was it wrong? Sabal supposed it was expected, but it still surprised her. Even though violence had come to her almost thoughtlessly for much of her life—it had been necessary to survive—killing someone seemed too easy. But she was a drow. Ryld sometimes mentioned how the faeries up on the surface might hesitate to strike a wounded foe, resolve faltering. What was it that made them stay their hand?

Sabal remembered Xullae once speaking of how she would strike down particularly clever or daring foes instead of dragging them back to the Spider Queen's altar for a torturous death. I know what it is to be a prisoner, the inquisitor had said quietly before shrugging. It was also a little token of respect for those who had defied the Church, another way to push back against priestesses. That, Sabal understood. Xullae had always taught her to be quick and clean in all of her battles. Inflicting suffering was not important. An end was all that mattered.

She dunked her head and finished scrubbing before hauling herself out of the stone pool, banishing all of these thoughts. They were hardly important in the grand scheme of things.

"Ready to cause trouble at the Academy, qu'essan?" Ryld said, tossing a towel to her. He'd already finished and dried off, wrapping his own towel around his waist as he relaxed. The male drow's chest was just as deformed as his hand and face, the scars of acid burns running all the way down his side to stop only at the joint where his leg met his hip.

"If it comes to it," the young drowess said with an absent nod, pulling on her clothes when she was a bit damp still.

"After Xullae's lessons, it'll feel as easy as breathing," Ryld assured her casually, rubbing his claw-like hand so that it would relax a little bit. He was always stiff after he first rose. "She has always pushed you hard."

"Hard enough."

The male drow chuckled dryly. "You're talkative this morning, qu'essan. If I didn't know any better, I'd say nerves were getting the better of you." Ryld was answered by a cold glare as Sabal finished pulling her clean shirt on. He'd seen a remarkably similar expression on Xullae many times. It only multiplied his amusement. "We'll make a basilisk of you yet, qu'essan."

Breakfast with Xullae was better, a quiet affair just like normal with plain, but filling food and the soft murmurings the inquisitor always made when she read a book at the table. Sabal was grateful for the feeling of normalcy, sinking into her chair and basking a little bit in the comfortable silence. It sometimes seemed like the closest the pair of them came all day.

"Elerra brought over a new set of armor for you," Xullae said without looking up from the pages, fingers curled around her unadorned cup full of hot, mulled wine. "We should adjust the fittings before she returns to take you to the Academy."

"You're not going to come?"

The inquisitor's eyes flickered away from the words, glancing at her student. "I have duties."

Sabal swallowed the knot that had formed in her throat and nodded. She should have expected nothing less from her mentor. "I am finished, if you are ready to look at the armor," the girl said instead, rising from her chair.

"I am." Xullae lead the way out into the training room where Sabal's new armor had been laid out.

It was nicer than anything she had ever owned, that she was certain of as soon as she'd laid eyes on it. Dark leather reinforced with scalemail, the armor barely made a sound when she picked it up. The mithril had been carefully smoked so it wouldn't reflect in the darkness and had been inlaid with spiderweb patterns of adamantium. Sabal buckled it on reverently and then ran her hands over the blood red sash that had been set next to it. Every cycle she could remember since the day Xullae found her, Sabal had watched the inquisitor wind her own sash at her waist with careful dedications, bearing it as a symbol of her status. The girl mimicked the movements from memory, twisting and wrapping the cloth until it came together in a final knot.

"You look like a proper initiate now," Xullae commented, studying her student. "How does it fit?"

"Very well," Sabal said, face breaking out into an almost giddy smile. "The padding is nice. Maybe it won't hurt as badly next time Ryld kicks me while I'm on the ground." It offered almost no resistance as she bent and moved, the weight lighter than she had expected. There was some stiffness to the joints, of course, but that would be broken in by the end of a week or two if she practiced at normal intensity.

"Give me your sword."

The girl looked up at her mentor, puzzlement in her amber eyes. "I was going to take that with me."

"Use it against a proper blade and it will shatter. The steel is not good enough," Xullae said sternly as Sabal obediently surrendered the her sword. "Here."

It was the battle blade Xullae carried. The sword hilt was unpolished mithril, a single piece of onyx set into the round pommel. The rayskin grip was worn, but not overly so—in battle, even when wet or covered from blood, it would not slip out of her grasp. The blade itself was scarred, but honed to a wicked edge and tapered to a needle-like point as sharp and cold as midwinter gales. At the root, where blade met hilt, the symbol of Lloth had been worked seamlessly into the metal.

"I cannot take this," Sabal fumbled out, fingers running over the weapon in its sheath.

Xullae's shrug was a careless one. "If you take it, I will have an excuse to purchase a new one. It is a good sword. If I have been unable to break it, then surely it will survive you. Elerra is outside waiting. Go to her."

Sabal's fingers curled around the sword and she pulled it tight against her body for a moment as if she was afraid someone would take it from her. It felt like a yawning gulf was beginning to open between them, and it frightened the amber-eyed girl. After this, nothing would be the same between them. Xullae had not said it, but Sabal could see it in the lines etching themselves into her mentor's expression.

"Thank you," Sabal said quietly, acknowledged by a nod as Xullae turned away and picked up the sword and armor the girl had left behind.

The words came when she was halfway out the door, never spoken aloud.

Sabal...I...I am proud of you...