Chapter 57 — What the Mask Protects
The chains hit the dirt with a dull clatter.
The captive sagged forward, coughing, blood stringing from his lip. Bran was already moving, catching him before he collapsed, hauling him back toward us with surprising gentleness for a man built like a battering ram.
The gray-clad man didn't interfere.
That bothered me more than if he had.
"Name?" Korran asked him, voice level, blade still raised.
"Names complicate things," the man replied. "Think of me as a verifier."
Selia scoffed. "That's the dumbest job title I've heard all week."
He chuckled. Actually chuckled. "Then you've had a quiet week."
His eyes never left me.
Not my sword.
Not my stance.
Me.
"You didn't remove the mask," he said. "But you didn't run either."
"I'm still deciding if you're worth listening to," I replied.
"Fair." He gestured lazily to the ravine walls. "You noticed the horn before most do. Adjusted footwork when the ground dipped. You strike where armor lies, not where it looks weak."
He smiled again. "That isn't academy training."
"No," I said. "It's survival."
The enforcers behind him shifted slightly—not aggressive, not relaxed. Awaiting instruction.
Lysara stepped closer to my side. I felt it before I saw it—mana coiling tight around her, contained but ready.
"You staged the caravan," she said quietly. "To measure reaction time. And compassion."
"Yes," the man replied. "Compassion slows people."
"Not him," Selia said. "He just gets angrier."
I didn't deny it.
The captive groaned. Bran lowered him carefully. "He's alive," Bran said. "Won't be fighting anyone for a while, though."
"Good," the man said. "Then the demonstration served its purpose."
Korran's patience snapped. "Purpose for who?"
The man finally looked away from me.
"Institutions," he said. "Groups that invest heavily in talent. Groups that dislike uncertainty."
Selia's blades angled back up. "Say 'academy' and I start cutting."
He laughed again. "Later."
My jaw tightened.
"You're not here to recruit," I said. "You're here to confirm something."
"Correct."
"That I'm dangerous."
He shook his head. "No. That you're unclaimed."
The word landed heavier than it should have.
I felt Lysara stiffen.
Korran's voice dropped. "You've made your assessment. Leave."
The man studied Korran for a long moment. Then nodded.
"Yes," he said. "We're done here."
He turned—then paused.
"One more thing," he added, glancing back at me. "Your mask."
I didn't move.
"It's doing its job," he said. "Not hiding you from us."
He tapped his chest lightly.
"It's hiding you from yourself."
Silence followed him as he walked away, enforcers peeling off with him like shadows returning to their owners. No dramatic exit. No threats.
Just certainty.
When they were gone, the ravine felt wrong—emptier than before.
Selia exhaled sharply. "I hate people like that."
"Why?" Bran asked.
"Because they leave," she said. "And somehow you feel like you lost."
Korran turned to me. "He pushed for the mask."
"Yes."
"Why didn't you take it off?"
I looked down at my hands.
Because the moment I do, I don't get to choose who sees me anymore.
"Because," I said slowly, "once it's gone… I don't get to put it back on."
Lysara watched me carefully. "You know they'll try again."
"I know."
"And next time," Selia added, "they won't ask nicely."
I nodded.
The rescued guard stirred, eyes fluttering open. He looked at me—really looked—and flinched, even with the mask on.
That told me enough.
As we moved out of the ravine, the road ahead felt narrower somehow. Not physically.
Conceptually.
Like options closing.
Like the arc bending toward something inevitable.
The academy waited somewhere ahead.
But before that—
There were still lines I hadn't crossed.
And enemies who wanted to see which ones I'd erase first.