By the time Aephelia turned ten, three years had passed since the night she got lost in the maze.

She had grown into a young lady. Her tutors said she was polite, efficient, and smart. She followed instructions with care, her answers were perfect, and her handwriting was better than the older students'.

On paper, she was the picture of an ideal young noble.

But the real change began somewhere else out in the old, overgrown garden.

The gardeners claimed the paths had grown too wild to bother trimming, and most of the family didn't even know it still existed.

But once every week, when Aephelia's lessons ended early, she would slip away and make her way down the hill behind the western courtyard. There, past the worn stone path and the rusted gate, was the place she now thought of as hers.

She always brought something when she came. A basket of leftovers, pieces of fruit, and sometimes bits of bread she saved from breakfast. She never came empty-handed.

The small ones always appeared first.

They came bounding out from behind the hedges, tripping over each other with excited squeaks. Their tusks had grown a little, but they were still no taller than her knees. They circled her legs and yipped in greeting while she laughed and tried to keep the basket out of their reach.

Then, as always, the big one came last.

It emerged from the far end of the clearing with slow, heavy steps, head hanging low, eyes pointing in opposite directions as usual.

It would give a long snort before sitting down, as if saying, you again?

"Good afternoon to you, too," she would answer every time, setting the basket down.

The cubs would dive in immediately, grabbing bits of bread or fruit and fighting over them. The big one never joined, only watched, its jowls twitching with faint disapproval as if the entire thing was beneath her.

Sometimes, Aephela would talk while they ate. About her classes, about how strict her tutor was, or about how her cousins had started glaring at her lately.

She wasn't sure if the Gromstel understood her, but the way it tilted its head every now and then made it feel like it did.

This weekly visit became her routine, her small secret.

Ever since she started visiting the garden three years ago, she started smiling more. She began eating better, reading more, and trying again in her lessons. Her tutors started praising her again. "A mind like yours," they said, "is rare, even among the Infernals."

Her father nodded in quiet approval when her reports reached him.

Her cousins noticed too. The polite smiles they gave her during meals began to tighten. She caught them watching sometimes, whispering when they thought she couldn't hear. She assumed it was because their mothers were comparing them again.

Adults loved comparisons.

She didn't mind.

The beasts didn't compare her to anyone. They didn't ask anything of her. They were just there—lazy, warm, and oddly comforting.

But as she reached her tenth year, things began to change again.

Children of her age were expected to start formal mana training. It was the foundation of every Infernal's life. Tutors spoke of it constantly, of how bloodline determined potential and how early training shaped one's future.

Her cousins were already bragging about it, describing how they could light candles.

When Aephelia's turn came, she felt both nervous and excited. For once, she wanted to show she could match them, maybe even surpass them.

The instructor had her sit cross-legged in the center of a circle drawn on the floor.

Runes faintly glowed around her as the man explained the steps: focus inward, find the warmth in your heart, and let it flow outward.

She followed everything carefully.

But minutes passed and nothing happened.

The instructor frowned slightly. "Try again."

She did. Again.

And again.

And again.

Still nothing.

The man muttered something under his breath, then fetched a small instrument: a silver rod designed to measure latent mana. He had her hold it, and the crystal at the tip remained dim.

The instructor's frown deepened.

He tested again, then a third time, each one yielding the same result.

He turned toward the assistants at the edge of the room. "Mark it down. Lady Aephelia shows no signs of mana."

Aephelia looked up, not understanding. "No mana…?"

The instructor gave her a brief, polite bow. "It appears, Milady, that you have no talent for magic. I deeply apologize."

After everything… the lessons, the praise, the work, and it all came down to this.

Manaless.

By morning, everyone knew.

Rumors spread through the mansion fast, and the word manaless carried the weight of a curse.

At first, Aephelia tried to ignore it. She walked the halls as she always did, carrying her books close to her chest. But it didn't take long before someone decided to test how far they could go.

It happened near the library corridor. She was on her way to her next lesson, her arms filled with books she was excited to read, when someone called her name.

"Aephelia."

She turned.

An older boy; one of her cousins, eleven maybe, tall for his age, stood a few steps away with two other cousins behind him.

"You seem busy," he said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Still studying?"

Aephelia blinked. "Yes. Excuse me—"

She tried to step past him, but he moved sideways, blocking her way.

"Funny," he said. "I thought only real Infernals needed to study that hard."

His friends snickered behind him.

Aephelia froze. Her grip on the books tightened, but she didn't answer.

"Come on," the boy said, taking a small step closer. "You should know your place. You're not like us." He leaned in slightly, voice lowering to a mock whisper. "You don't have mana. You shouldn't act like you belong here."

She stayed still.

The boy's smirk widened at her silence. "What's wrong? You look like you're about to cry."

He reached forward suddenly and shoved her shoulder, not hard enough to knock her down, but enough to make her stumble against the wall. The books slipped from her arms and hit the ground with sharp thuds, pages scattering across the polished floor.

The sound of paper fluttering filled the hall.

Aephelia knelt down silently and began picking up her books one by one.

"Hey," the boy said again, "I'm talking to you."

She didn't look up. "I heard you," she said quietly.

"Then say something."

"There's nothing to say." She closed the last book and stood, brushing the dust off its cover. "If you're done, I have class."

He sneered, the amusement draining from his face. "You're so weird. No wonder no one wants to talk to you."

With that, he turned and walked off, his friends following with satisfied laughter echoing down the hall.

Aephelia stood alone, staring at her reflection in the polished marble for a few seconds before exhaling slowly.

The rest of the day went on as if nothing had happened. She attended her classes, answered when asked, and wrote everything down as usual.

That evening, a servant came to her door and told her the patriarch wanted to see her.

The office looked the same as always: shelves lined with scrolls, the faint scent of ink and incense. The patriarch didn't look up immediately when she entered. He finished writing something, set the pen aside, and gestured for her to stand before the desk.

"I've heard the results of your assessment," he said.

"Yes, Father."

He folded his hands together. "You will no longer attend your usual lessons. They would serve no purpose."

She nodded once, silently.

"From this day forward," he continued, "your schedule will change. You will focus on etiquette, comportment, and social duties; bridal preparation."

Aephelia blinked. "Bridal preparation?"

"You are still an Infernal by name, even if not by ability. You will be of use to this family as a bridge to another. There are allied clans and branch families seeking political ties. That will be your role."

He might as well have been describing furniture.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Do you understand?"

Aephelia lowered her head. "Yes, Father."

"Good. You may leave."

She curtsied and turned to go.

Only when she stepped out of the office did her composure falter. Her hands clenched at her sides, nails digging into her palms.

After all that work… after everything she tried to do to be accepted… after she finally felt like she was worth something, they were throwing her aside because she didn't have mana.

That weekend, she went to the maze again.

The moment she stepped into the clearing, the little Gromstels ran toward her, tails wagging. The big one was already sitting near the center, eyes pointing in their usual two directions, looking both unimpressed and exhausted.

Aephelia dropped her basket beside them and sat down with a sigh. "You won't believe what happened," she said.

The big beast gave a slow blink.

She puffed her cheeks. "They said I have no mana. None. Zero. Nothing. You know what that means? It means I'm useless now. Apparently, all I'm good for is being sold off like… like furniture."

The little cubs tilted their heads, one of them gnawing playfully on the hem of her skirt.

"I studied so much," she continued, voice rising slightly. "I memorized every law, every history, every stupid etiquette rule, and now they tell me to learn how to pour tea and smile." She groaned, throwing her arms up. "Do I look like someone who cares about tea?"

The Gromstel blinked slowly, yawned, and gave a long, low "Awoowoo…"

Aephelia glared weakly. "Don't you Awoo me. I know you're judging me too."

The cubs yipped, climbing onto her lap. She sighed, defeated, and let them. "I'm sorry for complaining… at least you guys don't care about mana. Or tea."

The big Gromstel snorted as if it didn't care, rolled onto its side, and closed one eye, half-asleep, half-listening.

Aephelia smiled faintly, her frustration still simmering but softened by the familiar warmth of her unlikely family.

The next few weeks passed slowly, and the bullying didn't stop. If anything, they grew harsher.

At first, it was little things.

A missing ribbon. A textbook missing from her desk. A cup of ink "accidentally" spilled over her notes. Small inconveniences that were easy to pretend they meant nothing.

Aephelia said nothing to anyone. She cleaned up, rewrote her lessons, and kept her head down.

But small things had a way of growing.

The cousins began snickering louder when she passed by. Once, someone threw a rolled-up piece of paper at her back. Another time, her shoes went missing before a class.

It was manageable, until the one afternoon it went too far.

Aephelia had been walking back from the library, arms full of borrowed books, when she turned a corner and nearly bumped into a small group of older cousins. There were three of them, all around thirteen, led by a girl with long dark hair tied into a braid that brushed her shoulder.

The girl's family rank was high, daughter of one of the patriarch's younger brothers.

Aephelia stepped back immediately. "Excuse me," she said softly.

The girl's eyes narrowed. "Excuse you?"

"I apologize, I didn't mean to startle you," Aephelia replied, keeping her voice calm.

The girl's friends exchanged glances, whispering something Aephelia couldn't catch.

Then, without warning, the older cousin's hand came up and struck her across the face.

Slap!

The sound cracked through the hallway.

Aephelia froze. The books in her arms fell to the ground, scattering across the polished floor.

She didn't move. Her cheek stung sharply.

The older girl's tone was cold. "So you think you can sneak around listening to other people's conversations now?"

"I wasn't," Aephelia mumbled quietly. "I was just walking by."

"Liar."

Aephelia's throat tightened. "I didn't hear anything. I promise."

The girl folded her arms, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "You always have that look, you know? That quiet, smug little look. Like you think you're better than us."

Aephelia shook her head. "I don't—"

"Don't what?" The girl stepped closer, voice rising. "Don't look down on people? Don't act like you're special? Please. You're manaless, remember? You're nothing. You shouldn't even be here."

Her friends snickered behind her, whispering their approval.

Aephelia stood still, her face pale. She wanted to say something back, but the words caught in her throat.

Instead, she did the one thing she knew would end it faster. She bowed her head and apologized. "I'm sorry."

The older girl gave a satisfied humph. "Of course you are. You always will be."

Then she turned sharply, her braid swinging as she walked away, the others following her with laughter that echoed through the hall.

Aephelia stayed where she was for a few seconds longer. She slowly crouched down and began picking up her books one by one.

She didn't cry. She didn't even frown.

When she finally straightened, she walked calmly back to her room.

That night, she didn't study. She didn't eat much either.

The next day, she skipped her usual reading hour and went to the garden instead.

The moment she entered, the cubs ran to her, tails wagging furiously, their happy yips echoing through the clearing. The big Gromstel was already there, sprawled across the grass like a boulder, one eye open, the other half-closed.

Aephelia dropped her basket beside them and sat down without saying a word.

The cubs climbed over her lap, pawing at her sleeves and hair. One of them licked her chin, leaving a streak of drool.

She laughed weakly and wiped it away. "You're disgusting," she muttered, though her voice lacked its usual spark.

The big one gave a low rumble in reply, something between a sigh and a growl.

Aephelia reached out and patted its side. "I don't like them," she whispered. "Any of them."

The Gromstel's tail twitched lazily, its mismatched eyes half-focused on her.

"I didn't do anything wrong," she continued softly.

The big beast huffed once, the sound deep and oddly reassuring.

Aephelia smiled faintly, eyes stinging but dry. "At least you listen. Even if you don't understand what I'm saying."

That day, she stayed longer than usual.

And the day after that.

And even the day after that.

The abandoned garden became her refuge, her second home.

Every visit, the cubs grew a little bigger, and the big Gromstel looked a little more tired, but Aephelia didn't mind.

* * * * *

It was a bright afternoon when it happened.

Aephelia carried her usual basket, filled with fruit, leftover pastries, and a few slices of bread she had saved from breakfast. The path behind the courtyard was quiet as always. The hedges rustled softly in the wind, and sunlight flickered through the leaves.

It should have been a peaceful walk.

But as she turned the corner near the edge of the main grounds, a group of older cousins came into view. Four of them, three boys and one girl, all around thirteen or fourteen. They were lounging near the steps of an old stone fountain, laughing about something that Aephelia didn't care to know.

She tried to pass quietly.

"Hey," one of them said suddenly. "Where are you sneaking off to?"

She paused. "I'm not sneaking," she said softly. "I'm just—"

"Just what?" another interrupted, standing up. "You're always wandering around by yourself. What's in the basket?"

"It's nothing," Aephelia said quickly, clutching it closer.

That was enough to make them grin.

"Nothing, huh?" The tallest boy stepped forward and tugged it from her hands before she could react. "Let's see what nothing looks like."

"Please—"

He ignored her, opening the basket and looking inside. "Food?" He wrinkled his nose. "You bringing lunch for the servants or something?"

The others peered in, laughing.

"Or maybe she's feeding the rats," the girl added, smirking. "I heard she likes sitting around the library by herself."

Aephelia tried to reach for the basket, but the tall boy lifted it higher. "Aww, don't pout. We're just curious. You can tell us what you're hiding."

"I'm not hiding anything," she pleaded.

"Then why're you getting all nervous?" he mocked.

"I'm not—"

"Of course you are," the girl cut in, stepping close. "You always look nervous. Like you're about to cry."

The others laughed again.

Aephelia's fingers clenched at her sides, but she didn't say anything.

Then a small sound came from behind the hedge—a sharp, high-pitched whimper.

The cousins paused.

A second later, a little black-furred creature burst through the leaves.

It was one of the Gromstel cubs. Its tusks were short and uneven, and its stubby tail wagged furiously. It let out a loud, squeaky "Rrrowf!" and ran straight at them, baring its small fangs in what it clearly thought was a terrifying display.

The cousins blinked.

Then they burst out laughing.

"What is that supposed to be?" one of the boys said between laughs. "Some kind of fat dog?"

"It's hideous," the girl added, grinning. "Where'd you even find something that ugly?"

Aephelia's breath caught. "Don't touch it," she said quickly, stepping forward. "Please, it's harmless."

But before she could reach it, one of the boys swung his foot.

The kick caught the cub in the side. The little Gromstel yelped, tumbling across the grass and landing in a heap a few feet away.

"Stop it!" Aephelia cried, rushing to it.

She dropped to her knees, scooping the small creature into her arms. Its body trembled, a faint whine escaping its throat.

The tall boy smirked. "So that's what the food was for? Feeding that thing?"

The girl crossed her arms. "Makes sense. They even match. Both of them are strays."

Aephelia's chest tightened. "Leave," she said.

"Oh, look," the boy mocked. "The manaless wants to give orders now."

But then—

A deep, guttural growl resounded through the air.

It came from behind the hedge. The sound was low and heavy, vibrating through the ground beneath their feet.

The cousins froze.

And then the hedge burst apart, exploding outward in a shower of broken branches and dirt.

The Gromstel emerged, pushing through the wreckage like a living wall. Its black fur was bristled, and its mismatched eyes locked onto the group with unmistakable fury.

The boys stumbled backward. The girl gasped, her earlier smirk wiped clean off her face.

The Gromstel growled again, longer this time, the sound reverberating through the courtyard walls.

Its gaze was fixed on the older cousins.

One of the boys tripped over himself trying to back away. "What… What is that thing?"

Aephelia had never seen it like this before. Although the book mentioned something regarding this temperament, seeing it firsthand was a sight to behold.

The lazy, half-asleep beast that yawned at her stories was gone. What stood before her now was something primal, a living embodiment of wrath and protection.

The Gromstel took a step forward, its claws digging into the dirt.

"Wh-what's it doing?" one of the boys stammered.

Then it lunged.

Before anyone could move, a massive body of fur crashed into the tallest boy, the one who had kicked the cub. The sound of impact was a heavy thud. The boy screamed as he hit the ground, his leg caught between the Gromstel's jaws.

The others shouted in panic. One of them thrust his hand forward, mana flaring to life in his palm. A burst of orange fire shot out.

Small fireballs streaked through the air, striking the Gromstel's back and sides. Flames rippled across its fur, but it didn't flinch. The smell of burning fur filled the air, yet the beast didn't stop. It only turned its head slightly, mismatched eyes glowing faintly under the smoke.

And then, a sickening crack.

The boy's scream turned into a hoarse shriek as the beast twisted its jaws and tore its leg off.

The smell of blood, the sound of flesh, and the terrified screams of her cousins

It paralyzed her.

The boy fell back, clutching at the ground where his leg had been. His voice broke into desperate sobs before his strength failed him entirely. He slumped to the ground, unconscious.

The other cousins turned and bolted toward the main courtyard, stumbling over each other as they screamed for help.

Aephelia stood rooted to the spot, her heart pounding so hard it hurt.

Her knees trembled.

She clutched the hurt cub tighter against her chest. The little creature whimpered softly, pressing its face into her arm.

The beast's gaze lingered on her for a long moment. Then, with a rumbling exhale, it stepped back from the boy's body.

It didn't kill her cousin.

Instead, it turned and padded toward Aephelia.

When it stopped in front of her, it lowered its massive head, eyes still mismatched but softer now, almost… apologetic.

A deep, rumbling noise came from its throat. "Awoowowoowoo…"

Aephelia blinked through her fear. Her lips parted, but no sound came.

The big beast tilted its head, the same way it always did when waiting for her to respond, and repeated, "Awoo… woowoowoo."

The sound almost broke the tension in the air.

The cub in her arms wriggled weakly. Aephelia looked down, realizing how tightly she'd been holding it. The little one whimpered again and struggled to break free.

The cub pushed itself from her arms, landing clumsily on the grass. It limped forward, dragging one leg, and gave a small, broken "Rrrowf."

The big Gromstel immediately lowered its head and nudged the cub close, and the cub pressed against its mother's head with a quiet whine.

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