"My sisters used to laugh when Melantha made traps to catch animals in the woods during our trials. I marveled at her ingenuity when she explained how they worked. She would also slap my hand away whenever I offered to make a campfire with my flames. Back then, she could barely form a flame strong enough to ignite the wet tinder. But I realized while watching her striking the stones...that she had something we all severely lacked..." -Milada

Part 1: Pariah Rises

---

...Seven years earlier...

---

Melantha ignored the obstinate gazes and evident contempt flooding from the individuals seated on the perimeter of the great hall. She stood at the very center, her head lowered in what some onlookers would view as submissive.

It was true that Melantha felt the weight of their hushed words and glares. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, listening as their voices became more emphatic. She might have felt the weight, but her deceptive posture hid her true feelings.

She allowed a wide grin to grace her features. The expression seemed much smaller than it really was as lengths of her thick black hair obscured the sides of her face. She embraced their hatred in order to solidify her convictions.

They despised her. They always had since her birth. She was considered a mockery sent by their goddess.

Every few centuries, the tribe of hound beastkin, known as the Kordigna, were blessed with the ancient bloodline that transcended their emblematic traits and abilities. A litter of three beastkin were born with powers meant to sow chaos and spread the tribe's legacy in order to place the world rightfully back on its heels – to always know that there are greater powers beyond the prominent peoples inhabiting the world.

She recited one of the Seven Obligations in her people's doctrines, “The world needs controlled chaos, because the world is inherently imperfect.”

Seventeen years earlier, a litter of four female beastkin was born with Melantha as the youngest daughter.

Not long after..she was labeled as a curse. Her people had thought they were granted the greatest of honors by receiving the first litter of four hellhounds. The long-recorded centuries of the past always stated that only three hellhounds were ever born at a given time. Surely, this blessing meant that their tipping of the world's balance was of the greatest import and transcended the centuries prior. But to their dismay, they learned that the fourth of the litter did not receive the full powers of the ancient bloodline and, as a result, it was apparent that two of the sisters had lost their full potential thanks to her birth.

The Kordigna couldn't help but believe that their tribe had committed some great sin. That was the thought at first, but it was much easier to blame the dead woman who gave birth to them in the first place. When cursing the dead was unsatisfactory, they moved on to the living – the physical evidence of their misfortune: Melantha.

Melantha did not possess the inner, otherworldly fire that swelled within her three older sisters. Her flames were mere embers in comparison. Her strength, while superior to most humans, was but a fraction that could not compete with more powerful monsters. Her claws were dull and lacked durability; furthermore, she had only received the appropriate physical shape on one hand. If one looked closely, it was obvious that the clawed hand's joints were angled, but her other hand resembled something closer to human.

Her darkened skin, compared to the ashen pale features of her people, signified that she was truly one of the ancient bloodline. And even the strongest of regular beastkin hounds were incapable of wielding the slightest flame. Regardless, they refused to accept that Melantha was a true hellhound.

Melantha lifted her head slightly, just enough for her to see up the rows of seats that encircled her. She forced a more neutral countenance as her eyes settled on a dark-skinned beastkin woman near the back of the rising seats. Her arms were folded over her chest in a stance that made her seem almost disinterested in the proceedings. Only one of her eyes was visible since one side of her face was almost entirely obscured by the brunette hair that brushed her shoulders.

They stared at each other for only a second, but Melantha could sense the approval from her eldest sister who had always silently supported her from the shadows. Her perpetual look of indifference was a facade that only Melantha was capable of deciphering. They had all been born of the same litter, but the first from the womb always received the greatest power of the bloodline. She commanded the most respect, and Melantha was grateful for this since she didn't expect much support from her other two sisters.

Melantha's mouth curled up on one side and she thought, Hope you're ready for a show, Mila.

The eldest hellhound, Milada, gave her only the slightest nod that wouldn't be perceived by anyone else in the crowd.

Melantha turned from her sister to observe the thirteen individuals that sat elevated before her. They all sat in their high-backed chairs with the same straight posture of authority. Their faces were a mixed bag of indignation and boredom. Some of them held a perpetual look of exhaustion, mostly thanks to their old age. However, some of them still clung stubbornly to their youth. She wondered if this was also an aftereffect to their childish stubbornness.

The individual sitting at the center of the long table folded his hands and begrudgingly started his pronouncement, “The Council of Kordigna calls upon the Forum of Lo. Have the members chosen a representative to bear the sigil of the hellhound bloodline?”

The answer was met with silence, but an individual did eventually stand among his peers and maneuvered through the seated individuals. It might have seemed silly that the representative would sit so far back in the crowd rather than near the stage floor, but it was painfully obvious that he was just trying to buy time for himself. Nobody wanted the task of bestowing an honor upon the cursed hellhound.

Melantha's eyes followed her fellow beastkin the entire time, and he only looked at her when he was within arm's length.

Melantha realized that it was fear that kept him in place. She could tell based on his fidgeting feet, shivering eyes and trembling mouth. The cowards of the Forum wouldn't send anyone with even a remote amount of repute to present the sacred medallion that would signify her status as a hellhound.

Cowardly scum, she thought.

She watched as the young man fumbled with the string of a small pouch lined with gold stitching. After about a half-minute of fumbling he finally retrieved the coin-sized symbol. He hesitated before taking a step towards her, but he was mercifully stopped when Melantha extended her hand to him. They remained at arm's length, and the young beastkin stared at her clawed hand in bewilderment before he finally realized what she intended.

He looked up at her for a moment and visibly shivered when their eyes locked. He pressed the medallion into her palm a little harder than intended and swiftly retreated back to the rising seats where the crowd waited impatiently.

It was customary for the representative to pin the medallion on the hellhound's cloak, but Melantha decided to spare him the burden. The people of her tribe had already fed him the lies and fear. She accepted that there were many among them who were too far gone, swayed by the words of their elders and misguided teachings.

Melantha pulled on the two curled pins behind the medallion and removed a small metal piece that would attach to the inside portion of her cloak. It was a little difficult to hold it in place with her half-human hand, but she managed to finish much faster than the young boy's sojourn back up the stairs.

When she finished and faced the council of thirteen, the man in the middle spoke again, “As is tradition, the sigil is bestowed upon those who wield the flames of the underworld --” he then added as an aside, “--Even if that flame should be altered, it remains outside the laws of magic. That is indisputable.”

Oh, how very noble of you to mention that little detail, Melantha thought. She made sure to keep her expression neutral.

A low hum of discontent rolled from the audience. Melantha didn't let it sway her. They would all regret their years of transgression soon enough.

“You have passed the trials handed down by the great tamers of the first hellhounds,” the council leader continued. “And so we-”

The councilman was cut off as someone stood and shouted from the crowd, “This is a travesty!”

It didn't take long for the low hums to escalate into rumblings. Another stood from the crowd and added her assent to the first speaker. Then another. And another. Soon there were eight individuals standing, and it wasn't hard to tell based on how they were clustered that they were all members from the Forum of Lo.

“The trials are meant to verify specific qualities for their completion,” the first speaker said. He glared down at Melantha. “This one used ill-begotten means to complete the trials. Her strength was meant to be tested, but she utilized other methods to achieve her objectives. Her weak flames were intensified and controlled not by herself, but by the gifts provided by nature. This is inexcusable. Should the trials not reflect their intent? Should they not parallel the System left by our Lady Overseer?”

There were some shouts of agreement in the man's general vicinity, but surprisingly there were some dissenters from other groups around the convocation. They weren't necessarily on Melantha's side, but they were devout believers of the trials themselves.

“The trials do not state a specific journey, but the destination!” someone else countered. “The first tamers painstakingly created the trials to determine whether one has earned the symbol of the hellhound. Yes, these methods are clearly unforeseen and, I will say, frowned upon, but we cannot forsake their intention.”

“This must be an exception,” the other woman from the Forum responded.

“Nothing in the doctrines states anything about omitting a fourth hellhound!”

“She is no hellhound!”

The lead councilman rose from his seat and slapped both hands on the table before the cacophony could rise out of control. “Enough! I will have order for this convocation!” He pointed to the members of the Forum. “You are out of line and broke the order of procession for speaking during this ceremony. There will be no further hearsay from the Forum.”

A few expressed their outrage with some more quick expletives and grumbles before they returned to their restless silence.

Melantha watched as the councilman took his seat again and made the customary motion of folding his hands. He observed her for a short time before heaving an exasperated sigh.

“This is truly a strange case,” he said. “I am loathe to present an honor from our goddess upon those who tamper with the trials, but there is nothing that states these methods as fraudulent. After all, no normal beastkin could have performed such feats.” He glowered at Melantha. “Nonetheless, it is plainly sacrilegious.”

Melatha struggled to keep herself from rolling her eyes at the not-so neutral statement.

That is strictly a matter of opinion, she thought. How very noble and cowardly of you, Councilman Amris.

She had been purposefully avoiding the gaze of the man sitting next to the esteemed councilman, but she found her eyes drawn to him as he continued to stare at her unwavering. The dark, sunken skin around his eyes gave him the perpetual exhaustion akin to his fellow council members, but they also held a sadness that Melantha had become accustomed to her whole life. His beard was disheveled and patchy in some places. The hound ears atop his head drooped to mirror his countenance and were similarly unkempt.

Melantha ignored him. Trading nasty looks wouldn't make her feel any better.

Thank you for your support as always, Father...

The words of another councilman drew her attention, “It would be unfitting to send her out into the world of humans. Three hellhounds should be sufficient.”

Melantha gritted her teeth at the expected declaration.

“Agreed,” another councilman chimed in. She brushed her hair aside with an air of vanity. “Remember, we need controlled chaos to remind the other races, especially humans, that they are not the ones that dictate the course of the world.”

“Yes, and we agree that the fourth hellhound's methods are far too capricious in nature. With the humans pushing the border, we will be able to analyze her actual competence and dissuade the humans' movements if needed.”

Melantha didn't bother to hide her grin any longer. She knew it would come to this. She knew they would try to restrain her until the very end. No doctrine was sacred enough to stay their pride or restrain their foolish misgivings.

They were afraid.

“I always assumed this would be the true verdict,” Melantha said. She raised her voice just enough to be heard over the growing din. The hall went dead silent.

The lead councilman, Amris, narrowed his eyes at her. “Would you care to repeat that statement?”

The vehemence tracing his words only added to Melantha's amusement. She figured he realized this as well, for he positioned himself slightly back, as if to distance himself from her as much as possible. The chair mocked him as he pushed into its back, causing it to scrape loudly along the floor.

“You speak of our tenuous border,” Melantha continued. “You speak of chaos. You speak of controlling the world and putting the humans in their place, and yet, you cower behind walls built by their hands.” She chuckled at the absurdity, which drew plenty of scornful remarks from the members of the Forum.

Melantha seized the opportunity and directed her attention towards them. Some of them recoiled as if she had actually struck them physically.

“And you, esteemed members of the Forum – you send boys to do the work of men.” She pointed at the lad who had delivered the medallion to her. “No, I'm wrong. He is more manly than the lot of you. You recite your doctrines and preach, but you're so quick to rescind your teachings at any convenience. You're no better than the human lords who constantly push us further north.”

“How dare you compare us to the humans!” a Forum member practically screamed as he bolted upright. Melantha recognized him as the same dissenter who had shouted earlier. “They bring nothing but war! We are balance in the service of Lo! We are-”

“Hypocrites,” Melantha finished for him.

The Forum member's arms went stiff at his side. “You little bitch...”

“Ah, yes,” Melantha said. “What a fine counter-argument you've made there. I guess I should reiterate. Losing your land and retreating to the north every hundred years is balance? You send hellhounds every few centuries for the sake of some doctrines written by a dead god. You feel some sense of satisfaction, knowing that fellow beastkin born from your tribe spread a message that the other races couldn't give two shits about.”

The hall remained silent as she paused. She took this as a sign that some of her words were getting through to them. A few that attempted to make exclamations were held back by their peers sitting next to them. But Melantha knew this was only a temporary reaction. Once the council members and Forum had a chance to form a rebuttal, no matter how nonsensical or innate, she would lose them. She would never have their full support. She would never open their eyes to the bigger picture. They had been secluded from the world for too long with nothing but the ancient words recited over the centuries. And they believed them because the hellhounds were real, and they always appeared according to the will of the doctrine.

“I've spent my whole life among those I should be calling my kin. And yet, all I have ever received is disdain. You cursed my mother, and when that wasn't enough you cursed me. And now you have the audacity to bestow this empty thing on me.” Melantha pressed her fingers to the medallion and ripped it from her cloak. She took satisfaction in the collective gasp from the onlookers as she raised it above her head. “You only want three hellhounds to carry out your precious message? I suppose you have no real need for a fourth to spread your 'controlled chaos.' That suits me fine.”

Melantha rested the medallion on her thumb and flicked it a few feet in front of her. It made contact with the stone floor, and a ring like the echoing toll of a bell resounded through the expansive hall. No sound came from the onlookers this time. The soft clattering of the coin-sized medallion echoed for a few seconds before it finally came to rest on the floor.

She had already turned her back to the council of thirteen. She glanced up at her sister, who still stood with her arms folded over her chest. The customary look of indifference was still there, but she shifted a bit on her feet.

“Do not turn your back to us!”

Melantha half-turned and observed the lead councilman's beet-red face. His shoulders heaved as he took heavy breaths. A shaky finger pointed at the medallion that rested equidistant between them.

“That is a sacred icon of Lo,” Amris said through gritted teeth. “You will retrieve it, you will wear it and you-will-honor it.”

Melantha stared at the medallion resting despondently on the floor. She slowly turned on her feet and feigned uncertainty as she bit her lower lip. The triumphant expression on the councilman's face almost made her burst into laughter, but she held it deep in her chest.

She stood before the sacred medallion. Her eyes scanned the onlookers of the convocation one last time. She stared at the Forum member who had spoken first for an extra second longer than the rest.

“You call me 'little?'” she said.

The councilman's expression darkened. Nearly everyone mirrored him when Melantha's true intentions dawned on them.

The hellhound's mouth formed an open, toothy grin. "All of you...you're nothing but pups compared to me.”

Melantha raised her foot and stomped on the medallion with the heel of her boot. A loud crack reached everyone's ears. She brought her foot down a second time for good measure and observed what remained. Four pieces of similar size sat among thin cracks in the floor. Despite her immense strength, even she was surprised by how easily it shattered. She figured the thing was nothing but a knockoff anyway. They didn't need to put forth the effort to painstakingly craft a genuine sigil for the cursed hellhound.

So much for sacred, Melantha thought.

No words were spoken as she turned on her heels and approached the double doors of the hall. The only sound was a brief thud when Councilman Amris fell back on his arse, as if Melantha had punched him square on the nose.

The following silence urged her to turn around one last time before departing. She spared a slight glance, and her eyes met her father's. It took all of her remaining willpower to conceal her surprise.

He was smiling.

Not once did Melantha recall a time when her father expressed any sort of approval. He had never laughed or cried in her presence. Her sisters never spoke of any changes to his temperament. It was always the same sad expression – the look of someone who simply wanted to lie down and whither away.

The smile was gone as quickly as it appeared.

Melantha forced the doors open and felt relief in the cool night air. The sister moons in the sky, Ophelia and Amelia, greeted her.

Whatever... she thought.