Scenes that didn’t make the cut. Spoilers ahead.
During my launch party for Avarium, I did a vote on which deleted scene to post next.
Everyone voted for the twins!
In the published version of Underground Royalty, Pinto gets promoted to unit leader. He’s assigned three unit members: Quax Avarium, Keiyo Pickett, and Sunna Rickabee. The only non-guardian is Sunna, who Pinto seeks out and recruits.
In an older draft, however, Quax and Keiyo weren’t assigned to Pinto’s unit. Instead, all three of Pinto’s unit members were non-guardians, so I had three different recruitments in one chapter (including Sunna’s failed proposal, which made it into the final version). The other two recruitments were for the Brackle twins. (Do you remember them from Nightshade Academy?)
I decided to change Pinto’s unit members to Quax, Keiyo, and Sunna because I felt that Quax and Keiyo were more important than the twins. This also allowed me space to expand Sunna’s recruitment to fill an entire chapter, instead of being only one scene long.
So without further ado, here are the two deleted recruitment scenes…
(These aren’t first drafts, but they definitely aren’t polished either. I’m leaving it rough so you can see what my unpublished work tends to look like.)
Ceylon burst into the Vakoi City Secondary gym, dressed in a bright red tracksuit. The performers in the school archery troupe, wearing uniforms identical to his, perked up at the sight of their captain.
“Today’s the big day!” Ceylon shouted, smiling at them from across the room. His voice echoed in the air as he squinted at the windows, which they’d boarded up as he’d requested—they couldn’t risk light shining into someone’s eyes during such a crucial performance. But thanks to the blackout boards, it was far too dark.
We can’t afford to take any chances.
“Do we have more lanterns?” he asked, making his way toward the troupe. They scattered about the gym instantly, flicking matches to light extra torches and lanterns.
“Thank you, everyone!” Ceylon called, spinning in place as he watched the room brighten in orange flicks. “We have twenty minutes until the talent agency shows up, so let’s run through the routine one final time!”
“Yes, Captain!” they shouted back.
Ceylon unmounted his bow from the wall and smiled at it. His short six months at the Academy had been long enough to mold him into the best archer at Vakoi City Secondary, landing him a spot in the school’s troupe. It was a minor feat in comparison to graduating from the Academy, but at least he had come home to something.
The only problem with the unexpected rise in status was that it would all be taken away after graduation. For now, he was the cool student who went to the Academy and almost became a guardian. That alone was something to be proud of. But the more time that passed after his return, the more people would begin to forget, and the less important he’d become.
Today was his chance to avoid his inevitable irrelevance. A renowned talent agency would be attending today’s performance to decide if they’d offer the troupe a chance to join an elite circle of archers for paid performances. Then they would be more than a school club with a cool captain—they’d be real winners, worthy of making news in Capital Weekly.
“Now it’s way too bright. We don’t want them to see our sweat,” Ceylon said, and the troupe members scrambled to put a few new lanterns out. He glanced at the clock on the wall and nodded. “Okay, that’s perfect. Now let’s try the routine one final time before they show. Let’s go!”
As they ran through the routine in the fire-lit gym, Ceylon shouted out personalized tips and encouragement. Despite the pressure, they performed just as well as they had the day before.
“I know the stakes will be higher once the agency gets here,” Ceylon said, glancing at the clock again. Just five minutes out. “But you all did perfectly just now. The Academy proved to me how important it is to stay calm under pressure, so if you can keep calm, you’ll be great. We’ll all be great.”
The troupe members took deep breaths. Some smiled.
“No pressure,” one muttered with an eye roll.
“Exactly,” Ceylon said, pointing at him. “Keep that attitute. We’re already great. They’re just here to observe us.”
He could see the grips on their bows loosen. He smiled in pride, knowing he’d finally said the right thing.
“Each and ever shot is a testament to our discipline and skill,” Ceylon continued. “Let’s show them what we’re made of. Are you with me?”
They smiled in unison. “Yes, Captain!”
“Now do your lucky shot, Ceylon!”
“Hit the target. That one there!”
“Right in the bullseye!”
Now it was Ceylon’s turn to feel the pressure. He drew his bow and faced a target across the room. It had become a tradition for him to make a shot right before any performance, and it always turned out that his shot would accurately portray the results of their school assembly performances. If he hit the bullseye, they’d get a standing ovation from the school. Every time. If he didn’t, they’d get a boring clap.
He narrowed his eyes and took a deep breath, his mind flashing with memories of the Academy. He swore he could feel the wind rustling through his hair, birds chirping in the trees around him. He released his bowstring, and the arrow soared toward the target, striking right next to the dot of red. So close, but not close enough. Perhaps it could have been a perfect shot, had he done one little thing differently. Just one little thing.
Ceylon lowered his bow and turned to his troupe members. “Are you sure you want me to shoot?”
“Shoot! Shoot! Shoot!” they chanted.
With a sigh, he drew the bow again, narrowed his eyes, and released. The arrow whipped across the room, striking the red bullseye right on the tarket.
Thank the stars.
They all cheered and thanked him as though he’d sealed their fate right then and there. He lowered the bow, the tension leaving his body. His shots that morning hadn’t been great, and he was glad not to let his troupe down. Luck is on our side today.
They door creaked open, turning their heads to the door as a silhouette entered, casting a shadow onto the wall.
“The agency’s here,” Ceylon whipsered. His troupe scattered into a triangular formation, Ceylon front and center.
As the figure neared, Ceylon’s eyes widened. Approaching them was not a member of the agency, but Pinto, with a legitimate bow on his back. It was a guardian’s bow crafted by the Medical Division—so much more official than the bow Ceylon practiced with, which was overly flashy. It was made for performances, not real combat, and he suddenly felt embarrassed to be holding it in his hands.
“Pinto?” Ceylon pulled a smiled and glanced at his troupe members, assuring them that nothing was wrong. “I haven’t seen you in ages! What are you doing here?”
“It’s a special day,” Pinto said.
“You heard about our agency performance?”
Pinto eyed Ceylon’s troupe members, shaking his head. “Actually, I’m here to share some news with you.” There was a tremor in his voice, and he tucked his hands into his pockets.
Ceylon gulped. Based on his nervousness, whatever it was couldn’t possibly be good.
After a moment of tense silence, Pinto finally met Ceylon’s gaze. “Ceylon Brackle of Vakoi City, the Force invested in you, and now calls upon that investment for the greater good.”
Ceylon’s bow fell out of his hand, clattering against the gym floor and sparking a few gasps.
“I’m sorry,” Pinto said. “I know you’re probably happy as captain of your troupe, but—”
“Are you kidding?” Ceylon shouted. “Pinto, this is the greatest news I’ve had since Selection Day!”
A smile slowly grew on Pinto’s face as Ceylon stepped forward, leaving behind the formation at front of the triangle.
“But what about the performance?” one of the troupe members called after him. “The agency?”
Ceylon looked back at his troupe. Over the past year, they had become like a second family to him.
“We need you for this performance,” another said. “You’re our leading archer! How could we do this without you?”
Ceylon took a deep breath, cementing his decision with a smile. “You’ll figure something out. If you can’t fix a few problems on the spot, maybe you’re not fit to perform in front of thousands. Pressure comes with the job.” He sharpened his gaze, not because he wanted to hurt them, but because they needed to be hardened.
This is a turning point. Not just for me, but for them. He turned his back on his troupe and followed Pinto to the gym door. They have to learn to grow without me.
As Pinto opened the door to leave, the agency was already making their way down the hallway, ready to watch a performance that would be missing its main piece. Ceylon greeted them with a passing smile, strangely feeling they were beneath him now.
“Maybe I shouldn’t ask,” Ceylon said, “but why me?”
“You were seventh place. Sunna was sixth, and he’s back too,” Pinto said.
“How many people are being called in?”
“Three.”
“Who was eighth?”
“Well, eight, nine, and ten were filtered on the same day. They didn’t manage to kill their rabbits. Your brother, however… Well, he’s technically eleventh, but the Force considers him better-equipped for the mental challenges of guardianship.”
Ceylon’s eyes lit up. “Really? I can’t believe it! This is truly a miracle. He’s got nothing going for him right now.”
Pinto looked at him with a frown. “What do you mean?”
“He dropped out of school months ago.”
“What?”
“It’s a long story. He’s working at our aunt’s tea shop now, and an artistic collective recruited him on a preliminary basis. He’s not an official member yet, but he’s getting there.”
Pinto tilted his head. “Which collective?”
“Pandora’s Box.”
At exactly 5:00 in the evening, Limbo Brackle approached the Elarion estate, gawking at the home of one of the wealthiest Vakoi City residents. E.P. Elarion managed merchandise for almost every entertainment troupe in the City, capitalizing on his clients’ deep-pocketed fans. But for the actors in Pandora’s Box, he sponsored them with more than stylish shirts for resale—he was also a sponsor, giving back more money than he earned from them. And in exchange for the excess profit, he required the occasional delivery in return.
This is it. My final task. Limbo took a deep breath before knocking on the front door. I make this delivery, and I’m one of them.
A bald butler with bulging muscles cracked the door open and peered through the gap.
“What’s your business here?”
Limbo opened his book bag just enough for the man to catch a glimpse. “Delivery from Pandora’s Box.”
With a loosening scowl, the butler ushered him inside and shut the door.
“Whoa…” Limbo sauntered into the room, observing the vast scenery of books, paintings, pottery, crafted tools, and designer clothes so valuable they were suspended in the air for display, never to be worn. It looked more like the Vakoi City museum than a wealthy common room—it even had the same colorful stained-glass windows. And as Limbo searched for the story told in the glass—there was always a story—the colorful shards began to merge together into a blinding bur, and he realized he was falling.
Limbo woke up blindfolded, surrounded by muttering voices. His head ached in a familiar way—a way he hadn’t felt in a long time, and it was clear to him then that someone had drugged him.
It’s belladonna. The guardians had captured him, and now he was in the Detainment Facility for questioning.
“Why am I here?” he called into the sea of voices.
“Limbo Brackle of Vakoi City,” said a raspy voice, louder than the others. “You know exactly why you’re here.”
Limbo turned his head to face the guardian, even though he couldn’t see a thing.
“After all we’ve done,” the guardian continued, “this is how you repay us?”
“You did nothing for me,” Limbo countered. “What do you want?”
“We want to let you free and brush this little incident aside. No one has to know,” the guardian said. “All you need to tell us is where you got that book, and who told you to bring it to the Elarion Estate.”
“No one. That was all me.”
“At the Academy, you trained under the guidances of Doctor Blimmery Owding of Vakoi City. This book you were trying to smuggle was written by his uncle, Meridian Owding. It’s been banned for longer than you’ve been alive. Someone gave you this book, and someone told you to deliver it. So now you’re going to tell us who that person is, and we’re going to give you a second chance.”
Limbo thought of the past two months he’d spent with the members of Pandora’s Box. He’d joined them as a preliminary actor to the public, playing characters in their carefully-written plays with anti-aristrocrat underlying messages. And behind the scenes, he had been performing tasks for them—delivering banned books to their sponsors and helping them write new content for their plays.
“This is your final test,” Varis had told him. “Deliver this banned book to our largest sponsor, E.P. Elarion. I only have two copies—this duplicate and the original. If you lose it, I’ll kill you. Hah, I kid! Relax. Just deliver this book, and you’re in. You’re one of us.”
How had the Force known about such a task? Did they already have an eye on Pandora’s Box? Surely not, if they were questioning Limbo for who had given him the book. Something wasn’t adding up here.
“Who gave you that book?” the guardian asked.
Limbo glued his mouth shut. He couldn’t turn in Pandora’s Box, not with how much they were doing for the greater good. He had no clue that such an incredible revolution had been running in the capital until he attended a play performed at Pandora’s Hall. He had never noticed before how their stories always involved a revolution—how their stories included political themes of propaganda. And during the meet-and-greet afterward, he had asked the main writer, Varis, what inspired him to write such stories.
And Varis had wrapped his arm around Limbo and said, “Let me show you something.” He took him into the back room and showed him their paintings, and he asked him what they meant. And where most people saw a living rabbit, Limbo saw a dead one. And Varik decided that Limbo might be one of them at heart.
Dropping out of school was a big decision, but with an invitation into the most renowned theater group in the capital, his family was immensely supportive. He attended normal practices at first, but slowly and surely, the collective began to show him their true colors. They were far more than a theater group. They were an elite secret society, injecting their performances and art with political messaging in an effort to expose their corrupt leadership.
Yes, they hosted plays, poetry readings, and art expeditions to earn money. They also received financial support through sponsors like E.P. Elarion, who opposed the Emperor but didn’t wish to play an active role in the cultural revolution. Their plays were always described as uneasy and strange, but it was rare people called their work treasonous. They were clever enough to bury their messaging.
“Art is subjective,” Varis once said. “Which means we can spin any piece to our liking. No, this story’s isn’t a commentary on the Underground. It’s purely fictional!”
In addition to selling tickets, they hosted secret auctions for high-value pieces—and it was only allowed for their sponsors to attend. They also hosted their own debates behind the curtain. Because yes, they were a collective, but they encouraged each members to have different views of the current political climate, with some more anti-aristocratic than others.
“Cultural genesis,” Varis told Limbo, gesturing to a secret library of banned books. “That’s what we’re after. Art inspires thought, and thought inspires reovlution. The Force thinks we’re nothing but a silly troupe, but they don’t understand the messages we’re spreading. Most people don’t, but it leaves them with a feeling, you know?”
“That something’s off. That nothing can be trusted,” Limbo replied.
“Exactly, and that’s the most valuable trait a society can have. Intuition. Critical thinking,” Varis said.
A stike to his head knocked Limbo back to his senses. His teeth cut into his bottom lip, and he tasted metallic blood, but he still didn’t answer the guardian’s question. He would not allow the Force to catch onto Pandora’s Box. Without the collective, there would be no hope for a revolution. Perhaps the Underground would someday strike back and take the Force down, but without a cultural battle, the people would always be divided. If anything, Pandora’s Box was the Force’s greatest threat.
Imagine all the books that would be destroyed, Limbo thought, pressing his lips to avoid telling the Force the truth. I can’t expose them. Even if they kill me, that’s a sacrifice I must make for the collective.
He gasped as a cold blade touched his neck.
“You’re going to tell us who gave you the Meridian book,” the guardian whispered into his ear.
“No,” Limbo said, sending chills down his arms. “You won’t get a name out of me.”
He pressed the blade harder. “Who gave you the Meridian book?”
Limbo winced as the blade cut through a layer of skin. “No!”
And then the blade disappeared, and the room went silent. Limbo looked around, waiting for someone to speak, but he could hear nothing but his heart pounding against his chest.
And then, there was laughter.
It filled the room in an instant, and Limbo frowned, looking around in a desperate attempt to figure out what was going on.
“Limbo!” the guardian said, ripping the blindfold from his head. “Congratulations!”
And the man in front of him was not a guardian, but Thalon Pandora, founder of Pandora’s Box. He had never had the honor to meet him in person, but he’d seen his portraits and occasionally caught glimpses of him in the City.
He looked around and spotted the members of the collective scattered about the theater room, still laughing. Varis appeared next to him and shook him by the shoulders. “Limbo, you’re not a rat!”
“I’m not a rat!” Limbo shouted back, laughing too. It had all been a test. There were no guardians around.
Varis held up Limbo’s arm and turned to the crowd. “Please welcome our newest member of Pandora’s Box!”
In unison, the collective members chanted, “Welcome to Pandora!”
“Who are we?” Varis shouted.
“Pandora’s Box!” Limbo chanted with the others, joining in the noise.
“And what do we stand for?”
“The cultural genesis!” everyone answered.
Limbo smiled proudly as everyone cheered.
“Good job, kid,” said Varris.
Limbo turned to Thalon, the founder of Pandora, who saluted Limbo in gratitude. In his hands was the pocket knife he had used to threaten Limbo.
“You impersonate the Force perfectly,” Limbo said.
“Well, I’ve heard my fair share of guardian speak,” Thalon said. He was an old man wtih wrinkles that spoke to his wisdom. Limbo had heard much about the man. Like Limbo, he had spent several months at the Academy decades ago, and it was his experiences in the program that had led him to found Pandora’s Box.
“I admire your anger,” Thalon said. “People forget how valuable anger is. They think it’s bad. Nasty. But anger is a sign that something’s wrong. If you’re never angry, that means you never care.” He held a glass of wine out for Limbo, who took a sip.
“How did you poison me earlier?” he asked.
“Belladonna spray,” Thalon replied. He offered Limbo a package of cream. “For the rashes.”
Limbo felt his face, noticing the bumps. And once he noticed it, the itchiness came.
“So the butler?”
“I’m over here!” the man yelled from the collective. “No longer performing. I make art for the collective from hom.”
“Which explains why I never saw you before,” Limbo concluded.
The fake butler held up a spray bottle of belldonna. “A few squirts over your head does the trick.”
Limbo laughed as the celebration began. The collective played instruments, performing songs from their latest play. They asked for Limbo’s advice on the lyrics and the messaging. They had actors spitting off lines back and forth in the corner. And people all congratulated Limbo on passing the same test they had all passed.
“What happened to the people who didn’t pass?” Limbo asked.
“No one hasn’t passed,” Thalon replied. “Isn’t that funny? How if you show enough people the truth, they’ll do anything to protect it?”
Limbo ate the food, feeling more accomplished than he ever had in his life. He had always considered himself a bit of his brother’s shadow. He went where he went, played the games he played, did what he did. But thanks to the Academy, Limbo had finally broken free. Perhaps that was something to be grateful to the Force for.
If I hadn’t gone to the Academy, I never would have joined Pandora’s Box. Maybe I’d even be a member of Ceylon’s silly archery troupe.
He chuckled at the thought.
It must have been ten minutes after the celebration began when the room fell silent once again. Heads turned to the front door of Pandora’s Hall, where an uninvited guest walked into the party.
One glance at his eye patch confirmed that he was, indeed, a real guardian.
“Pinto?” Limbo walked up to him, feeling somewhat responsible for getting rid of him, considering his history. He saw eyes shoot in his direction, as though he might be a rat after all. They were all a bit more skeptical about him joining the collective, considering his history in the Force. They hadn’t had another Thalon in a long time, and it was hard to believe he’d followed the same story.
“I’m sorry to spoil the party,” Pinto said, “but I have news for you.”
Limbo frowned. “What is it?”
“Limbo Brackle of Vakoi City,” Pinto said, sparking murmurs from the collective, “the Force invested in you, and now calls upon that investment for the greater good.”
End of the deleted scene
Read Underground RoyaltyIt’s come to my attention that I haven’t shared much bonus content for the Belladonna series. So, I finally dug through my old drafts and found a deleted scene just for you.
In the published version of Nightshade Academy, Yahshi’s runaway arc is emotional, centered around his grief, guilt, and the choice to give himself a second chance.
But in an older draft, I took a very different approach. His time on the run was grueling, action‑packed, and filled with external threats. This scene showcases one of the many dangers he faced.
I ended up deleting this scene because my beta readers didn’t find the conflict relevant—and I think they were 100% right. Yes, it was tense and showed off the skills Yahshi learned at the Academy, but it didn’t serve his emotional arc.
I replaced this scene with something quieter—Yahshi having a conversation with a young woman over a meal. This rewrite forced me to recognize the difference between true conflict and flashy drama.
All that being said, it’s pretty fun in isolation, so here it is…
(This isn’t a first draft, but it’s definitely not polished either. I’m leaving it rough so you can see what my unpublished work tends to look like.)
A biting breeze filled the woods, but the cold couldn’t break Yahshi’s spirit. He remembered seeing Atherus City on maps, in bold letters, way up north along the coast. His destination was far, but at least he had one.
I’ll head east first, reach the shoreline, and travel north from there. Hopefully I can find a map on the way.
He ran for as long as he could before slowing to a walking pace, struggling to catch his breath. His legs were wobbly from running and numb from the cold. If only he could rest for the night…
I’ll walk for a bit. Yahshi rubbed his dry eyes, struggling to keep them open. Just for a bit.
As his breathing began to settle, he focused on the sounds of the forest. The chirping of crickets, the rustling of bushes, the whispering of wind. Dirt crumbled beneath his boots—the last piece of the Force that remained with him—and twigs snapped like fire crackling.
A fire would be really nice right now.
He was deciding how long to travel before sleeping when a muddle of high-pitched howls and yelps caught his attention. Closing his eyes, he tuned into the noise. A pack of animals were approaching from somewhere behind him, and they were getting louder. Closer.
Yahshi reached over his shoulders for sword handles that weren’t there. Great. I miss my tools.
There was nowhere to hide, so he continued running and focused on reducing the impact of his footsteps. He surprised himself with how easily he cut through the darkness like a shadow, his heavy boots soft against even the crumbliest and snappiest materials. But despite the skills he’d picked up in training, the howling and yelping followed right in his trail.
He quickened his pace, ignoring his form completely as he hopped over bushes and darted around tree trunks. The noises grew louder, right behind him, and he looked over his shoulder to see a pack of coyotes baring their teeth.
His heart pounded against his chest, but even adrenaline couldn’t save him.
Something sharp pierced his ankle.
Yahshi choked for air, struggling to stay afoot. A coyote had sunk its teeth deep into his calf.
He jerked his leg forward and landed a blow to the coyote’s head. It released him with a whimper.
Blood dripped down his leg and into his boots, but with his life on the line, Yahshi was numb to the pain. He scanned the area as he sprinted, desperate for a cave or a ditch or something.
And then, in the distance, he spotted a tree. It wasn’t like the others, which had tall branches out of reach. It was similar to the one he had climbed in the woods at the Academy—the one Ceylon had threatened him to scale. Its lower branches would make for an easy climb.
As he neared it, Yahshi launched forward and jumped onto one of the shorter branches. He reached for another and pulled himself over it, tugging his knees up in the process to keep his feet barely out of the coyotes’ reach. They howled and jumped and scratched at the trunk as he climbed even higher.
When he reached a sturdy branch, he leaned back against the trunk and bent his knee with a wince. A deep ache spread through his leg as he pulled the fabric of his trousers up. The bite wound was bleeding furiously, and the sight left him gritting his teeth. Tuning out the noisy coyotes, he removed his wool sweater and pressed the fabric against his wound.
Ten to twenty minutes of pressure for a wound like this. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, fighting through the pain as he applied more pressure to slow the bleeding.
A few minutes later, the coyotes stopped howling. He opened his eyes to peer down, only to find them still there, swirling quietly and slowly around the trunk.
To scare them off, Yahshi snapped a thin branch from the tree and tossed it down. The coyote he struck growled in response, and soon, they were all making a ruckus again.
“I already have guardians after me!” Yahshi yelled. “I don’t need more enemies!”
They howled louder in response, and he had a sick feeling they were here to stay.
When their howling settled once again, Yahshi removed the bloody sweater from his leg to examine the wound. The bleeding had slowed, so he propped his leg up on a slightly higher branch to elevate it above his heart.
One of the coyotes growled, and Yahshi chucked a handful of bark at it.
As the night wore on, the air grew colder. He couldn’t keep from shaking, which intensified the pain in his leg. He considered traveling from tree to tree through the branches, but they weren’t close enough, and he didn’t trust himself to jump. His only option was to wait.
“You have no idea how much I’ve gone through to get here,” Yahshi muttered, peering down at the coyotes. “Wait as long as you want, but I’m not losing to you.” He threw another handful of bark. They didn’t growl this time, but they didn’t leave either.
Hours passed as he sat in that tree. His neck and back ached, but he feared that moving into another position would reignite the coyotes’ growling, and that was the last thing he wanted. He liked them better when they waited silently—and perhaps if he kept them bored for long enough, they’d give up.
Thunder struck, then lightning. Yahshi heard the rain pattering on the leaves above him, and soon enough those raindrops were slipping onto his head. The sprinkle turned into a pour, and he peeked down to see the coyotes trotting away, seeking shelter.
After waiting a few minutes longer, just to be safe, Yahshi sighed in relief and began to climb down the tree, keeping most of his weight on his good leg.
Why is it always that same leg? He chuckled bitterly at the memory of his broken leg at the Academy. If only he had Doctor Blimmery’s crutches now, because when he reached the ground and tested his weight on his bad leg, a shock ran straight through his body. Even the slightest pressure was nearly unbearable.
The storm raged on, and despite racing the clock, Yahshi knew he couldn’t run. He looked around as he limped briskly through the woods, paranoid another pack of animals might end him for good.
The forest had always been such a haunting thing.
—
Fun fact: I made a lot of worldbuilding progress after this scene and concluded that the island Belladonna is set on would absolutely not have coyotes!
End of the deleted scene
Read Nightshade Academy