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Chapter Text

I could feel the ash upon my skin. Embers of the burning dead singed the hairs on my arm and my nostrils. The heavy stench of smoke made my eyes water and my whole body recoil in deep disgust and loathing. My eyes were clamped tightly shut but I could still see the dead burning upon the pyres that were my home. 

Blackened claws grasped at me. All around me, the dead whispered their madness in my ears. They told me that they died because of my weakness, that it was my fault. If I hadn’t been born, they would still be alive. I climbed, using the dead to secure a foothold. Charred, cracked flesh crumbled beneath my fingers. Singed bone cut into my flesh and empty, burnt-out eye sockets gazed into the depths of my soul. 

I rose, only to find more dead. I climbed, only for the pit that had taken me to pull me down. I lived, only to be surrounded by more dead. And yet, I didn’t stop, couldn’t stop. For if I did, why did I still live? Why did everyone else die while I was spared? 

It couldn’t be chance. It couldn’t be whimsy, I refused to believe it. When I climbed out of the eternally deep pit of the dead, I found a man in front of me. Cloaked in black night, holding a blacker blade. His dead, fishy eyes stared at me. Judging me.

I could feel the cold fires feed into my rage, my grief and like a wild animal, I rushed him. My body was cut to bloody ribbons but I refused to let that be the end so I attacked again and again and again and again and again -  

My body lurched up and my insides twisted and churned. My heart drummed incessantly in my chest as if it was trying to escape through my ribs. My whole body felt sticky and oddly warm but there was no sweat. My skin shivered and my shaking fingers went to my stomach to quell my churning stomach. 

“Would you be offended if I said good morning, my Prince?” Whisper’s voice was quiet, uncertain. But it was good to hear something familiar, something real. 

A shuddering breath escaped my lips and I forced my breathing to calm down. I took a quick stock of the room around me and memories flooded back into my turbulent mind. 

I had gone to sleep for the first time in who knows how many weeks. As I expected, the nightmares of that night still haunted me. I couldn’t tell if they had become worse but this time, I didn’t wake up screaming.

No. No, I wouldn’t be. Did you see that then, Whisper?

“My apologies, my Prince but yes. Due to our connection, what you witness and feel, so do I,” I slowly fell back on the soft bed, trying to let my tense muscles relax and loosen. My whole body felt slick with cold but the quilt and the bed’s silk sheets warmed me. 

Well. I suppose there’s nothing for it then. I’m sorry you had to see that.

“I expected this, my Prince. I steeled myself for it, but…well, it doesn’t matter. How do you feel, my Prince?” 

I lay there for a moment, staring up at the ceiling of my room. Normally, I would feel my cold clammy sweat drip off me, each bead like the edge of a sharp dagger scraping against my skin. But this time, there was nothing of the sort.

My eyelids weren’t heavy but they weren’t light either. My body was relaxed but sluggish. I blinked slowly to chase away the phantom images that lingered in my mind and I peeled off the bed covers, sitting up on the edge.

Hungry. Thirsty, like I always am. But strange enough, I feel refreshed but not so much that I felt like I slept the night away. 

“Nightmare Fugue Vigilance eliminates your need for sleep by placing you on the cusp between waking and dreaming. But it does not eliminate your need for rest, my Prince. Keep that in mind for the future, if you would.” 

Of course, Whisper.

Besides. That was the first time I had ever made it out of the pit. 

Donning the silken robe given to me, I did a quick check to make sure that my daiklave and flute were untouched. Reaching out to the bedside table, I gently grasped the redwood flute and my thumb brushed against its holes. 

My lips twitched upwards as I gave the flute a tighter squeeze as if to make certain of its own existence. Pocketing the flute, I found my gaze drawn to the balcony that overlooked the courtyard and the fallowed fields of Jester’s March. 

Walking out in the open, I let the rays of the morning sun wash over me and I looked over the expansive land before me. The courtyard was empty and quiet but I could see the throngs of slavers working hard on the fields.

Whisper, you warned me about the gods last night. What did you mean by that? 

“Gods, same as demons and elementals, have a Charm that is called Measure The Wind. Simply put, those that know this Charm can gain a vague notion of what kind of being stands in front of them; such as if they’re Dragon-Blooded, mortals, spirits in disguise and so on.” 

That sounds…concerning. Are you telling me that they would know about my nature as a Green Sun Prince just by meeting me? 

“It’s more complicated than that, my Prince,” I could feel Whisper’s thoughts churning in the back of my mind and an image of her face scrunched up in thought. 

“For one, they would have to actually use the Charm. If they believe they have no reason to use it, they won’t. Secondly, the Charms of gods are not omnipotent nor can they be freely used. Many have stipulations to them and this applies just as well to demons and elementals. Thirdly, it can easily be thwarted by Charms others may know.”

So what would happen if they did use it on me? And let us say I didn’t have any protection. How would a god react? Would I even know that he used this Charm? 

“Not without magical assistance. Measure The Wind is a subtle Charm, invisible to the naked eye. As for how you would appear…it’s an interesting question. Chances are, they would easily find you to be a creature of darkness but they would know about your Exalted nature. Until it happens, I couldn’t tell you, my Prince.” 

Excuse me? A creature of darkness? 

“A label that will most certainly apply to you, my Prince. Undead, demons, Fair Folk and the like are also creatures of darkness. Usually, it isn’t associated with the Exalted which is why it will be a cause of concern for any gods that detect you.” 

I leaned down on the wooden railing of the balcony, placing my chin on my open palm. My gaze flowed over the vast fields of wheat and groves of apple trees and the rivers that nourished the earth. It was quite a sight if one ignored the coming and going of slave farmers. 

I knew very little of the gods themselves; supposedly, they each held a place in the world and the heavens and each had a duty. Gods that were deemed worthy of worship were given holidays celebrated by the local community, set by the Immaculate Philosophy. Because gods grew stronger from prayers, it was important not to let them grow greedy and hunger for more. I’ve heard tales of gods taking control of entire villages, demanding sacrifices to empower themselves. The monks would beat them back into submission or destroy them outright if they had to. 

“Now, the most interesting question you asked, my Prince, is how the gods would react to you. I should tell you that the traitor gods are your enemies. They should be made to bow and scrape the very earth that you walk for you embody the creators of this world, now returned.” 

…Am I actually capable of even doing that? 

“When you start coming into your Charms, you will be. You are a Slayer of Cecelyne, my Prince. The gods bowed down to all Primordials but it was Cecelyne that bound them by her laws and it was Theion that cowed them with his might. It’s only a matter of time,” There was a certain tenure to Whisper’s tone that made the hairs on my arms rise up. But it passed as soon as it came and my companion carried on. 

“But here is the dirty little secret of the gods, my Prince; they are not too different from us demons. They are vain, prideful and greedy beings. If they discover you, it will not be met with a duel to the death but a transaction. A deal or blackmail, if they are truly stupid.”

Everyone uses everyone, hm? Then any suggestions, Whisper? 

“Delve deeper into your Charms, my Prince. The answer can be found there. Other than that, I know of a martial arts style that would interest you. It’s actually quite popular in Malfeas.” 

Oh? And what would that be? 

“The God Slayer Style, despite its baroque name, is quite adept at the slaying of spirits. Its weapons, besides your own fists, are the spear and the scythe. While those that practice may take up the mantle of God Slayers, the truth is that the style itself works just as well against any spirits such as demons, elementals and ghosts.” 

A twinge in my mind flickered for a brief moment. Faintly, certain names came to my mind but nothing that struck me like the Violet Bier Of Sorrows Style did. I shut them out of my mind for now and I heard Whisper’s faint hum of interest in the back of my mind. 

Is that going to happen every time when a martial arts style comes up? 

“I doubt every time. Some styles came after the Usurpation, after all, such as the Even Blade Style. Despite its prominence now, you don’t feel any kinship for it, do you?” 

It was phrased as an innocent question and I honestly do not believe that Whisper meant anything by it. But there was something in her words that made me go still for a moment. 

The Five Blades Sect prided itself on the mastery of the Even Blade Style but also on the freedom one had in pursuing it. The Even Blade Style was unique amongst its cousins in that one had to pick carefully which techniques to cultivate because the end result might differ. 

The way it was described to me was like a road which split off. You could walk down a road already paved or take a risk and build one yourself. But once you had made your choice, that was it. There was no going back. It was this ethos alone that the Five Blades Sect nurtured, allowing each and every one of its students to define their own path or follow in the footsteps of others.

It’s always been my own dream to make my own technique of the Even Blade Style. Even if it was impossible, I had hoped someday, fortune would smile down upon me and a miracle would occur. But it never did until it was far too late. 

And that now, that drive was gone. I think back to the Even Blade Style and I feel nothing but something akin to an obligation. Not actual want or need. I was a student of the Five Blades Sect, so it felt natural to at least learn some of it but the passion I once had was dead and buried. 

No, I eventually thought back, No, I guess not. 

Whisper’s emotions flexed in the back of my mind for a moment, “Then it’s simple enough to guess that your previous incarnation’s knowledge of martial art styles is limited to older ones.” 

Fair enough. I almost want to delve back in to see what else I can uncover but I’ll hold myself back for now. Though I don’t wish to waste the morning.

“Yozi forbid you actually enjoy your rest,” Whisper huffed and a chuckle escaped my lips. I felt at a loss for a moment as to what to do. I looked down at the empty courtyard, thinking over my options. 

I would like to train further in the Violet Bier Of Sorrows Style. Not only was it powerful, but there was also a part of me that found it captivating. There was a mystical but simple feeling to it. But I wasn’t sure if I could do so openly and not without delving into my repertoire of Kamala’s memories again.

But there was something else I could do to pass the time. 

Whisper, I think now is probably the best time to have a talk. 

“I am forever at your service, my Prince. What do you wish to talk about?” 

There are…a lot of things. My duties, what’s expected of me. What being a Slayer, a Sword of Hell even means. But most of all, I want to know about the beings known as Cecelyne and Malfeas. Even now, I still don’t really understand my relation to those two or the other Yozi. 

“I suppose with everything going on, I have been rather lax in your education, my Prince. Very well, if it’ll keep you out of trouble. Let us start with your patrons; Malfeas and Cecelyne.” 

I could practically imagine Whisper sitting up straighter, the lurid smile on her lips wiped away by a serious expression and a sharp gaze. Even the usual draw on her words were nowhere to be heard as her lazy tone picked up. 

“Cecelyne is the older sister of Malfeas and among her monikers is Lawmaker for it is by her will and nature that she writes the very laws of Hell which we abide by. The Azure Decretals are writ by her silvery grasp, ensuring that power trickles down from the top, never to float upwards.” 

  Hell has laws? As in actual laws in place that are enforced?

“Oh yes, my Prince. Strictly enforced as well, depending. There are four…actually, let us say five tiers of citizenship. I will go into these later if you so desire but they are not the focus of this discussion.” 

As interesting as it sounds, I have to agree. I want to know about Cecelyne herself. You’ve called her Lawmaker and The Endless Desert but what role does she fulfil? 

“Cecelyne encompasses Malfeas in her infinite sands. Such is her nature that she can grasp eternity and beyond. Such is the cruelty of the gods that she is forced forever to grow and expand fruitlessly, trapped by herself and the oaths binding her.”

Before I could ask her to dumb it down, I felt Whisper shift in my mind and her formal tone broke for a moment, “To sum it up, my Prince, Cecelyne writes the laws of Hell and ensures that even if any demon breaks free from Malfeas must contend within her cold deserts. When a demon is summoned, we track five days and nights through Cecelyne, no matter how fast or slow we go. Do you understand what I mean?” 

A tiny bit, I suppose? I knew we had to travel for five days but if I understand this correctly, it isn’t because Cecelyne is a large desert. It’s because she’s…infinite? So distance is meaningless to her?

“Exactly, my Prince. If you could picture it for a moment, Malfeas is an island adrift in an endless ocean of sand. That is a blunt metaphor that doesn’t fully encompass everything but it works for now. When one embodies infinity, the smallest step of the smallest ant and the largest step of the largest elephant become the same.” 

I think I’m beginning to see. So is there anything else you can tell me about Cecelyne? Like what she expects from me?

“She expects you to fulfil your Urges and to aid the Reclamation,” Whisper told me matter of factly, “Cecelyne’s Urges is the Urge To Command. As befitting the Lawmaker, she wishes for those with her Urge to rule over those lesser than themselves.” 

And my Urge is to rule over the martial arts world, yes. I can’t say I…am against the notion of it. But I’m not sure how that really helps with the Reclamation.

“Such is the will of the Yozi. By transforming Creation into a facsimile of Malfeas, the binding oaths will cease to matter and they will have their revenge upon Heaven.” 

Whisper, that didn’t remotely answer my question. How will becoming some grandmaster of martial arts actually help Cecelyne break out of Hell? 

I could feel Whisper coil around in my mind uncomfortably. There was a strained silence, only filled by the sounds of the early morning and my neomah’s inner emotions, who couldn’t find the words to answer my question in a timely manner. 

“It is not my place to say,” Whisper said slowly and deliberately as if picking her words out of a bowl of sharpened needles, “Nor is it yours, my Prince. You were given a choice, remember?” 

Yes. Yes, I remember. 

Though I would hesitate to call it a choice. I was bleeding out, my insides on the outside, drunk, alone and pitiful. But in the end, I chose to live and there were consequences to that choice. Now I had a debt to repay. 

Let’s move on from that then, Whisper. These laws that Cecelyne made, what are they like? 

“The first law is that none may look upon the colour of azure for that is Cecelyne’s sacred colour.” 

There was something in Whisper’s words and tone that made my forehead crease in thought. It wasn’t quite anger but it wasn’t quite acceptance either. It was carefully blank and neutral.  

“My Prince. The ink used to write Cecelyne's laws is azure. The priests of Cecelyne do not have any faces; only an azure flame where their features would be. The temples of Cecelyne are etched in azure. The set of scrolls that details Cecelyne’s laws are called The Azure Decretals.”

I waited for the punchline that never came. I waited for Whisper to suddenly burst out laughing at my shocked expression, calling me a fool once more and for my worry to be washed away. 

It never came.

Dragons. You’re being serious, aren’t you? 

“To you, this might seem strange. But to us, demons, this is our life. One thing you have to know, my Prince, is that while the laws of Cecelyne are the laws of Hell itself, there is nothing stopping a Second Circle or a Third Circle or, if you’re especially unlucky, a Yozi itself declaring a law. A law that could say: 'one must not look upon the colour red'?”

“Do you know how much red there is in Malfeas? Do you know how many fights are fought, how many wars are waged in Hell on a daily basis?” 

Throughout all of this, Whisper never sounded tired. Never conflicted, never angry. She sounded factual, bored and utterly irreverent to the absurdity she was spewing at me. If anything, she seemed more bemused at my reactions than anything else. 

But someone has to read the laws for others to know about them. Otherwise, what’s the point? 

“I mentioned the priests of Cecelyne and it is her clergy that are allowed to read and preach their patron’s laws. No one knows exactly how many priests there are or what they even are.” 

What do you mean? Aren’t they demons? 

“No. At least, no spells to summon and bind demons affect them in any measure,” Whisper’s tone was thoughtful and deep. I watched below as the complex slowly shifted to life. Slaves and servants started slowly walking about, ready to greet another day. 

So what are they then, if not demons? What could they be?

“No one knows, my Prince. Or if they do, no one is saying anything. They’re all identical as well. They wear black robes that almost completely cover their bodies but what can be seen shows them as skeletons with charred bones. Their faces are all heatless flames of the hues of Creation’s autumn sky and their swordsmanship is almost unparalleled. If necessary, all priests are capable of slaughtering a great number of Second Circle demons in single combat.” 

When swordsmanship came up, my interest was piqued.

How skilled are we talking about here? 

“More skilled than you, my Prince and many Exalts today,” Whisper’s tone was dry but not harsh. She no doubt expected my question but I wondered if she expected her wounds to douse the growing excitement in me. 

So little faith, my lady. Do you not trust me to overcome all adversity? 

“That was in terrible taste, my Prince,” Whisper’s rueful words made my lips twitch up for a second. I pushed myself off the railing of the balcony and walked back into my room, taking a seat as I prepared myself for a long conversation. 

As much as I would like to carry this on, we’re getting distracted. So why are the laws like this? You’ve only told me one so far but that’s painted a grim picture so far. 

“The laws are like this because it is Cecelyne’s will that they are like this.” 

Whisper, that’s not what I meant and you know it. 

“I know, my Prince. The naked, dirty truth is that there is only one true law in Malfeas; The strong rule. The weak serve. Everything else is just a farce, a wheel to grind down the chaff to a grisly nothing. Any serf who witnesses the sacred colour of azure is killed on the spot but citizens and the like have a year and a day to offer a sacrifice for penance. Third Circles can look upon the colour as much as they want.” 

Wait, what? But that’s not fair at all. If you can just flaunt the law like that, what’s the point? How are you supposed to deal with that?

“My Prince, let us imagine for a moment, that you have been convicted of murder and rape of a peasant girl. By the laws of the Realm, what is your punishment?” 

I chewed the inside of my cheek for a bit, mulling over the question for a moment. I didn’t like where this was going but I marched on anyway. 

Depending on the judge’s temperament, I could be facing either death, exile or disenfranchisement. Most likely death at the hands of the girl’s father.

“And now let us say you were an Exalted Dynast. What do you think happens then?” 

And there it was. The fly in the ointment. 

Nothing. Nothing at all.  

“And so I ask, how is that any different than what I have told you?” 

“Because!” I stopped myself from speaking aloud. The words died on my lips as I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath. 

Because an innocent life was defiled and taken. There is a stark difference between that and staring at a different shade of blue. 

“Is it?” I was completely floored by how serious and contemplative Whisper sounded. It wasn’t a front as I could feel her thinking within my own mind. 

“A law was broken. Punishment was meted out to those guilty except for those that are above the law. Is that not how things are? Is that not simply the nature of the world? Whether it is murder in Creation or looking at Cecelyne’s sacred colour in Malfeas, the concept remains the same.”

But that doesn’t make it fair, Whisper. That doesn’t make it right.

“Are you talking about Cecelyne? Or Creation?” Whisper’s pointed statement killed any argument I could muster up, “My Prince, let me ask you this. What stops you, exactly, from killing everyone in the complex right now? What stops you from having your way with the Nellens girl and the women here? What stops you from salting the fields and letting them all burn in the fires of Malfeas?” 

Because I’m not a monster, Whisper. 

“But in the eyes of the Realm and the Immaculate Philosophy, you are. My Prince, by accepting the offer to become a Green Sun Prince, you have made the decision to become an anathema in their eyes. The worst sin imaginable according to them. You have already broken every single one of the Realm’s laws with each and every breath you take. Every moment you live is another moment you steal from them. So if the law should be fair, right and just. If the law is to be enforced as it is written, why have you not simply shown them your neck and let it be done?”

I sat there, staring into space for what felt like long, dreadful minutes. I tried to summon up any arguments that might hold weight but they crumbled like sand when I gave them any thought. I clasped my hands together, resting my elbows on my knees and sat there in the stretching silence. 

“The ugly truth is, my Prince, is that you believe yourself above the laws of the Realm. You do not rape, murder, steal or destroy indiscriminately because it is as you said; you are not a monster. It isn’t the laws that keep you in check but your own codes, your own morals. You do as you will and will subject yourself to none other for judgement. And most importantly enough, you’re right. You are above the laws of the Realm because there is nothing they can do to enforce them on you.” 

I blew out the old air in my lungs and replaced it with newer air as I sucked in a deep breath. I leaned back in my armchair, wracking my brain for a response.

I can’t say you’re wrong but I still do not agree with you, for the most part. But we’re getting off-topic and this feels like another conversation entirely. I want knowledge about Cecelyne and Malfeas, not a debate. It’s too early for something like that. 

“Ah, but my Prince, debating with you is becoming one of the few pleasures I have left,” Whisper sighed softly but I could feel a flicker of emotion behind her words. It was smouldering but guarded.  

“Well, I’ve said plenty about Cecelyne’s laws and her domain of infinity but I only lightly touched upon her clergy. I should be very clear that the priests of Cecelyne have the authority to speak on behalf of any Yozi, not just their patron. Every fiefdom in Malfeas holds a temple for Cecelyne but this temple can also be used to pray to any Yozi, though usually the demon in question prays to Cecelyne to talk on their behalf.” 

So she controls both the law and religion then? 

“Effectively, yes. Despite the fragmented nature of her law, Cecelyne has a powerful, unifying hold over the religious nature of Malfeas and those that dwell in it. Simply put, every demon worships the Yozi and it is Cecelyne and her priesthood that facilitates worship between serfs and Yozi.” 

I see. So there must be quite a lot of priests to accommodate that then. 

“That duty would fall upon the acolytes, my Prince. Any demon can give themselves over to the Endless Desert and her clergy, becoming an acolyte. They write down any and all laws the Yozi or their Third Circle souls proclaim. They can teach rituals and sacraments to other demons that are pleasing to the Yozi and so on.” 

I rubbed my chin in thought, my mind ablaze with curiosity. I felt like Whisper was summing up everything for me but giving me enough details to make my own conclusions. 

So Cecelyne holds power over the law, religion and deserts? Is that why I can summon up sand? 

“Not deserts specifically, my Prince. You are correct about law and religion, however. Cecelyne holds power over desolation and this shows in her silvery sands. Places where life struggles to exist like glaciers, polluted seas, or rocky wastes also fall under her domain.” 

For a moment, my gaze wandered to the balcony and I imagined the two mountains with a vibrant sapphire river running down. The fields of green and wheat, just beyond my eyes. I pushed it away as I focused on the current conversation but the image had needled itself into my mind. 

We’ve talked plenty about Cecelyne but I’m curious. Where exactly do I stand in regards as someone with her Urge? 

“If you’re asking that question, my Prince, I believe now is a good time to lay out the castes of the Green Sun Princes, your position and what that means for you personally.” 

You’re quite the tutor, Whisper. Have you done this sort of thing before? 

“Shush you,” Whisper said softly, “Now, the castes of the Green Sun Princes are thus: Slayers, Malefactors, Fiends, Defilers and Scourges. Malfeas, Cecelyne, The Ebon Dragon, She Who Lives In Her Name and Adorjan. Each Yozi claimed a caste as their own, respectively, and as such, you represent Malfeas as a priest. But it was Cecelyne who desired a Slayer, so she had to beseech Malfeas to let her implant your Exaltation with her Urge and it was her who searched for another Sword of Hell.” 

Wait, hold on. What do you mean I represent Malfeas as a priest? A priest like the ones we were discussing? 

“Oh yes. The very same. Every Green Sun Prince is considered a priest of the Yozi who claims their Exaltation and caste. Malefactors, however, are considered priests for all of the Yozi.”

Right. I’m not expected to do any priestly duties, am I? 

“Absolutely not, my Prince. Unless you take them upon yourself, of course. Slayers are, first and foremost, champions and generals. Leave the matters of faith to the Malefactors.” 

Thank goodness. So it isn’t Cecelyne I’m beholden to but Malfeas? 

“Yes, for the most part. However, the Urge is no small part of you now and it was, in the end, Cecelyne that desired a new Slayer, not Malfeas. The five Yozi I mentioned should be treated above all other Yozi and Malfeas, who claim all Slayers, should be treated first amongst equals. Cecelyne, second.” 

“As for a Green Sun Prince's overall position, you occupy a very unique space in the Descending Hierarchy. There is a lot to cover here so I will just say the most pertinent information now. We have discussed at length Ceceylne’s laws but Green Sun Princes can ignore them as they wish. However, you are protected fully under those very same laws.” 

I would’ve been lying if I said I didn’t relax slightly at that. The more this conversation carried over, the more I felt like I was sinking into a deep pond. A place that was far, far out of my depth and yet I was tied inexorably to.

“As for your personal duties, your Urge should be your main concern but there are certain things to keep in mind. Any Third Circle demon that commands you can be safely ignored if they run counter to the Reclamation. If not, you can attend to your more pressing matters before carrying out their will. The Third Circle souls of the architects of the Reclamation can be questioned safely but their orders must be carried out regardless. However, the Third Circle of the Yozi that claims you, Malfeas in your case, are truly unquestionable in every way.” 

Are you saying that no matter what I’m doing at any given time, I can just be used as some sort of lapdog for a being that I know nothing about? 

“It is a small chance, yes. But keep in mind, my Prince, you are talking about a handful of beings out of countless serfs and citizens. As you currently are, I doubt you are strong enough to be of use to them.” 

It was an awkward feeling, to be told that you’re too weak to be of use. I didn’t even know what a Third Circle demon was beyond some vague notion that they’re powerful and not to be trifled with. Whisper said something about souls but I must’ve misheard. 

“Other than that, you have free reign to do as you will. You are not barred from anywhere and the entirety of Malfeas is yours to explore. Any building or establishment is yours to do with as you will. While you might have to prove yourself if you wish to lay claim to, say a demesne, it would be trivially easy to do so.” 

A demesne piqued my interest but I smothered down any questions for now. I truly didn’t have any idea on what I'd do when I did get to Malfeas. Even now, I still have trouble imagining such a place. I believed Whisper was holding nothing back but until I witnessed it myself, I wouldn’t really know. 

Very well then. I suppose last but not least we should talk about Malfeas. I understand that he’s the city but I don’t know much about him personally. Is there anything you could tell me?

“Malfeas is the king of the Yozi and even now, he remains the mightiest of them. It is his tortured body that we demons live in and it is his blistering heart that gives us light. I do not think I can adequately describe Malfeas in words, my Prince. We demons are a people that live inside their own king. Every house, every building, every stone and every pebble is Malfeas.” 

So you have no privacy? That sounds awful.  

“Oh, we have privacy. We have privacy in the same way a stray mutt’s fleas have privacy. You don’t notice the ants underneath your feet when you’re walking, do you?” 

I felt distinctly uncomfortable with how bland Whisper sounded but I decided to pick it apart later. For now, I wanted to know about Malfeas. 

“In case you might be thinking that Cecelyne’s laws and her hold on religion make her the sole seat of government, Malfeas is the king of all things and he still holds skill in all things kingly and that includes statecraft. Malfeas himself has constructed the Ministries of Hell to govern over us and they work closely in conjunction with Cecelyne’s priesthood to ensure the will of the Yozi are fulfilled.” 

I don’t know why I’m still surprised at this point. How many of these ministries are there?

“Around half a dozen or so, my Prince. The Ministry of Pain, of Defeat, of Records to name a few. All of them are headed by Second Circle demons and no serf raised to citizenship can become a minister. Their missives are stamped with Ligier’s own personal seal and they whisper a single phrase: That Malfeas surrounds them.”

I didn’t know what to think of the fact that there was quite literally a ministry of pain in Hell. What would that even accomplish? Make others feel pain for whatever reason they can make up? It sounded absurd. 

I thought Malfeas ruled over these ministries. Who is Ligier? 

“Ah. I mentioned him before by his title, The Green Sun but I must’ve not said his name. Ligier is the fetich soul of Malfeas himself. I’m not sure how to describe this but his title is not metaphorical or an exaggeration. Ligier is himself the sun of Malfeas, which in turn mean it is his heart.”

Wait, hold on. Malfeas has a green sun, correct? 

“That is correct, my Prince.” 

And that sun is Malfeas’ heart? 

“It is so.” 

But. The sun is also this Ligier fellow? 

“Allow me to put it like this. Ligier is Malfeas’ heart and Ligier is the green sun. There is no difference between the two, they are one and the same.” 

So the sun is called Ligier? 

“No, it’s,” Whisper’s little ‘humph’ echoed throughout my mind and I could feel a bit of annoyance, aimed at the both of us. 

“That’s one way of looking at it, yes. But do not ever say that in public, for the love of Malfeas. For both of our sakes.” 

I’ll do my best, I thought ruefully back. I thought about our long conversation and the knowledge I have gained has been both helpful and not at the same time. 

I believe I was wrong to ask Whisper about Malfeas and Cecelyne. I wanted to know more about them personally but with how Whisper has described them, it was a futile effort. She couldn’t explain them to me personally because she didn’t know them personally. To her, Cecelyne was the law that bound her. To her, Malfeas was the sun and the walls surrounding her. Not people or beings that she could talk about.

There was so much more to know. What a fetich soul was, what the difference between Third and Second Circle demons were and what a creature of darkness actually was and what the relationship was to everything that fell under that umbrella.  

I suppose I have one last question. A bit of a personal one, if you don’t mind.

“Ask away, my Prince.” 

Our talk last night. You never actually brought up the fact that you might never go back home. Are you okay with that? 

It was a serious question and something that made my stomach churn. It didn’t quite hit me until now but the more I talk with Whisper, the more I realise that she is stuck with me and just how different she really is. The talk last night embedded itself into my mind and I remembered how…scared? Vulnerable? She seemed. Or perhaps it was something else. But Whisper didn’t choose this. She was forced into it. 

As I waited for her answer, I thought she would think about it for a while. Trying to sum up her words and some such. But instead, in the back of my mind, I could almost see it. 

A rueful smile. 

“Oh my Prince,” She said slowly and bemused, “Malfeas is not a home. It is a prison.”

“I have talked at great length about Malfeas, both the world and the Yozi, but the fact remains we have only scratched the surface. You do not, can not, understand what it means to call Malfeas a ‘home’. To call Malfeas a home is to understand that every waking moment might be your last. To understand that the very walls that surround you can, at any moment, crumble away for no reason. That the ground beneath your feet might open up and swallow you whole because Malfeas’ rage sunders his very own body.” 

I sat there for a moment, chewing over Whisper’s words. There was no emotion besides amusement at me and her matter-of-fact tone only reinforced the notion that I made the right choice. Malfeas was not a place for Ti or any mortal for that matter. Even the brief overview Whispers gave me from before felt like the worse Hell had to offer. Now it felt like it was only the obvious. 

For Whisper, she only exchanged one prison for another. I couldn’t even comprehend what kind of existence Whisper experiences besides that her perception of things can extend outwards.

And now I’m left wondering. Did she ever even have a home? 

“My Prince, is something the matter?”

No, no. Thank you for telling me everything, Whisper. There are a few things left I want to ask about but we should stop here. I can hear everyone starting to wake up and we have pressing matters to attend. 

“Of course, my Prince. I will make sure to tell you more later, such as the other architects of the Reclamation.” 

I look forward to it. 

And I was being honest. There was something about learning about these demonic kings and queens that stirred something within me. And no matter how awful something sounded, no matter how terrible things Whisper told me, I couldn’t find it in me to not make the journey. 

Was it because of my nature as a Green Sun Prince? Perhaps. Or maybe it was my own innate curiosity that drove me forward. Whatever the case, it mattered little right now. 

When I heard some shouting and grunting from the courtyard, I rose from my armchair and started walking out to the balcony once again. In the courtyard, I saw a woman holding a spear with a fierce scowl on her shapely young face.

No longer hidden beneath layers of armour, I saw Nellens Sela for how she truly looked and I must admit, she was quite beautiful. Her body was well developed for a young woman with curvy hips and a heaving bosom, with her robe only emphasizing these features. Her hair was onyx black and long, not too dissimilar to my own hair though it seemed wilder and ferocious, almost like a lion’s mane. Her eyes of jade green burned brightly and her pretty pink lips were twisted into a furious grimace as she struck with her spear once again at the empty air. But just under her eyes, I could faintly see two 

I watched her for a moment, striking at nothing. Thrust, smack, step back, thrust again. She kept her feet apart, her gaze forward and she never stopped moving. But sometimes, she would repeat the motions and I could begin to see the holes start to form. 

“See something you like, my Prince?”  

Something interesting, at least. She’s rough around the edges but not half bad. She’s training alone, though. Doesn’t that strike you as strange? 

“That’s true,” Whisper hummed thoughtfully, “But this has nothing to do with us. Let the girl train herself, it’s of no matter to us.” 

Perhaps, Whisper. Perhaps. But there’s something you’re not seeing.

“My Prince?” 

The corner of my mouth lifted into a lopsided smirk and I turned around, walking back into my room. Grabbing ahold of my reaper daiklave, I made my way out of my room and set off to meet the rest of the day, blade in hand. 

Her body burned with exertion and the morning sun warmed her skin. And yet inside, she still felt cold. 

When she blinked, she could sometimes catch glimpses of the night prior. The corpses, the hungry ghosts. The laughter. The hands clasped around her arms, cold and clammy with fear and sweat. 

She thrusted the tip of her spear into the empty air but she imagined the mocking face of the corpse as she did so. She let the sharp point of her weapon cut open nothing but she thought back to the horde of hungry ghosts and how they were cut down by one man. 

Her jaw clenched as she remembered her father standing over her, looking down his nose at her. The way his eyes squinted as she looked back, battered and bruised. The way he spoke about the Exalt in their house. Her hands clenched tightly on the spear’s handle and she-

“Studious, aren’t you?” A smooth chuckle broke through her haze and she barely stopped herself from tripping over nothing. Catching herself at the last moment, she turned around to find that very same Exalt now standing behind her, a keen smile on his lips and his daiklave in hand. 

And then her heart was caught in her throat. No longer dressed in an animal-skin jerkin and peasant clothes, Luo Silk-Touch had adorned a simple but fitting white robe with a slightly open centre. His eyes, once bloodied and dripping, were clear and a warm sky-blue colour that moved with his easy smile. He wasn’t overly muscled but Sela found her eyes wandering down to his chest and could see just the barest hint of a defined pectoral peeking out.

She quickly tore her wandering gaze away and forced herself to look Luo in the eyes once again but then she felt a different kind of heat rise up in her face. His features were sharp with high-cheek bones and relaxed, confident air about him. He didn’t look down his nose at her but he still looked down simply because she realised that he was almost a head and a half taller than she was. His long hair, dark and lustrous midnight, reached well beyond the small of his back. What was once matted in dirt, grime and blood was now clean and shining under the sun.  

“M-Master Silk-Touch!” She hated how stumbled over her words, on the verge of swallowing her own tongue as the Exalt simply smiled and tilted his head in greeting, “M-My apologies, I wasn’t expecting to meet you before breakfast.” 

“Oh? Even though you were practising outside my room?” Silk-Touch tilted up his chin upwards and she found her gaze torn away from the Exalt’s face to the balcony overlooking the courtyard. And her heart sunk.

“That’s where you were staying?” She spoke aghast and she found herself under the studying gaze of Luo. His smile remained but it became thin and withering. 

“Oh? Is there something wrong?” He asked lightly and Sela found herself cursing her father in her mind. That room was used for lesser guests; patricians, Guild delegates, slave owners and the like. It was one of the reasons why it overlooked the courtyard, so they would be woken by the sounds of the guards training by the break of dawn. It was meant to be a gesture of dominance, a power play. 

Privately fuming, Nellens Sela shook her head, “It’s just that if I had known, I wouldn’t have practised today. My apologies.” 

The Exalt stared down at her for a moment before giving a slight shrug of his shoulders and she once again found her gaze drawn downwards, “Well, I was awake anyway so don’t worry about it. Do you often practice like this?” 

“Yes, master Silk-Touch. Every day,” She answered truthfully and pridefully. The Exalt blinked at her and looked around the empty courtyard. 

“By yourself? No one to train you?” 

“Sigil used to train me but we eventually stopped. He taught me all he knew about how to handle a spear,” She explained to Silk-Touch whose thin brow twitched up for a second. 

"Your manservant? Is he skilled?” 

“He was part of the House Nellen’s Legions before coming into my father’s personal employ and he hasn’t been beaten as far as I know,” She explained and the Exalt gave a low hum in thought. 

“Why a spear?” Silk-Touch asked simply and she held back the urge to cringe. She knew why he was asking. Spears were for the common footsoldiers, peasants and farmers. But she wasn’t ashamed of her choice, far from it. 

“At first, it’s because my father wasn’t willing to see me train with a sword so I snuck out and started training with a staff. By the time he found out, he decided to hire Sigil and by that point, it’s what I was used to. I also find it practical, given…certain details about my body,” She answered honestly, even if her cheeks burned slightly at the admission. 

Luo Silk-Touch gave another hum and he smiled as he did so, making her cheeks burn even hotter, “Good. Rather than brute-forcing into something that doesn’t fit, it’s always better to play and hone your strengths.”

If Nellens Sela was any less refined, she would’ve sighed with relief. Instead, she merely dipped her head in acceptance, fighting down the twinge in her lips. 

“I should say thank you, by the way,” The admission of thanks caused her to lift her head and she saw Silk-Touch’s smile take on a different shine, “For your handmaidens, Dai and Dei.” 

“Oh! I had hoped they would find you well,” This time, she couldn’t keep the smile off her face, “Dai and Dei fretted over me when I made my return, so I ordered them to give you some food for the night. I hoped you weren’t disturbed by them.” 

Strangely enough, Silk-Touch didn’t say anything at first and she found his smile nowhere to be found. Only a bemused, if confused expression with thinning lips. 

“Well, I suppose you could say that. The food was very good, I will admit,” There was something in his voice that made Sela frown slightly but before she could press on, Silk-Touch smiled again and she found her words taken from her. 

“We talked for a while and they mentioned you took them when they were going to be sold off,” Silk-Touch mentioned off handily and she nodded at his words.

“Father can be short-sighted at times, only seeing worth where he wants to see it,” She explained calmly and letting the implication hang in the air. Silk-Touch gave her a curious look, his smile still present and never changing. Eventually, he shrugged and like a switch, his demeanour changed. His smile lessened but became softer, showing fewer teeth and his sky-blue eyes seemingly dulled.

“Did you have nightmares? About last night?” 

Sela couldn’t help it. She sucked in a short sharp breath through her teeth and her clammy grip on her spear tightened. Before she could deny it, Silk-Touch merely shook his head. 

“You went through a harrowing experience. It’s no surprise,” Silk-Touch spoke softly and Sela wondered if he saw through her. His gaze became distant for a split second and he walked around her before standing just a ways from her.

“How about we exchange some pointers? There are worst ways to distract the mind and waste the morning,” The way Silk-Touch spoke made Sela wonder if he was flirting or being serious, though his expression and smile gave nothing away. But his eyes, those sky-blue eyes weren’t looking at her. At least not at that moment but then they refocused on her and she found herself nodding wordlessly. No matter how much she wished it, her mouth wouldn’t open to speak, as if her jaw was glued tight. 

Taking up her stance, she pointed her spear at the Exalt in front of her and she wondered if she shouldn’t let herself be swept up in Silk-Touch’s words but a part of her wanted to test herself. She focused on his sharp, regal face and how his smile seemed to uplift his easy presence. She focused on how his softly glinting eyes were like two-

And then she stopped because she found her gaze wandering and to hide her blush, she struck with a strong thrust. 

Silk-Touch simply moved to the side. It wasn’t as if Sela saw him moved. One moment, he was staring at her, his stance loose and open. And then the next, he had turned on his heel and dodged her thrust. 

Not to be deterred, she swung her spear around and struck nothing but air. Again, Silk-Touch had moved but she saw no motion, no tensing of the body. Whether it was because she was having trouble focusing on keeping her gaze sharp and pointed instead of wandering or that she was hopelessly outmatched, she didn’t know. Perhaps some cursed mixture of both.  

“Good reactions,” Silk-Touch hummed, now standing before the tip of her spear once again. The sheathed daiklave in his grip remained as it was, even as the Exalt crossed his arms and tapped his foot. Pushing down the growl that threatened to tear out of her throat, she repositioned herself and kept the distance between her and Silk-Touch.

In the time it took for her racing heart to beat twice, she stabbed forward once more and once again, Silk-Touch dodged with disgusting ease. Wrenching her spear back, she unleashed a flurry of sharp thrusts towards the Exalt. The fact that one of her blows could injure him didn’t occur to her. For now, she wasn’t seeing the hungry dead and that was enough for her. 

After one particularly violent thrust, Sela gritted her teeth and shifted her hips and spread her feet wide. When Silk-Touch stepped to the side once again, unharmed and unbothered, she spun the stiff wooden shaft of her spear and it became a blur. 

And then she hit something. She blinked slowly as she found her spear stuck and unable to move. 

“Aggressive. Responsive and not easily deterred,” Silk-Touch spoke as he held where the socket of the spear encased the wooden shaft, his striking blue eyes meeting hers, crinkling with his growing smile. 

“But! But, but, but,” He tittered and let go with a slight push, she found her footing uneven. In a blink, Sela centred herself and with a flourish, brought her spearhead down in a vicious diagonal swing. 

She expected another dodge. She didn’t expect for Silk-Touch to bring up the back of his hand. She watched as the edge of the spear bit into his skin and he swatted away like a fly. This time, she lost her footing and she stumbled past Silk-Touch who let her. 

She took a second to steady herself, her spear flailing about like an infant’s arms. She twirled and once again, she gave a valiant wide sweep of her spear. 

Once again, he batted it aside with his hand, “You’re predictable. Always the centre or the head.” 

She felt Silk-Touch’s words wash over her but in return, she shifted her grip on the spear and pulled back. Thrusting at his chest to throw him off balance, he merely lifted a foot high and stamped on the sharp tip. 

“As I said, predictable. And frightfully stubborn. You spare no thought to any other action besides attacking,” Silk-Touch’s foot was like an iron clamp on her spear. She tried to tear it away but with a swipe of his sheathed daiklave, the head of the spear exploded in a shower of splinters and she stumbled backwards. 

She spared a moment for her shock as her eyes bulged out. It lasted only a moment and a moment was all it took for a blade to be put to her throat. At least a sheathed blade and she felt the fight in her suddenly sucked away. 

“And your defence is sickeningly open,” The smug bastard’s smile flashed for a moment and Sela felt her throat clench. She swallowed down her emotions and her gaze wandered to the sheathed daiklave at her throat. 

It was a beautiful blade but that beauty was numbed when she could feel the heat pulsating from it. The swirling black dragon that was its handguard seemed to stare into her very eyes, even as Silk-Touch moved it back and he loosely held it to his side once again. His ever-present smile turned into a lop-sided smirk that made Sela huff inwardly.  

“Not bad, not bad. You have a few kinks to work out and bad habits to break but overall, you fight well for your age,” There was something in the way that Silk-Touch spoke that made Sela’s brow crease deeply.

“And what is that supposed to mean? Just how old do you think I am?” She asked simply, restraining herself so her words didn’t crawl out in a low growl and only slightly snappy instead. Silk-Touch’s slender brow quirked up and he shrugged. 

“Seventeen? Eighteen, maybe?” He ventured carefully and Sela’s conflict was kept at bay by bemusement which showed in her slight smile. 

“Master Silk-Touch, I’m twenty years of age. I will be twenty-one this year,” She told him and watched as he blinked slowly at her. She ignored how his eyes roamed over her because she didn’t detect a hint of lust from his inquisitive gaze. In the end, he coughed lightly and she liked to think she was on the offensive for once. 

“Well, then I apologize lady Nellens. My mother always told me it was wrong to assume a lady’s age. Especially if they’re your elder,” Silk-Touch spoke and her words were taken from her. She looked at the towering young man in front of her and the thoughts of the other night flashed through her mind. 

“Wait, how old are you?” She asked the swordsman and his eyes glazed over in thought for a moment.

“Between seventeen or nineteen? It isn’t something I care a great deal about,” Silk-Touch’s broad shoulders shrugged and his opening shuffled a bit wider. She deliberately kept her questions at bay, for now. She refused to get distracted by the most important matter. 

“How do I improve?” She asked bluntly. Silk-Touch hummed and once again, his striking blue eyes washed over her.

“Why do you even care about improving in the first place? You have guards, you have your manservant. Why take up a weapon?” The Exalt asked and his strangely intense eyes fell upon her. She felt like there was more to this question than what was presented so she offered the simple truth.

“Because I want to,” She said simply, “Because like you said, master Silk-Touch, I’m good at it and I want to be better.” 

His slender brow shot up at that and she felt a flare of annoyance at that. Slowly, his brow lowered and he gained a contemplative look, as if he was thinking over her words. 

“Funnily enough, I can’t find anything wrong with that. I suppose it’s just the martial artist in me,” He laughed softly and there was something about it that made Sela’s heart jump in her throat. It was a genuine, almost musical laugh and the ever-present smile on his lips was smaller but there was something to it that Sela found more pleasing. 

“Are you a martial artist, master Silk-Touch?” She asked and the Exalt waved his free hand in the air dismissively. 

“Aspiring martial artist, you could say but that’s not important. As for how you could improve, it’s very simple. If you’ve outgrown your current teacher, simply find a new one. Training every morning is a good start but if you’re by yourself, you’ll never become any better or worse. You can’t teach yourself, after all.” 

“If it was only so easy,” She huffed heavily, “I told my father the same thing but he wouldn’t hear a word of it.” 

“And?” The single, uncaring word sent a jolt down her spine, “Do you need his permission to sharpen your skills?” 

She swallowed thickly, “No, that’s not it. But-” 

“My lady,” A dusty old voice interrupted her and Silk-Touch. She turned her attention behind her one-time partner and saw Sigil, dressed in his usual armour but holding his helmet under his arm. With that gone, she could see his weathered, lined expression set like hard rock. His skin, leathery and tight over his skull, was lined with tight wrinkles and his short hair was a wiry grey. Despite that, his eyes still held an edge and his posture was ramrod straight. 

“Sigil? What are you doing here?” She asked him hotly. He wasn’t supposed to be up and about, least of all dressed for battle.   

“Your father has called for you and our honoured guest for breakfast. I’m supposed to escort you,” He bowed his head slightly and his eyes never met hers, glued as they were on Silk-Touch who gave no head. 

“Well, it would be rude to keep him waiting,” Silk-Touch said simply, flashing a smirk at Sela, “Who knows, maybe he’s in an amenable mood this morning?” 

Sela couldn’t hold back her dismissive snort at the Exalt’s words before turning her attention back to her guard and teacher, “Did my father dismiss you from your punishment?” 

“He did,” Was Sigil’s simple and blunt reply. Sela swore she saw the corners of his mouth jerked upwards but his stony expression remained. She spared a glance at the Exalt whose smile never seemed to dim. 

“I am quite famished, lady Nellens. Let’s not keep your father waiting, hm?” Silk-Touch offered and she couldn’t deny the growing hunger in her own stomach either. 

“Then let’s go. I can personally attest to our chef’s cooking, master Silk-Touch.” 

“Considering what your maids brought me, I’m looking forward to it,” The corners of his lips were pulled upwards and turned her attention back to Sigil lest her eyes wandered more than was appropriate. 

She also pointedly ignored how Sigil’s dull stare bored into her skull and she threw him her destroyed spear which he caught easily, “Dispose of this and clean up the courtyard, Sigil. I can escort master Silk-Touch to my father.” 

“My lady, your father-” Sigil started to speak but a stinging glare from Sela made him still his words. He huffed and bowed down towards his diminutive mistress, his shoulders stiff and his posture rigid. 

“As you wish, my lady,” Sigil spoke and his old eyes darted to Silk-Touch for a second. The Exalt didn’t let this go unnoticed and placed a hand over his heart with a shockingly grim expression. 

“Have no fear. I will protect lady Nellens from the dastardly inhabitants of this place as if she were my own blood.” 

Sela tried, oh she tried to fight down the rising blush with all of her willpower. She felt her jaw go slack as her head whipped around to stare numbly at the Exalt whose stern facade broke with his lop-sided smile. Sigil’s sharp stare was deflected by that very smile and if it was any possible, his expression grew darker. 

“Of course, honoured guest. I leave her in your capable hands,” Sigil bowed his head but his drawling tone was positively dripping with dry wit. If the Exalt took any offence, none came through his smile as Sela’s guardian walked back where he came from.

“I don’t think he likes me,” Silk-Touch quipped and the words caught in Sela’s thought managed to unlodge themselves at last. 

“Master Silk-Touch. Are you perhaps the kind of person that likes annoying people?” She had to ask, each word being forced out from her lips. He offered a shrug but the smile on his face and the look in his eyes said enough. 

“The way I see it, it isn’t my fault that people get upset with me. It’s their own choice to get annoyed,” How Silk-Touch was able to keep a straight face while he said that, Sela didn’t know. She shook her head, if only to keep the slight pull on the corners of her lips hidden. 

“Sigil is just overprotective, that’s all. He’s a good man at heart,” She said with certainty, “After last night, I think he’s just jumping at shadows.” 

“I don’t blame him,” Silk-Touch’s words didn’t hold any offence or irritation, only mild and even in their tone, “But still, I think it would do his old heart good if we didn’t stand around talking about him behind his back.” 

“I agree. This way, master Silk-Touch,” She gestured to the hallway where Sigil came from and she started leading the Exalt down the hallway. They passed by the open-air stone garden her father kept in the middle of their complex. Servants and slaves bowed alike when they passed by, some holding washing while others kept their distance with a naked expression of fearful awe on their faces.

She didn’t blame them. It must’ve been the first time any of them has seen a Dragon-Blooded in these halls. Said Exalt met every bow with a polite smile and an acknowledging nod, no matter who it was. Even if some of the women blushed fiercely when his attention fell upon them, he didn’t give them any special regard. Sela wondered if Silk-Touch knew of the effect he had or if he was simply unaware. 

From time to time, she and Silk-Touch would talk about small things that were of no consequence; such as asking about her father’s stone garden, how many servants or slaves they had on hand and so on. It was small talk that she never imagined engaging in but Silk-Touch’s friendly demeanour and natural smile were incredibly disarming. Sometimes, she even forgot that the person she was talking to was graced by the Dragons and had killed a hungry ghost with his bare hands. 

It made her wonder if the person beside her was even a Dynast in the first place. She doubted it because she has met dragon-graced Dynasts before, though she could only count the encounters on one hand. But she has seen more than enough Dragon-Blooded Dynasts to know how they would react with such blatant disrespect.

Her father and Sigil more than likely suspected the same thing she did. Rather than someone from the Great Houses, the person next to her might be an outcaste, a lost egg. A stray seed from one of the Great Houses. He mentioned being a martial artist so maybe he was graced by the Dragons during that period? 

She supposed it didn’t matter. If the person besides her really was an outcaste, then they were a criminal of the Realm and a dangerous one at that. 

When an outcaste Exalts, they are given two choices; the razor or the coin. A life in the Immaculate Order or in the Legions. To be a monk or to be a soldier. For outcastes, there were no other options, at least those of an older age. If they were young enough, they could be adopted into the Great Houses but Silk-Touch was far too old for that to happen now. 

A Dragon-Blooded is in every way, including spiritually, above the common man. They have been graced by the Dragons, their blood pure enough and their current incarnation spiritually far enough on the road of reincarnation to be blessed with Exaltation. A king amongst men. But that same rulership also brings responsibilities that are expected of them, outcaste or not. 

There were simply no other options for a lost egg, not at least without running to the Thresholds and living a mercenary life away from the Realm’s grip. At the very least, the outcaste would be put down, an embarrassment to the Realm and the Dragon-Blooded as a whole. If they are not willing to take up the mantle, then they will be crushed by those who do. 

And yet, right next to her was possibly one such outcaste. With a daiklave no less. Most daiklaves or artefact weapons were family heirlooms, handed down by generation to generation. She very much doubted he made it himself, especially not one so ornate. There were a slew of possibilities but despite that, she felt nothing about the fact that the young man besides her, her junior really, could be a disgrace to the Realm.

Because, no matter what, Luo Silk-Touch saved not only her life but the life of her guardian and the only surviving guardsmen. And because she can’t help but feel comfortable around the Exalt. There was something about him that made her talk more easily, that made her guard lower just a bit instead of having it raised as it would be with other Dynasts. 

She likened it to how he reacted with the bowing of her servants and slaves. An Exalted Dynast wouldn’t even bother to acknowledge their existence. She has seen it first hand with normal Dynasts. But he never failed to smile and nod back, to the point that she wondered if his cheeks and neck ever grew tired from all of the work they were doing. It was a little thing of no real worth but he didn’t have to do it. To her, that made all of the difference. 

Her father always said you can see the true measure of a man by the things he is and isn’t forced to do. And she likes to think that she took those words to heart. 

Which was why her heart was unsteady when they finally came to the dining room, stopping at the entrance. Two guards stood by the side and their statuesque posture was broken by a salute. She snuck one last glance up towards her saviour whose natural smile and easy presence made her back straighten and her slightly slumping shoulders became set. Silk-Touch waited for her to make the first move and so she did, pulling the sliding doors apart and stepping with her guest in tow. 

Who, even now, refused to let go of his blade.  

The Dynast’s dining room was far, far sparser than I was expecting. Holding only a single clothed table placed in the middle with three chairs seated at its ends and one on the side. The room was open-air with two oval doorways, one led deeper into the complex on the right and a tranquil pond was to the left. 

A glance told me that the pond was full of koi fish that swam lazily through the gently flowing water and standing just in front of it, with his hands behind his back, was the master of this household. With his back to us, I wondered if he didn’t hear us come in but then he craned his head slowly and his withering eyes met my smile. 

“Hrn,” The old man grunted deeply and without a word, walked towards the head of the table. He sat down and stared at us silently and sullenly. The entire time, I felt like I was standing on the razor edge of noble etiquette and dynastic formality. 

Dynasts. Always going for the power play, always going for dominance. 

“Not a morning person, I take it?” I spoke bluntly, the corner of my lips curling into a bland smile. The old man shifted his eyes away from his daughter to me as I spoke and I wondered if milk curdled under this man’s gaze. Without breaking a beat, I walked forward and took my seat at the end of the empty table, opposite the master of Jester’s March.

I still need to learn the history behind that name. What kind of name is that anyway? Did a band of marching jesters trapeze through here at some point and no one told me about it?

The Dynast’s daughter walked by me and took her seat between me and her father. Her fervid glance between us reminded of me a scolded child, quiet and apprehensive. Her father’s eyes never left mine as he tried to make me wither and rot in my seat with nothing but his gaze alone. 

“Silence could mean a lot of things but I’m going to take that as a yes,” My voice filled the void between the three of us like a man filling in a fresh grave, “So what’s on the menu today, hm? Or is it a surprise?” 

I didn’t get an answer besides more silence and the old Dynast’s withering gaze so I kept my bland smile on my face as I spoke yet again, “I can see your daughter’s conversational skills rival yours, my good sir. Why, I’m practically drowning here.” 

“What kind of man,” He spoke slowly and deliberately, “Brings a sword to his host’s dining room?” 

“Me,” I responded glibly, letting my daiklave rest against my side as I smiled, “I could discuss philosophy with you about the sword and the hand that wields it, if you’d like.” 

“You fancy yourself a philosopher?” There was a curtness to his tone that grinded against the air.

“A martial artist,” I replied succinctly, “Which is more or less the same thing if only with slightly more death.” 

“Slightly more,” The old Dynast’s lips moved slowly as he repeated my words. His daughter glanced fitfully between us and she sunk into her chair, her tight expression giving nothing away.

“What style do you practice then, Silk-Touch?” The old Dynast asked me with a dusty old voice. His daughter, sullen and sunken into her chair, suddenly took on new life as her eyes darted towards me. 

Whisper, any suggestions on this? 

“The best truths are often mixed with lies, my Prince. Say you’re a novice but you’re hoping to take up tutelage in a sect or a school,” Whisper’s advice came in clear cut and cold. But even then, every word came out in a sultry drawl. I wonder if she did that on purpose or if it was simply how she talked. 

But her advice was sound enough. Thoughts raced through my mind as I remembered all of the local sects; The Drake Spire’s Sect that taught the Five-Dragon Style maybe? No, that wouldn’t work. The Five-Dragon Style requires the use of a spear and a devout mindset towards the Immaculate Dragons.

Perhaps the School Of The Folded Cherry Blossom? Bah, they practise the Falling Blossom Style and that doesn’t quite fit me. Neither does the Sect Of Air And Earth who value the Jade Mountain and Night Breeze Style. 

But then, it hit me. I wondered what my expression looked like to my audience of two. I wonder if they could see how brittle it felt to me, how tight my smile felt around my lips. Going by their expectant looks, I would wager no. 

“I’m actually hoping to take up tutelage at the Five Blades Sect,” My words sounded normal and light yet each dragged like a jagged razor across my tongue, “The Even Blade Style is something I have a great interest in.” 

“Ah, then I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” I barely managed the effort to switch my gaze from father to daughter, even as Whisper’s worry and interest swirled in the depths of my mind. 

“How so?” I asked lightly while forcing my brows to crease as if I was confused. The Dynast shifted uneasily in her chair under my falsely questioning stare. 

“Because it was destroyed. Burnt down to the ground and most of the students were slaughtered along with the teachers,” The father spoke out and his flinty eyes snapped to his daughter for a second before coming back to me.

I blinked slowly and it felt like I was pinching them closed with rusty iron clamps, “That’s horrible. Who would do such a thing?” 

The words burned my throat like I was throwing up fresh boiling bile and yet they couldn’t come out more naturally. It was an effort to sound confused, to sound curious and to hold back the black hate from appearing on my face. 

The father’s sharp gaze met mine and I wondered if he saw what his daughter couldn’t, “I’m surprised you haven’t heard, Silk-Touch. Gossip spreads quickly, after all and this has found it spread across the whole Blessed Isle since then.” 

“I have been travelling on the road for quite some time now,” Not exactly a lie so the words came easily enough.            

“Well,” The daughter spoke up and caught my attention with how troubled she sounded, “Rumour has it that there was a mortal student among them, favoured by the master of the Five Blades Sect.” 

It was with the utmost willpower that I managed to keep my expression from twisting and contorting and maintained a veneer of curiosity and slight sadness. In my mind, Whisper’s churning emotions felt distant from my own and yet I could feel them inch closer by the moment. 

“A mortal? Was he enlightened?” I pushed the words out of my lips, even as they dragged across my tongue. 

“No one knows. According to a few survivors, he wasn’t however. Even if he was, it doesn’t matter. What matters is the fact that he was taken,” The father spoke up and his facial features, hard and rigid like bare-faced stone, shifted like running mad as he stared into my eyes.

“What do you mean by taken? As in he was kidnapped?” I asked and the curiosity in my words held only a kernel of genuine emotion. 

“Taken as in he became an Anathema,” The daughter spoke up and I felt my heart freeze within my chest, “They say he went on a rampage and spared no one, not even the master who said to treat him like her own son. They said he burned her and the entire sect in unholy fires as a sick parody of Hesiesh.” 

“That sounds terrible,” I responded numbly, shaking my head. I locked my fingers with each other because if I didn’t, the table would’ve burst apart in a shower of splinters. Minutely, my fingers shook terribly and my skin felt cold yet simmering with unholy heat just beneath the surface.

I wanted to leave. I wanted to kill. I wanted to feel bones break beneath my fists, for blood to run wet and sticky between my fingers. I wanted to hear the screams of whoever spread these rumours as I showed them what unholy flames I truly held within my burning grasp. 

“My Prince,” Whisper spoke soothingly into my mind and her words were like a balm to my mind, “Do not let emotions cloud you lest you give yourself away. Carry on talking, don’t go silent but do not become emotionless. Let them see sadness but let it be a distant one.” 

It was easier said than done but Whisper’s tone in my mind helped, somewhat. I didn’t feel like summoning the sickening flames of Malfeas at least. 

“It is but luckily, that is where the tragedy ends. There was a village called Bladefall that rested near the Five Blades Sect that managed to survive the battle. I’ve heard they’ve placed it under heavy guard, in case the Anathema comes back to finish the job,” The father spoke plainly, his gaze resting on me. I wondered if he was playing games with me and he suspected my true identity. In my mind, I watched as I drew my blade and jumped over the table, cutting open his throat while-

“Father, that’s not true,” My dark thoughts were interrupted by the daughter who frowned at her father. For the first time since I entered this room, I saw a flicker of shock pass through his vacant eyes. 

“The Anathema was found and killed, was he not? I thought the remaining students rallied under one who took charge and struck it down.” 

“Sela, that’s just-” 

“Oh?” I spoke up and my smile felt brittle as it did fake and I ignored how the father glared daggers at me, “What devout pupils they must be to strike back against a demon. Who did they rally under?” 

“If I recall correctly, it was a member of House Cathak. Cathak Trella, I think?” The scion of House Nellens frowned slightly in thought and my fingerbones screamed out in agony from the force I exerted.

That bitch . That vapid whore, that two-bit pathetic snake of a pupil. How dare she. How dare she.   

“Calm, my Prince, calm. We don’t know the full story yet, don’t-” 

I know enough! I will find Trella and I will gut her from belly to chin, I will tear out her throat with my teeth if I have to! My home, my mother, her fellow pupils, she used their deaths as a springboard! And for what? Fame? Fortune? Using the death of my mother, of her teacher, of our sect!?

Whisper shrunk back. Or she was overwhelmed, I couldn’t quite tell but her presence lessened as my mind blazed incandescently and my heart beat furiously, pumping boiling blood through my veins. 

That dragon-bitch. When I get my hands on her, I’ll tear out her still-beating heart and watch it burn! I’ll build a pyre out of her bones!

“That’s quite the uplifting tale,” I said blandly with an equally vapid smile on my face, “It warms my heart to know that even young dragons can still do what needs to be done.” 

“Fools, the pair of you,” The father scoffed, drawing both of our attention to him and his lips thinned into two small lines, “Don’t believe everything you’re just told by the trickling grapevine. Do you really think some whelps could take care of a demon so easily?” 

“A martial art’s sect isn’t made up of purely pupils. It has masters, teachers and enforcers. If I had to guess, the stronger Dragon-Blooded sacrificed themselves to weaken the Anathema,” I responded calmly which was impressive considering the fire that threatened to claw out of my throat. 

It might not have even been a lie. But I saw the Anathema with my own eyes and I fought him with my own blade.

It wasn’t a fight. None of it was. It was sport. 

“Perhaps,” Even that small victory was bitterly chewed out by the old man, “What a terrible state of affairs in any case. I remember when something like this would be unthinkable under the Scarlet Empress’ rule. Now Anathema are running amok in our own backyard.” 

I saw through the red haze descending down upon me only by pure force of will. The father’s sneer wasn’t directed at his daughter or me and I couldn’t tell if he suspected me or not. I wasn’t scared of them finding out about my surname of Silk-Touch.

Tura Silk-Touch was 243 years old. No one remembers or cares to remember the fact that she was once a daughter of a cobbler. No one except me. 

“In any case, I thank you for telling me this before I wasted my journey,” It was the first bit of real honesty that escaped my lips since I sat down, “I suppose I’ll have to go back to Juche and think of another sect to join.” 

“Yes, I guess you will. When will you leave?” The father drew out his words slowly, even as his daughter shot him a burning glare which he dutifully ignored. 

“I suppose sooner rather than later. How about after breakfast, whenever that is?” I kept my vapid and empty smile on my face, even as my flaring rage smouldered into bitter embers. The daughter’s head snapped to me, eyes wide with surprise. 

“So soon?” She asked me and there was something in her voice that I didn’t care to dwell on. I nodded at her question, putting on airs of slight regret. 

“I am looking to further my studies of martial arts I’m afraid,” I told the Dynast with a slight shrug who gave a downcast expression at my words.

“But I-” 

“Sela,” The father snapped and the room went cold. That coldness immediately went when the daughter’s glare snapped over to her father and a battle of wills sparked between them. 

“I was hoping that-” 

“ Sela . Enough.”

“Father, it is not enough!” She suddenly shouted and her hands slammed down onto the table, meeting her father’s cold gaze with one of heat, “If we just ask for help-!” 

“Enough!” The father’s yell froze his daughter and any and all fight left within her died. She broke away from her father’s gaze and sat back down, her head hanging low. 

“Enough, Sela. I have spoken and you will obey. Am I understood?”  

Ah, Dynasts. The very concept of ‘family’ is foreign and toxic to them. What kind of father talks to his own child as an unruly pest? And what kind of child is unable to look their parent in the eye out of shame and fear?

That just won’t do.

“At the very least let the young girl speak, good sir,” I spoke smoothly, drawing both of their attention to me. I smiled and I wondered if the old Dynast could see the steel hidden beneath it. 

“I have spoken on this matter and you will not be-” 

“Yes, I’ve heard you. But I am speaking now so now it is time for you to listen to me ,” There was the slightest bit of essence in my words as they came out broiling. They were heavy and sharp and the old Dynast’s spine became ramrod straight. He tried to glare me down, his nostrils flaring as he breathed heavily. 

It almost made me laugh. Almost. 

“I am the master of this house, Silk-Touch. Don’t forget that you’re just a guest.” 

“A master of a house where breakfast is-” 

“Twelve minutes late, my Prince.”

Thank you. 

“-Twelve minutes late. I’m beginning to think that there wasn’t any breakfast at all,” I carried on without missing a beat and I leaned forward, placing my elbows on the table and letting my chain rest upon my interlocked fingers. 

Red slowly crept into the Dynast’s wrinkled face like a ripening tomato and I savoured every second of it though my smile remained the same as ever. And wisely, he decided to not say anything. And unwisely, his daughter looked up at me with slowly widening eyes. 

I leaned back in my chair, placing my hands on my lap, “Your daughter has the courage to speak up, which is a rare thing. Don’t be so gauche as to squash down her attempts and don’t be so self-centred as to think you can do anything as important as to speak on my behalf ever again. Am I understood, Kyrus?”        

“My Prince. You are incorrigible,” Whisper’s dry words filled the heavy silence that followed after my words, if only in my head. I simply chuckled inwardly and for now, I took pleasure in the small comforts of life. Trella and her betrayal still smouldered in the back of my mind but for now, it wasn’t important. 

“I wanted to ask for your aid with the undead, master Silk-Touch,” The daughter’s words came fast and hard, taking the opening like a man dying of thirst latched onto pure water. There was a glimmer of hope and satisfaction as her father stayed silent and glowered at me with fire in his eyes. 

“I was led to believe that was already dealt with,” I said blandly, though my confusion was evident. The young Dynast shook her head at me though, a furrowed brow marring her expression. 

“Not nearly to my liking. The corpses we found were far, far too many compared to what we have lost. Along with that…thing possessing the corpse, I think this is the work of a powerful necromancer,” The daughter informed me and I found myself thinking back to Dai and Dei, the young Dynast’s handmaidens. And the embers of my rage went dark and cold, a chilling wave washing over my mind. 

Whisper. What do you think? 

“The little spitfire here might actually be right, my Prince. That walking corpse you tore apart commanded the hungry ghosts which is no easy feat.” 

I digested Whisper’s words for a moment and my mind went back to that fateful night.

The bastard who took everything from me. That walking corpse. According to Whispers, he was an Exalt just like. But whereas I was Exalted by Hell, he was Exalted by death. 

Abyssals, they were called. 

They were necromancers, deathknights beholden to lords of death. Champions of the dead and deathly beings of the Underworld. They shunned life, hoping to make it as dark and pallid as their own wretched souls and make men into ghosts. 

This was not an Abyssal, I very much doubted it. But I remembered that night when everything was taken from me and a new rage birthed within me. I thought back to Dai and Dei and wondered if this was part of their goal. Maybe they thought they could seduce me with their bodies and in turn, help their mistress. 

It was a desperate ploy but I respected it. Even if their loyalty was misplaced, it was far more than what my own mother’s students have shown her. 

Typical, disgustingly typical. Slaves had more dignity and grace than the snakes that owned them.  

I couldn’t do anything before. But that was then. This is now. Now, I could do something. 

“I would be remiss in my role as your Unwoven Coadjutor if I didn’t remind you of our actual goal, my Prince.”

Whisper, I haven’t even said yes.

“My Prince, I can’t read your thoughts but I can feel your emotions, clear as day. I’m not such a dullard that I can’t sense your vindication, your fury and utter need. Again, don’t forget. We are not here to solve the problems of some backwater slave plantation run by a cantankerous old man and his only daughter.”

I know. I know, Whisper. But even so, Ti would understand. But if you say no then that will be that. 

Whisper’s silence stretched on for what felt like forever but then she sighed sweetly into my mind, “Your willfulness is one of your better traits, my Prince. As I told you before, do as you will.”   

“Very well,” I cut off the daughter’s plea short and she looked at me dumbly, “I promise to aid you in this task, lady Nellens.” 

“You will!?” The exuberance got me massively off guard but I managed to contain my surprise to a slow blink. The massive, thankful smile on her face lit the dreary room and the shadow that hang over her was thrown off. It was, despite everything, shocking. 

It was frightfully honest, despite my best efforts to find the lie within. 

“...Fine then,” The old man spoke firmly and calmly but his cheeks were tinged with red and his flinty eyes stabbed into me, “I will give you a handful of my best guards, Silk-Touch, with pouches of salt. Do this and I will see about giving you a reward, if you desire.” 

“Ask him for a horse and some supplies, my Prince. I don’t trust this old mortal to give you anything else, if I am being honest.” 

Whisper had the right of it and I didn’t care too much about what a Dynast could give me, “I plan to make my way back to Juche so a horse and some supplies would be more than enough for me.”

“Is that it? You don’t want anything else?” The young Dynast asked me, her brow furrowed and I shook my head.

“I’m quite content with what I asked for. Unless you can’t provide even that?” I directed the question to her father who gave me a look comparable to a dead dog rotting on the side of the road. 

“I suppose I could figure something out,” His dry words scrapped against the empty air, “Then if that’s all, we can begin eating.” 

Finally. 

“Father, I-” The young Dynast spoke up and a cold piercing glance was all she was given. She met it and swallowed thickly, balling her fists on her lap. 

“Father, I should go with,” The Dynast spoke out and I could hear the slight tremble in her voice, “If anyone should be there, it should be me.” 

The father said nothing, simply staring at his daughter. There was nothing in his cold, icy eyes. No anger, no denial, nothing. Just a deep, empty well. 

What kind of parent looks at their own child like that?

“The first time you asked me this. I said no,” He spoke slowly as if carefully measuring each word, “What did you do then, Sela?” 

“I…father, there’s no need-” 

“Answer me,” His words fell like an executioner's axe and the young Dynast could no longer hold her father’s empty stare. 

“...I disobeyed you, but-!” 

“And luckily, you were caught. If you hadn’t been, perhaps you would’ve shared your fate with the dead now rotting in that tomb,” There was an undercurrent of something in his words and I watched intrigued at my first-hand witness to what I could only call a scene of classic Dynastic parenting. 

“And then you had the gall to disobey me for the second time and this time, you donned a guard’s armour and slipped out like a snake in the grass,” The father spat out, his brow furrowing heavily. I glanced at the daughter and I found her biting her bottom lip, hard. Her gaze rested on her lap and her long hair hanging around her face. 

“And then you almost died . My only daughter, torn apart by the hungry dead. How do you think I would’ve felt had I realised that you weren’t in your room like I expected you to be? What if I never found your body? What if there was nothing left to recover?”

The daughter, beaten down by her father’s words, couldn’t muster up any courage to argue back. She meekly took the battering in stride and I found a bitter taste blooming on my tongue. 

I could see her face, through the openings in her flowing black hair. I could see her pale skin, her distant eyes that glazed over in horrific memory. And I knew, I knew deep in my bones, that she was no longer here, in her home. 

She was somewhere else. And I knew exactly where she was.

I hated it. In my very bones, I hated that I felt sympathy for her. I hated the fact that I could see it but not her own father. I hated that I could no longer feel the comforting rage that smouldered within my own aching heart. 

I hated it. I hated it . And I will not stand for it. 

“Sela,” I spoke up, her name slipping out of my mouth before I could stop myself. Her head snapped to me and her father’s glare broiled with hidden warnings that meant nothing to me. 

“Do you want to come with me?” I asked the trembling girl and her eyes gained a glimmer of life that banished the shadow that hung over her. Her shaking came to a sudden stop and she stared at me numbly, her mouth hanging open slightly. 

“Silk-Touch. Did you not hear a single word of what I just said?” The father asked me and his words came out smouldering and low.

“I have heard every word you’ve spoken, lord Nellens. But now I am talking and I am offering your daughter a choice. A choice that doesn’t concern you,” I told him calmly and bluntly. He didn’t appreciate that as I saw the veins on his neck pulse and his face turning into a deep red. His eyes, wide with fury and shock, bore into my own.

“How dare you,” He spat out with such vitriol, I wondered if the lining of his throat would burn, “You damned ingrate. You sit at my table, in my home and tell me a choice that my daughter makes doesn’t concern me?”    

His voice never rose but each word dripped like molten iron, “Yes. Now shut up and let her talk.” 

I turned my attention back to Sela who was torn between me and her father. She gave me a pleading look, shooting glances between the both of us. She hadn’t said anything but her pale skin slowly pinkened with life. 

“I-I-” 

“Sela, I forbid you from doing this!” The old coot’s patience snapped as spittle flew from his mouth, “You are my daughter and I will have you tied up to your bed if I have to!” 

“And you!” He pointed a shaky, bony finger at me, his lips peeling back in a gruesome, angry sneer, “I am the lord of this land! The next word that leaves your forked tongue, I’ll have you-!”

Calmly, I stood up. And he, wisely, decided to stop talking. I left my daiklave up against the edge of the table and placing my hands behind my back, I walked around to the left, opposite to Sela. 

I could feel their gazes following me, one fearful though tinged with something else. The other, brimming with anger and fire quickly cooling as I stood over the old Dynast. He looked up at me and I looked down at him, not saying a word. 

And then, I placed a hand on his shoulder and I could his whole body slightly trembling. Perhaps with more anger than fear but that didn’t matter. In the back of my mind, I could feel Whisper churning and turning, watching through my eyes. There was no small amount of satisfaction emanating from the neomah. 

“Lord you may be but I must ask,” I spoke slowly and my hand clenched just a bit tighter with each word. My words were laced with broiling essence and I could hear him swallow thickly. 

“Do you feel like a lord?” 

I received no answer besides the burning glare of the Dynast. I let my hand linger for a moment longer but I removed it and turned my back to him. I walked past the young Dynast, locking my eyes with hers as I did so. Colour had flushed back into her cheeks and there was a dangerous but fiery edge to her eyes that made me smile, despite myself. 

“I think I’ve overstayed my welcome and I’ve lost my appetite. I’ll be waiting for you by the tomb, lady Nellens. Take as long as you need.” 

Taking my blade, I opened the door and left the dining room. Every step of the way, I could feel the burning glare on the back of my neck, even as I closed the sliding doors. I walked through the complex, nodding back to the slaves and servants as I do so. 

So I walked. I walked through the complex, I walked over the ring of salt. I walked by the many, many slaves that worked hard in the fields of wheat and produce under the shining sun. I walked on the road that led me to the complex, retracing my steps with the help of Whisper. 

I walked through the forests and my mind wandered. And there was no surprise as to where it wandered. 

Trella. I still had trouble believing it. That bitch. That whore. She was one of our most passionate students, even if she wasn’t there long. Maybe it was just due to her nature as a Fire Aspect but a snake was still a snake. 

I was such a fool to think that the others cared. Why would they? To them, it was a place to train and hone their skills, nothing more and nothing less. They wanted the prowess of being a martial artist but nothing else. 

So their teachers fought and died. So the sect burnt down. So their fellow pupils were cut down. So what? The sun still rose and fell. The crops would still grow, the Realm would still endure. Life went on and they crawled to the other sects, begging like the rodents that they tried so hard not to be. So what does it matter if they lie and cheat? So what does it matter that the truth is smothered in the crib before it was given a chance to flourish? 

So what. So what. So what .   

So be it. I’ll stay true. If not me, who else? If I forget, then Tura Silk-Touch will have truly died. I and I alone know the truth of that night. And if I see Trella or any other of my fellow “pupils” ever again, then I will make the truth spill from their forked tongues. 

“My Prince,” Whisper spoke to me, her voice soft and soothing, “Allow me to distract you for a bit, but why did you decide to bring that girl along?”

I came to a dead stop as I found myself outside of the tomb once again. A quick check showed the line of salt was undisturbed and I decided to lean up against a tree and wait. 

I…I don’t know, Whisper. I spoke without thinking, that’s all. 

“Don’t try to lie, my Prince, especially not to me. You saw yourself in her, didn’t you? You empathized with her plight. You saw what her father couldn’t or wouldn’t.” 

I didn’t think anything back. As it turned out, I was an awful liar even in my own thoughts. 

Do you disagree? With what I did? 

“I had a feeling that this is what we would end up doing, so I simply tried to make the best of this diversion. But I must say, I didn’t expect you to ask for the girl to come along. But do I disagree with it? Yes, yes I do.” 

In my mind, I could picture Whisper’s silvery eyes boring into me, a disapproving curl to her lips. 

“If she dies, which is a chance however small, we’ll have to deal with that irate father of hers. He might even try to kill us, as amusing as that thought is. I find it to be an unnecessary risk, driven entirely by emotion.” 

I can’t say you’re wrong. I just saw myself in her, as you said. If she wasn’t given this chance, then that fear and loathing would’ve festered inside her heart like poison. Her father was only trying to do what parents do; protect their children but it isn’t what she needed. 

“And you think you know what’s best for this girl you’ve known for scarcely a day?” My Unwoven Coadjutor’s words were as cutting as they were quick and I found myself at a loss for words for a brief moment. 

No. No, I don’t. But running away never solves anything. Eventually, a choice has to be made. I was offered mine, now I offer hers. If she doesn’t come, she doesn’t come. If she does, she does. At the end of the day, it’s her choice to make. 

“A choice that might end in her death or worse yet. If that happens, what will you do, my Prince?” 

I reached for an answer and grasped nothing but empty air. What would I do if she died? And why did that thought leave a foul taste on my tongue? Maybe Whisper was right. Maybe I really am a soft-hearted fool that can’t stand injustices. Maybe in the end, I am just a selfish idiot whose only real skill is killing with his fists and blade. To make men into ghosts and to look into a deeper meaning into a tool meant for bloodshed and nothing more.  

But in the end, all I know for certain, I can’t stand it. I can’t stand doing nothing and simply letting the world roll on by while I witness foul things and fouler deeds happen in front of me. 

I don’t know, Whisper. But come what may, I will deal with it. That’s all I can do.

Nellens Kyrus’ chest rose and fell with his rapid breathing. The reddening on his face quickly paled behind closed doors and he all but sprinted across his opulent bedroom. It was big enough to hold a small show, with paintings of a man, a woman and their daughter lining the wall. The bedroom led out to a wondrous private garden of herbs, flowers and a small, sparkling pond of koi fish that swam happily and lazily.  

And yet the old Dynast couldn’t care less and he stood behind his working desk, filled to the brim with various papers; their monthly quota of produce, the records of what slaves they had, the servants they employ, how much jade and jade scrip they had in their coffers. An empty ink pot and a dirted quill stood out but they jostled violently as Nellens Kyrus wrenched open his lowest drawer. 

Uncaring of the scrolls tied in there and various knickknacks he had thrown in there, he reached the bottom of this drawer. With steadying breaths, his fingers molested the underside of the drawer above until he could feel a cold numbness. Finding an edge, he gently pulled out an object that made his mouth dry.

Staring back at him in an oval shape, almost a mockery of a hand mirror, was a black void. Obsidian glass that made his fingertips numb and prickly. Around its edges was a terrible metal he didn’t recognize. Not iron nor steel, it wasn’t something of his world. 

Placing the black mirror on his desk, he took in a breath as if to cleanse himself of how clammy his hands felt or how cold sweat lined his brow. Without any hesitation, he bit harshly into his thumb until he tasted tangy copper. 

Placing his bleeding thumb against the dark mirror, he could feel the unholy object supping his lifeblood. Like a newborn babe suckling at the teat of its mother. Grimacing, Nellens Kyrus kept his thumb pressed up against the black mirror until he felt stop and he couldn’t wrench his thumb back fast enough. 

He looked into the black mirror and if it was a void before, it felt like a writhing abyss. He saw nothing but deep, endless darkness before him and the temperate warmth of the morning was swept away by the chill that ran through Kyrus’ blood. 

And distantly, from the mirror, he could hear whispers. Groaning and pleas that he chose to ignore. Chattering of broken teeth, the breaking of brittle bones. The putrid stench of age-old flesh. 

“There’s been a complication,” He spoke quickly and the noises stopped. On the back of his neck, his hairs raised and a cold bead of sweat dripped down slowly. 

“I’ve sent more men this time,” He carried on speaking, just to fill the void of dead silence but also to end this conversation, “But my daughter has gone with them this time.” 

“And why didn’t you stop her, Kyrus?” A dark voice spoke out from the mirror and he could feel its jagged edge scraping across the surface of his brain. A cold, sharp edge that writhed like an eel. 

“I tried!” He shouted, forgetting his naked fear for the moment, “Damn it all, I tried! But that filth encouraged her! Humiliated me in front of my own daughter, in my home! She wouldn’t hear the end of it and she ran after him!” 

What Charms must he have used, Kyrus wondered. What essence beguiled his daughter’s mind and made his heart quiver with fear? 

The voice didn’t respond back and Kyrus felt his heart, beating and angry, flutter with fear, “Remember our deal, spirit. You’ll get your corpses and-” 

“Young lady Sela will not be harmed, Kyrus. You have my word,” The smooth words snaked around Kyrus, constricting him in a cold hold, “Last night was a mistake. The one responsible has been punished, I assure you.” 

The growl that pulled itself out of Kyrus was closer to a rabid animal than a human, “And the reaper daikalve that ingrate holds. That belongs to me as well.” 

“Of course, of course. Now tell me about this stranger. Who is he?” 

“He calls himself Luo Silk-Touch,” Kyrus spat out, “And the bastard gave nothing away. I thought he was…it doesn’t matter. He just sat there and smiled that empty smile of his. All I know is that he’s a martial artist of some sort, that’s it.” 

“Disappointing but ultimately irrelevant. He will be taken care of,” Kyrus resisted the urge to swallow the lump forming in his throat. For a moment, something coiled around his heart but he ignored its presence.     

“Remember all I’ve done for you,” Kyrus forced the words out of his trembling lips and in the suckling abyss before, he could see two small pinpricks of ghostly light. 

“You wouldn’t have gotten so far without me, spirit. A Wyld Hunt would’ve had your head if it wasn’t for me. The Immaculates would’ve sent actual exorcists instead of charlatans if it wasn’t for me. If it wasn’t for me, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation right now. Do I make myself clear, spirit?” 

The two ghostly pinpricks stabbed into him as if they were jagged needles. Kyrus felt his brain ache against his pulsating skull and he looked away, breaking contact. In the distance, he could hear something wetly break followed by a pain-filled groan.

“I have not forgotten, Kyrus. I am in your debt. But there is work to be done and only so many willing to help. When we next stand against each other, our hands shall meet once again and you will have what is rightfully yours.”

Kyrus cringed and the two pinpricks of fading light died. He felt feeling return to his limbs and his raised hairs slowly wilted. With a shuddering breath, he put the mirror back where he found it and cleaned up after himself. Standing up, he patted himself down and he drew in a slow breath, closing his eyes as he did so. 

When he opened them again, he walked over to the dead fireplace. It was dust, not ash, that covered it and he looked up to the painting that hung over it. Compared to the dusty fireplace, its brass edges shone dully. Not a single speck of age-old dust could be seen on the canvas that held an image that made Kyrus suck in a deep breath.

It was a painting of a younger man, his gaze sharp and his hair black as midnight. He was grim-faced and stony, more statue than a man. His grey, lifeless robes only added to the image. Besides him was a woman with hair that flowed to her hips in a long, wide cascade, the colour of fiery red. Her crimson robes were gilded with a gold outline and her smile was wide as it was carefree. Her eyes of jade green sparkled with mirth and joy as she gently held a swaddle of cloth in her arms.

A tiny hand could be seen reaching up, holding onto the woman’s pinky. 

Kyrus placed his shaking hand on the canvas as if hoping to feel something other than dry paper. He swallowed the lump forming in his throat and blinked away the wetness around his eyes and spoke with a raw, trembling voice: 

“Soon, Cess. Soon.”