"Vance?" she repeats the word. I note that her voice is beautiful; the name sounds beautiful in her mouth.
"Yes. That was the name my mother gave me," I reply, sitting down on the cold stone of the parapet.
"You had a mother..." she says, her voice softening as she looks at me, trying to find the man behind the mask.
"I am human... was... I still am human, inside. You can call me Vance," I add. In my head, I recall my mother's smile while repeating my name with love. She wanted the best for me, a stable path. But I wasn't fit for that. Something in me was missing... a gear that didn't quite mesh with the world.
"How was she?" I ask.
"Who?" she replies, blinking.
"Your mother. And your father," I say, looking out at the city beneath us.
The castle is perched on the side of the highest peak, with the city cascading down the mountain skirts into the valley below. It is a massive sprawl. The illumination is primitive—flickering lanterns that must burn a lot of oil—but the streets are paved and laid out in a precise, logical grid. It was clearly designed by a mind that understood order. I like it. A city of lines and angles.
"I... I don't remember my mother," she replies. "She died when I was born." Her tone turns somber. "My father was my everything. He was kind and gentle, but firm when he needed to be. It is not easy to be a king. But this city was built and maintained by our lineage. It is our heritage, and we were making it even better..."
I study the city again, looking for evidence.
"I am not justifying Vortigen," I tell her, my gaze sweeping over the orderly streets. "But there are some people who cannot fit in society. It is their mistake to stay and try to destroy it when they could simply leave and find their place in the unknown."
She doesn't say anything, processing my words. I could have stayed on Earth and tried to make the system bend to my whim—been angry and violent—but the system is made for everyone. It is everyone working hard who makes it function. Humans are just not perfect, and that is why the system isn't either. But if you want the best food, healthcare, and education, you must yield to the system and be part of it. The alternative is nature: wild, merciless, and godless.
"Why did this happen?" I ask her, my voice cutting through the wind. "What led the man to betray your father if he was, as you said, almost a son to the King? I can see the city from here... there was a fight, yes, but a small one. The walls aren't breached. The fires were contained."
I turn my piercing gaze back to her.
"Did your people support Vortigen?"
My interrogation begins. It is not that I care about who is good and who is evil, but if she is going to be my guide, I need to know more.
"We did everything for them! We protected the borders and kept the roads clean and safe. The prices were good, too, and people were starting to eat better with the reforms my father was implementing," she says. Her voice gains a sharp, jagged edge. "And they just let Vortigen take everything. Just because my father was strict with the law."
To my ears, this sounds like tyranny. A dictatorship.
"The gods gave us the right to rule. We gave them the privilege to be ruled by us! They should have been grateful! But no!" she spits, her face twisting with a sudden, ugly venom. "Bastards! They all should burn!"
I smile at her, finding her even more beautiful—and far more fascinating. She is a rose groomed with meticulous care, told since birth that she is a divine creature deserving only of adoration. Yet, without the softening influence of a mother's kindness, she has become bitter. She resents weakness. She resents anything she perceives as beneath her.
She will make an excellent guide if she is properly educated. As we travel, she will face the brutal truth of reality and become the leader she truly is inside. I can tell this because the city looks functional. The reforms were effective. If this place wants to survive the coming years, they will eventually realize they need her mind, even if they hate her hand. I doubt the opportunists who took over have the structural knowledge to keep this machine running.
"So..." I say, my voice smooth as I look toward the central keep. "Where do you think the usurpers currently are? With their field leader dead and the 'demon' supposedly gone, they must be feeling safe. Safe enough to finally attempt to crack your father's vaults. Some of the wealth there might be 'relocated' as we speak."
I lean in closer, the moonlight catching the predatory glint in my human eyes.
"It is the perfect opportunity for them to steal and blame it all on the 'greedy' dead King. If I were them, that is exactly what I would do."
Aria's face pales, then flushes with a dark, possessive rage. The idea of "her" wealth being touched by "common" hands is clearly very offensive to her.
"Beneath the throne room! The ministers know how to open it, and now that they have my father's ring, they must be trying to open it. But they didn't know that whoever wields the ring must also have this blade with them. That's why I was always with my father when opening the vault. It won't open if not in the presence of the Akasha Blade." She smiles, a cold, triumphant expression.
"Then we will pay them a visit," I say.
With my Perception increased and my Reason back to its highest, I am capable of killing a whole squad of knights without even drawing a weapon. I don't need to sever their heads. I can simply reach into the delicate architecture of their nervous systems and command their brains to send a small, fatal electric pulse to their hearts. A momentary surge, a sudden stop, and the "problem" is solved.
"Shall we?" I ask, extending a hand toward the edge of the roof.
I manifest a Void Gate—not a jagged tear this time, but a silent, shimmering circle of nothingness that leads directly into the high rafters of the Throne Room.
We step through.
Below us, the scene is exactly as I predicted. Three ministers in silk robes are huddled around a massive stone seal on the floor, sweat beading on their foreheads. A dozen knights stand guard, their armor gleaming in the torchlight. One minister holds a heavy gold signet ring to a groove in the stone, chanting frantically. Nothing is happening.
"It won't budge!" one of the ministers hisses. "The King must have placed a secondary lock."
"They are too many..." Aria whispers beside me.
I snap my fingers.
The knights all release a choked sound of pain, gripping their chests as their hearts stop in unison. The heavy sound of armored bodies hitting the marble floor fills the silent room like falling hammers. Aria looks at me, her eyes shining with a cruel satisfaction—the same look fanatics wear when disgrace falls upon those they hate. To her, this isn't murder; it is divine punishment.
"What? Commander Adrian!" the old man cries out, his voice cracking with terror.
"What is happening?" another repeats, then another.
I drop from the rafters, adopting my true form mid-air. The purple glimmer of power around my being drags their eyes toward me as I land softly amidst the corpses.
"The... the demon..." one gasps, stumbling back.
"No, not a demon. Something even worse, if you don't watch your mouth," I reply.
I reach out my will, turning the fallen knights into golden essence. My Reason diminishes slightly this time, dipping to 88/100 as the hunger stirs. They watch, paralyzed, as the golden mist flows and creates a beautiful, rotating circle above my head. I condense the energy into a single, jagged crystal and devour it in one gulp.
I feel the surge. My level increases again. I am more powerful now. This is perfect. I'll leave the evolution for later, once the room is clear.
I walk toward the dais and sit on the throne of their dead king. Aria gracefully takes her place beside me. She isn't smiling anymore; she looks at the surviving ministers with a cold, hollow gaze. She wanted more blood. More deaths.
"I am here to hear a story, gentlemen," I tell them, my voice echoing in the vaulted chamber. "Tell me: why did you betray the King and banish the Princess in such a cruel way?"
They look at each other, paralyzed by a mixture of horror and profound confusion. They clearly didn't expect to be allowed to speak, assuming they would follow their knights into the void within seconds. One of the younger ministers darts his eyes toward the heavy oak doors, calculating the distance.
"Please. Invite more warriors in," I tell him, my voice a soft, predatory rasp. I glance at the twenty empty armor shells littering the floor—hollow monuments to the men I just erased—then meet his gaze again. I smile. It wouldn't be bad to get more Essence. My level has just increased, and the hunger is already whispering for more.
"M-monst—" the younger one begins to stammer.
"Minister Johns! Do not dare!" the eldest interrupts, his voice sharp enough to cut through the panic. He is the first to compose himself, his posture shifting from a cowering servant to a man exuding a desperate, calculated reason. "My apologies on behalf of all my people, Great One."
I nod, leaning back into the velvet of the throne. It feels remarkably comfortable. To be here, positioned above them in this seat of absolute authority... it is intoxicating. My Reason notes the chemical surge of dopamine, the primitive satisfaction of the apex predator claiming the den of the defeated.
"May I ask you a question first, with no intention to offend you?" the elder asks, bowing his head low.
I nod again, curious to see where his logic leads.
"Why would a being like you want to know about pathetic, weak creatures like us?" he asks.
He has a point. From the perspective of an Architect, they are little more than flickering sparks in a dark room. I genuinely don't care about their petty politics.
"When I arrived here, I received a pretty bad treatment from your knights," I reply. My pride still carries a faint, cold sting. Being slammed against the stone like a common animal by Vortigen's men had been... irritating. It had been quite satisfying to liquidate them. "But that doesn't matter. I asked a question, and all of you will answer."
"We will, Great One," the elder says, shooting a warning look at his trembling colleagues. "And none of us would be stupid enough to try to lie to your Majesty!"
He adds that last part more for his equals than for me—a stern reminder that the cost of a lie is total annihilation.
Aria stands beside me, her knuckles white on the hilt of the Akasha Blade. She looks down at the elder minister—a man who likely once sat at her father's table—and her lip curls. She is waiting for the confession, for the moment they admit their "sin" so she can justify the slaughter she clearly still craves.
"The treason," I prompt, my eyes glowing a faint, steady violet. "The King. The Princess. Start from the beginning. Why was a successful system dismantled for a common soldier like Vortigen?"
The elder minister takes a deep breath, looking at the stone seal on the floor—the Vault of Aeons—and then back to me. The weight of his next words feels like it could shift the very foundations of the castle.