POP
Mora Rin stumbled in the dark chambers, her boots scraping against the cold black marble. She clutched her left bicep. Dark blood spilled between her pale fingers, pooling on the pristine floor.
She dragged her weight down the dark hall, pushing through a set of heavy iron doors. She staggered into the center of the grand chamber and collapsed to her knees.
The manic obsession was gone, replaced by raw, suffocating panic.
"H-He proved more difficult than I expected," Rin whispered, pressing her forehead against the freezing stone. Her body trembled. "I... I ask for one more chance."
A ring of iron braziers ignited, bathing the circular room in a pale firelight.
Nine massive chairs loomed in the shadows. The people sitting in them possessed hunched frames, their gloved hands gripping the armrests. They wore heavy wooden masks, each carved into an exaggerated emotion. The light flickered on the teeth of a manic grin, traced the deep tears of a weeping mask, and cast black shadows over the unhinged jaw of a silent scream.
The figure seated in the center did not move. His mask possessed no features. It was a flawless, polished slab of pale wood, devoid of all expression.
"A chance?"
The elder wearing the weeping hollow leaned forward, the firelight catching the deep, black trails carved beneath its empty eyes. "How pitiful. You broke our trust, assassin."
Rin pressed her face so hard against the freezing black marble it threatened to crack her nose.
"Please..." Her entire frame trembled. Her voice tore apart in her throat. "I can do it... I promise you."
A theatrical cackle echoed from the far left of the semicircle. The elder wearing the jagged crescent tilted his head, the firelight dancing across his permanently winking eye. "I say we let the child try again! Oh, the sheer entertainment of it!"
"Enough."
The word suffocated the chamber. The voice behind the featureless mask carried absolute zero hindrance.
The pressure in the room violently multiplied. Three of the torches died instantly. Rin's ribs almost cracked under the crushing pressure, forcing the last breath from her lungs.
"We grant you one final chance. Go."
The Blank raised a single, black-gloved finger.
A thin current of mana-force sheared through the air. It sliced a shallow yet perfect line vertically down the center of Rin's forehead. Hot blood instantly blinded her left eye.
She didn't even have time to gasp. The solid marble beneath her knees dissolved into a tear, opening into a forest. Gravity abandoned her. Rin plummeted into the freezing air.
"Kill the Anomaly," the Eldest's voice echoed down the closing void. "Before Wrath has to step in."
___________
Morning light bleached the sprawling estate of the House of Zahravin. Servants moved in synchronized silence; maids pinned wet linen to the lines, while gardeners sheared the immaculate hedges.
Princess Sefira sat on the veranda, the pale pink silk of her robe pooling on the polished stone. Her dark brown hair framed a vacant stare. Her bright orange eyes locked onto the gardens, registering none of the movement.
"Princess Sefira. Pardon my intrusion." A maid stepped onto the veranda and sank into a deep bow, offering a sealed envelope with both hands. "This arrived moments ago."
Sefira blinked, her vision snapping back to the present.
"Oh, yes..." She took the envelope, flipping it to check the wax seal. "Grateful. You are dismissed."
"Very well, Your Highness." The maid backed away, maintaining her bow until she cleared the stone steps, vanishing around the edge of the manor.
Sefira broke the seal. A single line of ink stained the heavy parchment.
Address them today. Speak only what you are told.
She let the paper slip from her fingers. It fluttered onto the cold stone beside her.
She gazed out across the manicured hedges, her focus drifting to the massive stone walls separating the estate from the Capital.
'Wonder what the market is like right now...' Her mind wandered, the familiar thoughts acting as a shield against the suffocating silence of the estate. 'I bet it is still packed... the vendors will be screaming, right? The children will run to them...'
Her lips curved into a quiet, secret smile.
'When I finally go, I will visit every single stall in the Kingdom!' she promised herself.
She stood, gathering the heavy pink silk around her ankles. A flock of maids descended upon the veranda, surrounding her with practiced precision.
"I shall address the people today," Sefira commanded, her eyes sliding shut to block out the servants. She turned back toward the shadowed halls of the manor.
"Very well, Your Highness." The maids trailed behind her like a tailored shadow, pulling fresh ceremonial robes from the corridor cabinets.
As the servants stripped her outer layer, Sefira retreated back into the safety of her own mind. She fixated on a fragment of a memory—a little commoner girl she had once seen from her speech stage, clutching roasted meat skewers in her small hands.
'I wonder what the skewers taste like...' Sefira asked herself as the heavy silk settled over her shoulders. 'I bet they are... sweet? No, that doesn't seem quite right...'
She raised her arms, allowing the maids to fasten the golden clasps.
'I guess they are salty... just like fish and rice...' She pictured the little girl's bright and greasy smile. 'I wonder if she will be in the crowd for the speech today... I wish she would throw some skewers at me...'
The sheer absurdity of the idea coaxed another tragic, isolated smile to her lips.
"You are robed, Your Highness." The maids stepped back.
"Prepare the carriages." Sefira raised an open palm, accepting the gilded silk fan a servant placed in her grip. "Secure confirmation from the High Church."
The maids pivoted, facing the massive oil portrait dominating the far wall—the previous Princess of House Zahravin. The servants pressed their right hands over their hearts.
"Glory to the Lady Zahravin," the maids chanted, bowing their heads.
Sefira turned. She mirrored the motion, pressing her own palm flat against the heavy ceremonial silk over her chest. Her bright orange eyes locked onto the dead gaze of her mother. Her face remained absolute stone.
'I despise you,' her fractured internal voice whispered beneath the chanting. 'You built this cage, locked the door, and went away. And now all I do is read scripts. Over and over.'
The ritual finished. The maids retreated, dissolving into the shadowed corridors. The heavy doors clicked shut.
Left in the silence of the room, Sefira let her hand drop from her chest. She snapped her fan shut and marched out into the cold stone hall.
'One day,' her mind promised, clinging to the only spark of absurd rebellion it had left. 'I will eat a mountain of salty skewers.'