2025-03-01 15:26:25Something inside me dies when I bury my mother and younger brother in a single coffin, spacious enough to hold them both. But later, I realize I need that part of me to die. Because the old Helio Hawthorn would never be able to take his revenge.
For two full days, I ride a horse made of illusion. Eat food made of illusion. Rest in a house made of illusion. Keep my body hidden from others with the help of illusion. I am beginning to rely too much on my magic. Perhaps the High Priest is right. The Sacred Tome has given me exactly the kind of magic I need. At the heart of the Varidianth Kingdom, in the grand city of Remirer, I stand in a narrow house I have conjured between two tightly packed buildings. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Helio Hawthorn stares back at me with eyes hidden behind a black silk ribbon. His skin is pale, a stark contrast to his blood-colored hair. His body is too thin, swallowed by noble attire that is far too extravagant for him. But he has no choice. Today, he must claim the title of Marquess from his two older brothers. He must look dignified. But it is hard to appear dignified when my hands are still shaking, struggling to contain the fury and vengeance raging inside me. "Come on, Helio," I tell myself. "You're going to the palace today to take the title that should be yours. That's all. You can take your revenge on Zenthio and Demario another time. The same goes for Nyx." Suddenly, my door swings open and shuts again. I jolt back, my gaze snapping at a boy who has just entered my house, looking just as startled as I am. "Since when was there a house here?" he mutters to himself. I say nothing. I simply observe him from head to toe. He is terribly thin, his clothes ragged and worn. In his hands, he clutches a single apple, his fingers trembling with hunger. "Are you a noble?" he asks. I nod, uninterested in explaining further. "Who are you?" He doesn't seem eager to explain himself either. For a moment, we listen to the approaching footsteps of those hunting him down. "That damn thief! Find him, you useless knights! What the hell am I paying taxes for?" a man shouts angrily. The footsteps fade, disappearing down the street. I blink. "You can hide here if you want. But I have business at the palace," I tell him. He doesn’t nod. Instead, he stumbles back, hitting the wall, as I bend reality, conjuring food before his eyes. "You're an illusionist!" he exclaims. I can hear both awe and fear in his voice. "And what about you?" I ask. "Do you have a name, or would you rather I remember you as 'thief'?" He lowers his head, ashamed of the label forced upon him. But I know it’s not his fault. No child chooses to be born into poverty. "My name is Hale," he whispers, so softly I almost don’t hear it. I smile. "Nice to meet you, Hale," I say sincerely. I check the braille watch on my wrist and realize it’s time. "Goodbye," I say. I close my eyes. And when I open them again, I am standing in front of the palace, surrounded by nobles, knights, and servants. The scent of flowers drifts through the air, mingling with hushed laughter and murmured conversations. I straighten my coat and stride toward the grand hall where the ceremony will take place. ⚔️ "Three days ago, Marquess Alessio Hawthorn was found lifeless at the kingdom’s border. It is believed he suffered an accident. As a result, his title shall be passed down to the son he trusted most: Helio Hawthorn!" the Queen announces as I step into the hall. I walk calmly past the rows of nobles, my gaze locking on Zenthio, who is already draped in the ceremonial cloak of the Marquess, kneeling solemnly before the Queen. "But since Helio Hawthorn disappeared on his way to the palace," the Queen continues, "as per the established rules, I will pass the title of Marquess to Marquess Alessio’s firstborn, Zenthio—" "I object, Your Majesty!" My voice rings across the hall. Whispers explode among the nobles and knights. Some murmur insults about my blindness, but others still remember the power I was born with. I walk steadily down the red carpet and stop behind Zenthio. "As you can see, Your Majesty, I am still alive," I declare. "Shouldn’t the title be mine?" The Queen smiles at me. Wrapped in a gown adorned with real rubies, she seems to care for nothing but herself. But she despises having to correct herself, especially now that another voice cuts through the hall. "I also object, Your Majesty," Lavinia says. I turn to see my sister stepping forward, dressed in the formal attire of a noblewoman. "I believe I have the ability to carry on our father’s legacy," she states firmly. "Lavinia..." I whisper. If she wants to take this title from me, I won’t stop her. I trust she would be a worthy leader. But that would also mean exposing herself to the same dangers I face. "I object as well, Your Majesty," Demario adds. I clench my fists. The Queen now wears a cruel smile as she slowly walks around us, scrutinizing each one of us in turn. Then she asks, "And what makes any of you think you are better than the others?" I clear my throat. "My father believed I was the most worthy of inheriting his title, Your Majesty. Doesn’t that mean I am the best choice?" "Your Majesty," Lavinia interjects. "I have the highest intelligence among my brothers. I am also the most skilled in swordsmanship. Furthermore, I wield magic that ensures fairness in leadership. I believe I will be a better Marchioness than any of them." "Are you saying this because our kingdom is ruled by a queen, Lavinia?" the Queen questions. That’s dangerous. There’s something in her voice—jealousy, maybe. Though I don’t know why a queen would envy a noble girl like Lavinia. "Please, Your Majesty, don’t listen to them," Zenthio insists. "As you can see, Helio is blind and far too young to lead. And there’s no proof that Lavinia is any better than the rest of us—" "Silence!" the Queen snaps. "Here’s what we’ll do. I will give each of you a task to prove your worth. Zenthio, as the eldest, will hold the title of Marquess temporarily. In one month, I will judge who deserves it. Understood?" The four of us exchange glances. I doubt Zenthio and Demario will play fair. But Lavinia nods. "I accept, Your Majesty," she declares. "I will prove that I will be a great Marchioness." "I accept as well, Your Majesty," Zenthio adds smugly. "I will prove that the eldest son is always superior." "As do I, Your Majesty," Demario smirks. "I will prove that strength is what truly matters in leadership." I take a slow breath. Close my eyes. When I open them, the Queen is staring at me, waiting. "I accept," I say. My voice is steady. "I will prove my father was right."
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034 | Between Pain and Memory (Julian)
Pain does not leave me. It clings to my skin, presses against my ribs, curls around my wrists like unseen chains. My body is sore, my limbs weak, every breath a slow, dragging effort. The damp forest floor is cold beneath me, but my fever makes everything feel unbearably warm, as if I am burning from the inside out.I do not know how long I have been here. Long enough for the world to blur. Long enough for my mind to slip between the present and the past. And in that haze of exhaustion, of pain, of near delirium, I remember the city. The City That Had Nothing LeftI remember standing in the streets of my home and realizing it was no longer mine. The city had been drained.The marketplace that once thrived with merchants and traders was now filled with empty stalls and sunken-eyed vendors. Goods that had once been within reach—fine fabrics, fresh produce, spiced tea—were now luxuries only the wealthiest could afford. The people were struggling.I had seen fathers counting their last co
033 | Secrets Beneath the City (Helio)
The underground market is a place that should not exist—at least, not in the eyes of the nobility. It thrives beneath the heart of the city, hidden beneath layers of cobbled streets and forgotten tunnels. To those who live above, it is merely a rumor, a whispered secret passed between cautious lips.But to those who know how to find it, it is something else entirely.A refuge. A kingdom of its own. A place where laws bend and reality shifts, where magic is not bound by the careful rules of scholars and noble bloodlines.The entrance is unremarkable—an old iron grate set into a quiet alleyway, half-buried in debris. To the unknowing, it looks like nothing more than a forgotten drainage system, long abandoned. But beneath it, a staircase carves into the earth, leading to something far older than the city above.I step forward first, feeling the shift in the air the moment my boot touches the stone. Hale follows closely, muttering under his breath about the smell—a mixture of damp earth,
032 | Flicker of Hope (Helio)
The tension in my hands lingers long after we leave Zenthio’s office.My steps are steady, my posture composed, but something raw lingers beneath my skin. The weight of his words—he’s probably dead—still coils in my chest, threatening to drag my mind into a place I do not wish to go.But I cannot afford to lose focus. Not now.Hale walks beside me, his hands shoved into his coat pockets, his usual sharp remarks absent. Rhea follows a step behind, silent, her face hidden beneath the loose strands of her dark hair. She has not spoken since we left the office.The estate is quieter than I remember. Too quiet. The servants keep their heads down as we pass, their eyes avoiding mine, their footsteps hurried as if they fear they will be punished simply for being seen. The walls, though untouched in their grandeur, feel emptier. The great tapestries still hang in the corridors, the chandeliers still cast their golden light upon the marble floors, but there is no warmth. No life.We pass the h
031 | Homecoming as a Foe (Helio)
The gates of the Marquess’s estate stand before me, just as they always have—imposing, grand, and heavy with the weight of a legacy I once called my own. The wrought iron, polished to a merciless shine, gleams under the midday sun, its intricate patterns curling like the veins of an old tree.I have walked through these gates before. I was raised behind them. Yet today, as I step forward with Hale and Rhea at my side, I am a guest in my own home.The knights stationed at the entrance stand rigid, their polished armor reflecting the light like mirrors of steel. They recognize me instantly—of course, they do—but their hands tighten around their weapons, unsure of what to do with their knowledge.The hesitation is thick in the air.Once, they would have bowed without question. Once, they would have greeted me as a son of the house Alessio, not as an outsider. But times have changed. And so have I.I hear their whispers before I even pass the threshold."The blind heir has returned.""The
030 | A Rotting Soul (Nyx)
I exist in many places at once.The city whispers my name in the dark, a flickering shadow slipping through the cracks of locked doors, lingering in the hush of frightened voices. In alleyways, men speak of me in cautious tones. In grand halls, nobles glance over their shoulders, wondering if I am watching.Children, huddled beneath their blankets, hear stories of the man who walks between worlds, the specter who listens even when no one is watching. They say I can be anywhere. That I am everywhere.And they are not wrong. I walk the halls of Lavinia’s mansion, where illusions weave themselves into reality like a second skin.I stand in Zenthio’s mansion, where cruelty is currency, and the weak are devoured whole.And now, I am here. The Queen’s palace.The morning light filters through the stained-glass windows, casting fractured colors across the polished marble floor. The scent of spiced tea and warm pastries lingers in the air, mingling with the sharp ink of freshly opened letters
029 | Ashes and Fear (Helio)
The aroma of tea drifts through the small dining room, weaving into the morning air like a gentle promise of warmth. The scent of toasted bread lingers beneath it, rich with butter, mingling with the faint traces of honey and herbs. The wooden table, though plain and slightly uneven, is covered with simple ceramic dishes, a teapot at its center, steam curling lazily from its spout.It is a humble meal. But there is something oddly grounding about it.I lift my teacup, feeling the comforting warmth seep into my fingertips as I take a slow sip. The bitter taste is softened by honey, smooth and lingering on my tongue. I exhale, setting the cup down with a quiet clink against the wooden surface.Across from me, Hale is already halfway through his second sandwich, chewing with little care for propriety. His younger sister, Ellemira, watches him with a mix of amusement and disapproval, her own hands wrapped delicately around a cup of tea that looks too large for her small fingers.Rhea, how
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