2026-08-15 19:15:16The heavy silence in the suite was broken only by the crackle of the fireplace. Zavi stared at the imperial seal, the wax biting into his thumb as he gripped the parchment.
"So, that’s it then? I get dragged from one nightmare straight into the palace?" Zavi tossed the scroll onto the velvet chair. "I’m not a courtier, Serafia. I’m a guy who’s barely holding onto his own skin."
Serafia smoothed her skirts, her gaze as sharp as a razor. "The Crown Prince doesn’t invite people for tea, Zavi. He summons them to see if they’re worth the effort of keeping—or destroying."
"Great. So I’m either a trophy or a liability," Zavi paced, his boots clicking rhythmically against the stone. "What does he actually want?"
"He’s obsessed with the ‘unconventional,’" she mused, walking to the window. "Your victory against Jeremy? It’s caused quite a stir. He thinks you’re a wild card."
"A wild card? I’m an idiot who tripped," Zavi snapped. "If I tell him that, will he let me go?"
"If you tell him that, he’ll have you executed for mocking the nobility," she replied, her voice cooling. "You need to play the part, Zavi. Whatever mask you used to survive the Slag District? Wear it tomorrow. Make him think you’re worth his time."
"And if I don't want to play?"
"Then I suppose I’ll be watching your funeral procession from the balcony," she whispered.
Zavi stopped pacing. "You’re really enjoying this, aren't you? The life-or-death stakes. The theater."
"I enjoy watching you survive," she corrected. "Now, get some sleep. You’ll need a clear head to lie to a Prince."
The palace was a sprawling monolith of white marble and suffocating history. Zavi followed the stone corridor, his heart hammering against his ribs, with Serafia gliding just a step behind him.
"Stop hovering," Zavi muttered, not looking back.
"I’m here to ensure you don’t accidentally offend the royal line," she replied smoothly.
"Your presence is the most offensive thing about today," Zavi retorted.
"Careful, darling. The guards are listening."
Zavi slowed as they reached a set of massive gilded doors. Two knights in full plate stood motionless, their halberds crossing to block the entrance.
"State your name and purpose," one guard commanded, his voice muffled by his visor.
"Zavi, here at the request of the Crown Prince," Zavi said, trying to steady his voice.
The guard looked at the seal, then at Zavi, and finally at Serafia. "The Prince is expecting you, Master Zavi. Alone."
"Alone?" Zavi’s pulse skipped. He glanced at Serafia, but she offered nothing but a thin, cryptic smile.
"I’ll wait here," she murmured. "Don't trip on your way in."
Zavi stepped into the chamber. It was vast, smelling of old parchment and cold iron. Prince Alaric sat behind a desk cluttered with maps, his face illuminated by the harsh, flat light of an oil lamp.
"So," the Prince said, not looking up. "The man who dismantled Jeremy with a trip and a prayer."
"It wasn't a prayer, Your Highness," Zavi said, standing stiffly. "Just poor footing."
Alaric finally looked up. His eyes were pale, calculating. "Sit, Zavi. We don't have to stand on ceremony. You’re a fascinating study."
Zavi took a chair, feeling the weight of the royal gaze. "I’m just a candidate."
"Candidates are a dime a dozen. Survivors? Those are rare." Alaric tapped a finger on the map. "You’ve spent your life in the shadows, haven't you? The way you move, the way you speak… it doesn't match the history the records claim for you."
Zavi’s throat went dry. "I don’t know what records you’re reading."
"The ones that don't exist," Alaric leaned forward. "I’ve had my men look into your childhood in the Slag District. Strange thing, though—no one remembers a blacksmith with a son named Zavi. No records of your birth. No neighbors who recall your face."
"People in the Slag disappear, Your Highness. That’s how we survive."
"Or, you never existed at all," Alaric whispered.
Zavi felt a chill run down his spine. The blue screen flickered at the edge of his vision, glowing an angry, vibrant red. [19 DAYS REMAINING.]
"What are you saying?" Zavi forced a laugh, though his hands were shaking under the table.
"I’m saying that you’re a ghost," Alaric said, standing up and walking around the desk. "And ghosts are usually sent by someone. So, tell me, Zavi—who sent you? And what exactly did they promise to do for you once your 'lifeforce' finally expires?"
Zavi froze. The room seemed to tilt. The Prince wasn't just guessing; he knew the mechanics of his curse.
"How do you know about that?" Zavi’s voice was barely a whisper.
Alaric leaned down, his breath cold against Zavi's ear. "Because, my dear boy, I’m the one who wrote the countdown."
The ground beneath Zavi’s feet seemed to dissolve. The Prince stepped back, his smile widening into a predatory grin, while the heavy doors slammed shut behind him, locking from the outside.
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Chapter 97: A New Horizon
"The captain is paid, the ledger is in the waterproof satchel, and the tide is turning," Serafia said, her breath pluming white in the freezing pre-dawn air as she adjusted the heavy leather strap of her travel pack. "If we don't mount up and ride inland within the next five minutes, we'll be answering questions from Malakor’s surviving lieutenants instead of watching them rot from a distance."Zavi pressed his right hand firmly against the tight linen bandage wrapped around his left forearm, feeling the dull, throbbing ache of the reopened stitches beneath. He cast one final, lingering glance out toward the gray expanse of the Oakhaven tidal basin, where the faint wake of the courier boat was already smoothing out into the dark, churning swells of the open sea."Let them ask their questions to an empty dock," Zavi muttered, pushing himself off the damp wooden piling with a sharp grimace and rolling his shoulders to test the stiffness of his muscles. "The evidence is halfway to Alaric
Chapter 96: Standing on the Pier
"Hold still, you idiot," Serafia muttered, her fingers wrapping the linen strip around Zavi’s forearm with a vicious, practiced twist that sent a fresh shock of pain radiating straight up his shoulder. "If you wrench those stitches open any further, you're going to bleed out right here in the mud of Oakhaven, and I refuse to drag your corpse back to the capital single-handedly."Zavi hissed through his teeth, his eyes locked on the murky expanse of the tidal basin where the faint outline of a bobbing longboat ghosted against the gray wooden pilings. "A corpse would at least require less maintenance," he rasped, though he didn't pull away. He leaned his weight heavier against the salt-crusted piling, feeling the cold damp seep through his torn shirt. "Did you secure the courier?""The captain is waiting at the end of the pier with the tide," Serafia replied, tying off the makeshift bandage with a sharp yank that made Zavi wince. She tucked the heavy, leather-bound master ledger securel
Chapter 95: The Tide Turns at Oakhaven
"The longboat is tied up at the end of the rotting pier, but it won't be empty for long if you keep bleeding on my boots," Serafia snapped, her gloved fingers already darting forward to pry the heavy master ledger from Zavi’s stiff grip. "Give me that before you smear enough DNA across the binding to start a second royal lineage."Zavi didn't resist as she snatched the book, though his eyes darted nervously toward the mouth of the alley where the muffled shouts of Malakor's guards were beginning to pierce through the rolling sea fog. "Your concern for my physical well-being is genuinely touching, Serafia. Truly. Does it come with a bandage, or are we just going to stand here discussing my bodily fluids until the harbor watch arrives?""We aren't waiting for anything," Serafia said, flipping the brass clasp of the ledger with one hand while unrolling a thick strip of clean linen rag from her pocket with the other. She jammed the cloth directly against his torn forearm, earning a sharp,
Chapter 94: Shipping the Evidence
Serafia stepped out from the dense, suffocating folds of the dockside fog, her dark woolen travel cloak pulled tight against the biting chill of the salt wind. Her sharp eyes immediately locked onto the dark crimson stain spreading across Zavi’s left sleeve, a look of grim exasperation flashing across her pale features."You’re leaking everywhere, Zavi," Serafia said, her voice dropping to a harsh, controlled whisper as she closed the distance between them with quick, purposeful strides. "If you wanted to mark our trail back to the capital, a trail of fresh blood on the Oakhaven docks is certainly one way to do it."Zavi let out a heavy, rattling breath, leaning his back against the damp, barnacle-encrusted timber piling to steady his shaking legs. "The window frame had a sharp edge, and Malakor’s men weren't exactly polite hosts," he muttered, his voice raspy as he gingerly shifted the heavy, leather-bound master ledger to his uninjured right side. "Is the courier boat ready, or are
Chapter 93: Rendezvous in the Fog
The cold, salt-laden air of Oakhaven whipped through the narrow, crooked alleyways like a physical blow, driving a thick, soup-like sea fog against the rotting timber walls of the lower docks. Zavi stumbled sideways out of the shadow of a stacked pile of empty salt-fish baskets, his shoulder slamming hard against a damp, barnacle-encrusted piling. He let out a sharp, ragged hiss, his right hand instantly releasing its grip on the heavy, leather-bound master ledger to clutch frantically at his left arm. The woolen fabric of his sleeve was soaked through, dark and heavy with fresh blood where the old scar from the capital’s assassination attempt had torn completely open under the frantic strain of the rooftop chase."You're bleeding on the ledgers," a low, sharp voice cut through the rhythmic, booming crash of the tide against the wooden pilings.Zavi didn't flinch; he simply spun around, his back hitting the rough timber post as his eyes pierced the dense, gray mist. Step by measured s
Chapter 92: The Leap to Freedom
"There he is! On the roof!"The harsh, gravelly shout ripped through the howling sea wind as a booted foot slammed against the splintered window frame behind Zavi. A heavy flintlock pistol cracked, the muzzle flash blooming bright orange against the slate-gray abyss of the Oakhaven night. The lead ball whistled past Zavi’s ear, clipping the edge of his woolen collar before shattering harmlessly into the sloping tile roof a yard away, sending a shower of sharp, gray ceramic shrapnel skipping down into the dark surf below.Zavi didn't flinch. His boots scrambled for traction on the treacherous, brine-slicked slate, his breath coming in ragged, painful gasps that burned his raw lungs. Every muscle in his upper body throbbed with a dull, sickening ache, the old knife wound in his arm screaming for mercy as he clutched the heavy, leather-bound master ledger tight against his ribs. There were no glowing red warning boxes to tell him his footing was failing, no numerical probability bars fla
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