People stand in perfect rows along the thoroughfare.Not moving.Not speaking.Sun-kissed, smooth faces hide behind half-obscured porcelain masks, all painted in muted shades of cream, while their eyes glint with the sheen of minted gold, silver and copper.Robes of gradient shades of sand and cream whisper softly as they shift—a restless, rhythmic sound.Despite the movement, they are silent, less a crowd and more a gallery of living statues.
All staring at the black stain that just bled into their world.
I try to swallow, but my throat is a constricted knot of wire.Chains drag against the stones, the scrape far too loud in the silence as the stranger pulls me forward, his grip steady, pace unyielding.
We approach a massive, gilded arch.Suns are carved into the stone in endless repetition, their rays spilling across the surface like liquid fire.Its opulence mocks my existence.Passing through it feels like crossing a violent threshold—the point of no return.The sight stirs something inside me; my guts squirm, rearranging themselves to find a new place to sit.
Tripping over my feet, my gaze drops back to the crowd.A ripple of disapproval hisses through the sea of brown robes.Around my legs, my shadows intertwine, poised to strike—only to be snapped back by an invisible barrier.
Heat flashes across my cheeks as the chain jerks, yanking me forward.No pause.No mercy.I’m being led like the disobedient animal they’ve made me out to be.Ahead, the avenue ends in a staircase of pale stone, endless steps leading to a gold-tipped peak.
A cold, golden fist clenches in my belly as the entrance nears; doors tall enough to swallow me whole, carved with men bathed in light trampling figures that writhe in shadow.
Step, by slow step, the chain scrapes the stone as we ascend to the heart of the gilded city: The Luminary Guild.A place of fables, now a nightmare in my new reality.I know with bone-deep certainty: it’s going to take more than prayers to the Divine Mother to get me out of here.
* * *
The grand,golden doors don’t just open; they grind aside with the heavy resonance of a tombstone sliding into place.A blinding flood of light pours through the widening crack as incense burns the inside of my nose.
I’m pulled inside beneath a soaring ceiling lost to a pale shadow.Light spills from vast, crystalline windows, painting the floor with brilliant, disorienting patterns of suns, stars and gilded constellations.An artificial night sky beneath my feet.A mockery to those of us that live within darkness.
A small, traitorous part of me marvels at the soaring architecture, fingers flexing under the weight of the constraints, itching to trace the carvings on the windows, as my mind catalogues every unnecessary, extravagant detail with bitter precision.
The beauty of it allalmoststeals my breath, until the image of my starving people flashes across my mind; a stark, necessary reminder of the price of this grandeur.
Squinting against the glare and fighting against the overpowering scent, I narrow my eyes to the far end of the hall.There, upon a raised dais, stand three large, golden thrones.Shadows wind around my shoulders; a tendril of smoke strokes my cheek as a hiss pierces my mind at the sight of the occupants.
Murmurs from masked onlookers turn to hushed whispers as glassy eyes track my movement.I cross the floor, my chains clinking with every step, the sound cutting through their silence.
The manacles weigh heavier.Their meaning sinks into my bones—a cold, heavy truth: I am a prisoner.Theirprisoner.
My wrists throb, the etched runes burning faintly against my skin.My feet ache, desperate for reprieve.This will all be over soon, I tell myself.I hope.
As I draw closer to the dais, the figures remain still, concealed within white and gold vestments.The Heads of the Luminary Guild—the Triarch—are yet another fable spoken only to scare children.
Frantic pounding in my veins spreads into my fingertips, my neck, my temples, until it drowns out the rest of the world, my vision honing in on the three masks waiting for me.I freeze at the bottom of the steps, a small, lone fly snared in a spider’s web.Only I’m not trapped with just one predator—but three.
Their masks are noticeably different from the crowd’s.Ethereal eyes are encased in heavy, wrought metal and inlaid with gems that catch the light just so.
Scintillating robes glimmer with embroidered suns, halos of light catching on every thread.Three figures sit before me.Two are men: one, with skin like polished obsidian, wears the symbol of a blazing sun.The other, whose deep-toned skin seems to glow with an inner light, bears a winged bird.Between them sits a woman, her neck sun-kissed and smooth, her vestments adorned with a crescent circled in fire.
Their gazes drop, eyes cutting through my defences like a knife through butter.A soft, melodic voice cuts the silence as the woman speaks first: “Shadowborne.”
Not a question, but a statement of fact.
Phantom hands twist my insides at the tone laced with centuries worth of disgust.Yet there’s a familiarity there, as if I’ve heard her voice before.A voice sharp and detached comes from the Luminary with the sun mask, his head tilts towards the female, nodding slightly in agreement.
“Without a doubt.”His head tilts upward.“She reeks of it.”
My attention is drawn to the third—the one wearing the winged mask.He studies me through eye-slits ringed in silver.They flash like a diamond hit by sunlight, a thousand glittering points fracturing my vision.
And then, a wink.Small.Quick.Gone in an instant, but enough to make my insides squirm as I question the reality of what I had just seen.
“She is marked.You can see the proof for yourself,” the stranger announces to no one in particular.
The woman raises a hand in my direction.My heart skips a beat.“You will be tested, Seren of the Hollow.Prepare for what the Light requires.”Her words are warm honey over steel, jarring with the iciness spreading through my veins.
How does she know my name?
