The righteous drown in bloodied hands
Marin does not slowas the doors to Azhareth Castle open for her. They never make her wait. Not anymore. People learn quickly that making Marin wait usually ends badly for them. After all, she has to keep up appearances.
The guards step aside before she reaches them, heads dipping just enough to signal respect without presuming familiarity. They know who she is. What she is. What she represents. Not a daughter. Not here. Here, she is Caeloria. The heir to this kingdom. The one who will continue the empire.
She walks the length of the corridor without looking at them, her attention fixed ahead as the fortress hums around her, alive with something far more dangerous than politics. Innovation. Progress.Weapons.
The air smells faintly metallic, sharp at the back of her throat, and beneath it—sulfur. A scent she has learned to associate with the testing fields beyond the eastern wall.
Skyfire.
It has been burning for three days straight.Perfecting, her mother calls it. Marin calls it something else.An abomination. Destruction. A monopoly on power. Control.But she keeps those thoughts to herself. Here, in these walls, Marin must be perfect. Perfect enough that no one ever questions what she is thinking.
The perfect daughter.
The perfect heir.
The perfect warrior.
There is no room for emotion. Feeling. Care. Marin has a role to play. And if she wants to sway this war in her favor, she’ll play it—even if it makes her fucking sick.
Guards swing the throne room doors inwards without acknowledgement, and Marin steps through. Her mother sits in her throne, back impossibly straight, face a mask of superiority and neutrality all at once.
“Mother,” Marin greets her, sweeping into a low curtsy, knee scraping the floor.
“How is the Skyfire coming along, Marin?” Maireth croons, not even bothering with greetings. Her expression remains unchanged, tone bored.
Marin does not recoil despite the sickening dread rising in her gut. She does not hesitate. That would be noticed.
“The blast radius has expanded. The damage to the dunes indicates the primary blast radius spans roughly forty feet. Nothing within that range will survive. Complete obliteration. Secondary blast radius indicates significant damage up to one hundred feet. Severe burns. Structures collapsing. Chaos.”
This is what her mother has tasked her with: the development of weapons of mass destruction. Using prisoners from the Outside as test subjects to perfect the damage. Hermother offers it like it is an honor. Like Skyfire is not the end of humanity.
Maireth nods. “Good.”
She clicks her fingers, gesturing to the servants to fan her.
“We await Ilyra’s call to arms. Once Elyssara has allied herself with Thalmyr, we attack. Wipe out the Lightbornes and the Starborn army in one fell swoop. Remove Ilyra’s weakness.” Her words are simple. Matter-of-fact. Spoken like a woman who can see her plan falling into place exactly as she planned.
“Yes mother. Remove all threats to power,” Marin agrees, repeating the words that have been forced into her skull repeatedly for years.
“‘Comply or die’extends beyond our borders, Marin. You are heir—it is your responsibility to enforce it here andwhereverI choose to send you,” Maireth says, her words loaded. Forged with steel. A reminder that Marin is submissive—completely at the behest of her mother.
As if Marin doesn’t know. As if she hasn’t been the one forced to execute the disobedient. As if she hasn’t learned exactly how long it takes for someone to die when they beg. As if she doesn’t have their blood on her hands. Doesn’t wake up drenched in sweat and memories of their last moments.
Thoughts of Saana’s family flood her mind. The ones she could not execute. The only ones she chose not to kill. The ones her mother will never forgive. The reason she is forced to lead weapons advancement.
Exposure to death and destruction is the only way to overcome an aversion to it.That’s what her mother said. So that’s what she is forced to endure: exposure to the dark and damned.
Mercy is a habit, Marin. And habits can be broken.Her mother’s ethos rings through her mind. Because that’s exactlywhat happened: Maireth bled the compassion from Marin’s bones by forcing her to kill and conquer wherever she pointed.
The ring dangling between her breasts heats her skin, pulling her attention from the dread in her stomach to the only thing that matters.
Saana. Her wife. Her greatest rebellion. Her deepest secret. A woman of the Outside that will never know peace. Unless Marin does something about it. So boldness claims her.
“A suggestion if I may, mother?” Marin adds, breaking from her usual submission.
Maireth quirks an eyebrow—the only movement in her unflinching posture. Forever poised.
