"He who is not even worthy of the whip is already lost. But he who is whipped to entertain the court... is worse than lost." — Noble Proverb of High-Val
The morning rose over the Valemyr estate in golden light, soft and peaceful.
But such beauty applied only to the living.
Not to those dragged like animals.
Not to mistakes exhibited like trophies.
Ashen was naked, kneeling in the courtyard, arms tied behind his back.
The marble stones burned his knees. Chains bound his wrists. The iron cut into his flesh. But he said nothing.
He stared straight ahead—not out of defiance, but out of instinct. Survival.
Don't meet their gaze.
Don't invite a remark.
Don't trigger another round of blows.
But it had already been decided.
— Are you sure he's still breathing? asked Lira, his half-sister, smiling.
— I can check, replied Kael, tapping Ashen's side with the tip of his boot.
Duke Veyron and Duchess Elaira stood above on the balconies, dressed in dark, opulent clothing.
A dozen noble guests took their places in stone bleachers, installed specially for the occasion.
— My friends, the duke announced calmly, today, you shall see what becomes of a cursed child who failed to die in the cradle.
Laughter rippled through the crowd.
— I present to you... our beast of shame.
Kael picked up a leather whip and cracked it in the air.
— Do you know why you're here, mistake?
Ashen barely spoke.
— To entertain, he whispered.
Kael leaned close and burst out laughing.
— Exactly! At least you've remembered your purpose.
Then he struck.
The whip lashed around Ashen's thin torso, tearing open the skin. A red line split across his ribs.
— A scream, maybe? asked Kael. No? Still playing the stoic?
— You think you deserve the dignity of suffering in silence? cut in Elaira, as cold as death. Even your pain is mediocre.
She descended the balcony steps with two handmaids. In her hands, a silver goblet.
— Ashen, she said as she neared, look at me.
He raised his eyes slowly. They were empty.
— You have dishonored my name. You have no beauty, no strength, no mind. You're not even useful as a slave. So tell me... why do you insist on breathing?
Silence.
— You don't know? Neither do I.
She threw the goblet's contents into his face.
It was acidic wine, mixed with coal ash. Ashen screamed. The liquid burned his skin.
— That's your only communion today, she said. Fire. Salt. And shame.
The nobles applauded.
At noon, Ashen was dragged to the throne room's center.
He wore a burning iron mask, forged in mockery of his own face—a hideous caricature, crafted by Kael himself.
— Ladies and gentlemen, Kael announced, here is our beast, our Ashen Dog. Let him crawl for us!
They forced him to move on all fours, the mask bolted to his face.
Each movement cut him—internal spikes scraped his skin.
— Play dead! yelled a noble.
Ashen collapsed.
— Be a dragon! screamed another.
He opened his mouth to roar, but Kael shoved a glove of mud inside.
— Too slow, Kael said. Dragons aren't silent.
He grabbed Ashen by the hair.
— Want to run away? Want to die?
Ashen, panting, spat dirt.
— No... I just want it to stop.
— You think you decide anything?
He drove his knee into Ashen's ribs. A crack. Two ribs broken.
Ashen collapsed. Silent tears ran down his chin.
But no one saw them.
That evening, the guests dined.
Ashen was chained beneath the great table, like a hunting dog. His arms were shackled. He hadn't eaten in days. He salivated as the scent of roasted meat passed above his head.
— Want a bone, beast? asked a young noble with a grin.
— Yes...
The boy tossed a bone to the far side of the room.
— Crawl for it. With your mouth. Hands stay tied.
Ashen obeyed. He crawled, chains scraping the floor. He hit a chair leg, fell, got back up, and reached the bone.
He gripped it with his teeth.
— Good, good, Elaira mocked. At least you've learned obedience.
Veyron stood.
— This spectacle is at an end. Tomorrow... the Blood Trial begins. And then, dear Ashen... the world will know what you truly are.
And what you are not.
Ashen said nothing. He stared at the floor. A mess of blood, mud, wine, and shame.
But inside him, a black fire burned.
Not a spark of hope.
But a certainty.
"I will remember you all."
"Every smile, every blow, every word."
"And when I return..."
"...you will crawl lower than I ever did."