The dining hall smelled faintly of roasted meat, wine, and smoke from the great torches burning along the walls. The long table was laid out in full splendour, golden candlesticks throwing shadows that twisted like living things. The silver platters gleamed, but the air was cold, so cold I could feel it against my skin even as I walked toward the empty seat waiting for me.
Their eyes followed me—my parents' and my siblings'. Not with welcome, not with warmth. With sharp, cutting glances meant to wound. Or at least, that was the story they played before the world.
I knew better now.
But they didn't know that I knew.
So the game began.
I lowered myself into the chair at the far end of the table, opposite Lord Duskbane. His jaw was tight, his expression carved from stone. My mother, Lady Duskbane, sat with her spine straight, her long fingers curled around her glass.
"Late," my father said, his voice low, stern, the single word dropping like a weight across the table.
"I had to make myself presentable," I replied, letting the smile curve across my lips like a blade.
Diana let out a short, cruel laugh. "Presentable? Sister, you look like you're on your way to tempt every servant in the house. Perhaps that's the only attention you can command."
I tilted my head, catching the glint in her eyes. The insult was sharp, but her gaze flicked toward the servant at the door—the same one who had whispered too loudly about Elara's worthlessness in the past. Diana's words, though cruel, were meant for them, not me. A show to keep them playing the roles expected of us.
"Better that than being forgettable," I replied smoothly, lifting the goblet of wine before me. My voice was calm, but I let the faintest smirk curl my lips, as though I welcomed her bite.
Selene, silent and elegant, watched me with cool disdain. "You dress strangely," she murmured. "A slit so high—it's indecent. I would say you look like a courtesan, but that would insult the courtesans."
My fork clinked against the plate. But then I noticed it—the way Selene's foot brushed lightly against mine under the table. A warning.
"Eat slowly," she whispered, so soft it was nearly inaudible.
A frown flickered across my face for only a moment, hidden by the motion of lifting the fork. I tasted the food. And I realized the meat was not as it should be. A bitter aftertaste lingered. Something that did not belong.
Poison.
Selene had scolded me to hide her warning.
My mother noticed nothing. Or pretended not to. She sipped her wine, her lips barely wetting.
Maris, the youngest, sat in silence, her eyes fixed on me with something unreadable. She didn't speak, but her hands gripped her knife and fork too tightly, the knuckles pale.
Caelum, the eldest brother, broke the silence next. His voice carried across the hall, heavy and commanding. "Do not think, Elara, that dressing differently changes who you are. You are still powerless. Mana-less. An embarrassment to this house."
His words cut sharply, but his eyes flicked—just once—toward the wine goblet. My wine goblet. Then to his own untouched one.
I placed mine down without drinking further, my smile sharpening.
So that was how it was.
My siblings' cruelty was their mask. Their way of shielding me while keeping the world convinced they despised me.
And yet, even with their protection hidden in venom, the tension at this table was suffocating.
It was then that I heard it.
A whisper.
Soft at first, curling through the back of my mind like music played in a forgotten room.
Elara…, No. Not Elara. Seraphina.
It called me by the name I had carried in the other world. My fingers froze on the fork.
The sound grew stronger, layered—a harmony of voices, one deep as the grave, one warm as the sun, one haunting as a violin's cry.
Seraphina Vale… come.
I rose from the table.
"Elara," my father barked, his tone iron. "Sit down."
But the voices were louder. Pulling and pulling me closer
Come to me.
I turned, walking toward the doors that led into the night garden. My family's voices echoed behind me—sharp commands, mocking laughter, hissing scolds.
But I didn't answer.
I couldn't.
The night air was heavy with mist as I stepped into the garden. The lanterns flickered, their flames shivering like they feared what lay ahead. Gravel crunched beneath my shoes. The voices in my head pulled me deeper, past the roses, past the fountain, into the farthest corner of the grounds.
And there it stood.
The door.
Black and white, towering, unnatural. It had no frame, no hinges, no handle. It simply existed, set into the air itself, tall enough to scrape the sky, wide enough to swallow a house. Half of it was purest white, gleaming with light that was not light. Half of it was darkest black, swallowing even the moon. The seam where the two halves met shimmered faintly, as though alive.
My breath caught.
Behind me, I heard my family.
"Elara!" Caelum's voice. "Come back!"
"What are you doing?" Diana hissed, fear cracking her voice despite the scorn.
"Stay away from it!" My mother's cry was sharp, almost panicked.
I reached out. The air rippled.
And in the next heartbeat, my body collapsed.
I saw it as if from above—my body crumpled on the grass, pale against the dark earth. My siblings ran to me, their masks shattering in shock. My father shouted for the physician, his voice breaking with something raw. My mother knelt at my side, her trembling hands brushing my face.
"She's not breathing—!"
"Call the physician!" Caelum roared.
But I was not gone. I was inside the door.
The world beyond was not a world at all. It was vast, endless, black, and white colliding in a storm of shifting shapes. And at the center—three figures. They were not like any god described in Elara's whispers.
The first was cloaked in shadow, his eyes hollow flames. Wherever his feet touched, the ground decayed into ash. The God of Death.
The second glowed with blinding light, vines and flowers curling from her hair, her skin radiant with life itself. The Goddess of Life.
The third held a violin of silver, his hair flowing like ink, his gaze deep and mournful. Every movement of his bow sent shivers through the air. The God of Music.
They were terrible. Beautiful. Eternal.
And they looked at me.
"You are not Elara," the God of Death said, his voice like graves breaking open.
"You are something else," murmured the Goddess of Life, her words blooming into petals in the air.
"You wear a mask," said the God of Music, his bow drawing a note that pierced through my chest. "And you wish to break it."
I fell to my knees, my heart hammering. "Why… why call me?"
"Because none have dared us in centuries," Death intoned. "None were worthy."
"None could bear all three," Life whispered.
"And yet you came," Music sighed, his voice both sorrowful and sweet. "You heard us. You answered."
The three stepped closer, their power pressing against me like oceans, crushing and vast.
My breath caught. My skin burned. But I did not kneel further. I lifted my chin.
"I don't want to be Elara," I said, my voice steady though my body trembled. "And I don't want to be the mask I wore before. I want to be myself. Whoever that is."
The three gods exchanged glances.
Death's flames flickered. Life's flowers opened. Music's violin cried a single, perfect note.
And then, together, they spoke.
"Then you will be ours."
The air split with power. The door groaned.
And outside, in the garden, my body stirred.