When I began to regain consciousness, I kept my eyes shut. I could feel movement around me—two figures circling with quiet precision. My wrists and ankles were bound.
"You can open your eyes now," said a gentle voice, mocking in tone. I didn't move.
"I doubt she'll listen," another voice replied with a chuckle. "Not after the way we brought her in."
Then—warm breath brushed against my face.
I opened my eyes.
The first thing I saw was deep violet. Eyes. I reacted instantly, lunging forward and slamming my forehead into his. He staggered back with a grunt, and I tried to leap off the table—but the moment I moved, something yanked me down. Hard.
"Ha! You little Wretch," he laughed, one hand raised in a gesture that shimmered faintly, the other pressed against his bleeding forehead. "That was a strong one." His gaze swept over me. I went still, watching him. It was like every inch his eyes touched was on fire.
"You're stronger than how you look," he muttered, voice low and sharp.
I didn't respond. My breath was shallow, my limbs still locked in place by whatever force he'd conjured.
He stepped closer.
Too close.
"But your little tricks won't work here, unfortunately", I didn't reply, instead I studied them,
The one I'd struck—tall, lean, and composed despite the blood trailing down his temple. He was in his early twenties. Broad frame, slightly taller than average. His skin was tan, his hair dark and straight. His violet eyes glowed faintly, the same color as the magic that held me down. He had an atrocious scar running from his left eyebrow down to the upper part of his cheek, and his expression was calm, slightly pissed.
The other stood behind him, watching quietly. He looked a little younger, with a medium build but didn't look any less powerful than his friend. He had pale skin. His hair was silver-blonde, tied back loosely. His eyes were striking sky blue, and his face was neutral, almost unreadable. He didn't speak, but he was clearly paying attention.
Both wore the same cloak—black with layered fabric, fitted at the shoulders and chest. The trim was decorated with golden metal and faintly threaded with gold and violet or sky blue. It's weird how they try to match everything about them with the color of their eyes. The inner lining showed subtle stitched symbols. It didn't seem decorative though.
The hall around us was spacious and symmetrical, with floors and low walls of smooth stone and black marble. High above, shallow alcoves held rows of tall shelves—each filled with leather-bound tomes, glass cylinders of strange powders, and metal cases stamped with arcane runes.
Its high, gently curved ceiling rose into a dome inlaid with faint, gold-lined constellations. Broad beams and recessed structural frames supported the expanse, and when the embedded crystal lamps glowed, those star-patterns shimmered.
Between each pair of columns, wide windows—tinted and etched with alchemical glyphs—offered glimpses of sky and let in pale daylight. Some were fitted with small, brass-framed telescopic apertures. Below these windows, floor inlays traced overlapping ellipses.
At the hall's center sat a circular reading dais: a low black marble platform edged in gold. Its surface bore calibration glyphs and two crystal conduits that pulsed in time with the room's subtle hum. Along the far wall stood a tall, pillar-like mechanism—a rotating bronze framework wrapped around a glowing core, quietly stabilizing the hall's energy flow.It was like nothing I've ever seen before.
When that obnoxious violet-eyed man saw me gaping, he puffed his chest slightly and said, "Amazing, isn't it? Welcome to House Asharim—one of the strongest Alchemy Houses in Aurel."
Aurel. This isn't Ashveil!
I'm far from home. Not that it matters.
His companion approached silently; I barely heard his footsteps. He reached out, took a strand of my hair, and studied it.
"Are you sure she's the daughter of Promethean?"
Promethean.
"She doesn't look that powerful," he added.
"Yes, I'm certain. Look at this bloody-red hair," the violet-eyed man said, staring at it with a kind of greed I'd seen before, he couldn't hide his bewilderment. "She's exactly what we're looking for—according to the old texts."
He turned to me. "What's your name?"
Madness still lingered at the edges of my mind, coiled and waiting. I smiled faintly. He flinched. If I hadn't been watching closely, I would've missed it.
"I don't think introductions are appropriate given my current condition," I said, keeping my voice steady despite the bindings.
"Apologies. You're absolutely right." His tone softened, but caution still laced every word. "I'll release you—but don't try anything clever."
Killing him was tempting. Very tempting. But I held back and nodded once.
Suddenly, the pressure vanished. I felt lighter, the magic loosening its grip on my body. I could move again.
How did he do that?
I stared at the bindings still wrapped around my limbs and raised an eyebrow. He sighed—an exaggerated sigh—and lifted a finger. With a sharp click, the restraints fell away.
I brushed the sore spots gently, watching him.
"Time for introductions," he said, voice laced with mock elegance. "My lady." He gave a bow so flamboyant it bordered on parody, one hand pressed to his chest, the other sweeping wide.
"My name," he said, lifting his head to meet my eyes, "is Darius Leonidas. Second man in command of House Obsidian and this is Theo my disciple " He paused—dramatically, expectantly—like he was waiting for applause.
It was, without question, the hardest I'd ever worked to not roll my eyes.
I ignored his pompous introduction. "Elena," I said flatly, offering nothing more. No title. No gesture. Just the name.
Let him chew on that.
He lifted his eyebrows, but the flicker of surprise vanished quickly. Composure returned like a mask sliding into place. He clasped his hands behind his back in that arrogant way people do when they think they're in control, then began to circle the table I was sitting on—slow, deliberate, like a predator sizing up its prey.
"We know exactly who you are," he said, voice smooth as polished steel. "And what you've done." He paused, letting the silence stretch. "According to royal law, you're to be executed."
I didn't flinch. I simply watched him, eyes steady, fingers resting lightly on the edge of the table—ready, if needed. He clicked his tongue. "But House Obsidian is willing to offer... an alternative."
Freedom. That was the bait. Not spoken outright, but dangled just close enough to taste.
"You'll be trained in basic alchemy over the next week," he continued, "and then sent to retrieve a relic from the cursed swamps. A containment core. Ancient. Dangerous." He leaned in slightly, eyes gleaming. "None of our men have returned. But you... "
The cursed swamps.
Something flickered behind my eyes—soft, slow. It felt old. Heavy. Like fog pressing against my skull.
Mist. Trees. Shapes that didn't make sense. The air was thick, humming with something I couldn't name. I was standing still—barefoot, maybe—on damp ground that pulsed beneath me like breath. And in the distance, something bright. Vivid. Alive. It pulsed once, then again, like it was calling.
Greed.
It soaked the air like poison. The feeling was sharp, metallic. Familiar.
I blinked.
The room snapped back into focus. Marble. Glyphs. The men watching me.
What was that?
Darius was still speaking, but I hadn't heard the last few words. I didn't ask him to repeat them. I didn't care to.
"THE CURSED SWAMPS. You were born of it, weren't you?" he continued, and smiled faintly, studying me.
I didn't answer. We both know that curse I was born from, but none of us wanted to say it aloud. But, when I stare at people's eyes, I really start to wonder sometimes if I am really the one born with greed.
"You retrieve it," he said, "and your crime will be... forgotten."
Forgotten. Not forgiven.
I tilted my head, letting the silence stretch. My lips curled slightly.
Amusing.