> "Don't condemn him… he's mine."
A calm, feminine voice echoed through the hall.
All turned toward the source. From the shadows, a figure's eyes gleamed — star-shaped pupils glowing a soft brown light.
Silence reigned.
Then came the reply — deep, old, and filled with restrained deference.
> "As you wish… Princess Nerissa."
She gave a dismissive hum — cold, detached — before retreating back into the darkness.
The figure on the platform watched her disappear, then turned his gaze toward Azareal. His thoughts murmured quietly beneath the chaos.
> "Poor child… you have no idea what awaits you. Others may call this mercy, but your fate… is worse than death itself."
"SILENCE!"
The voice roared across the hall. Slowly, the noise of chains and despair died down, fading into an eerie stillness.
The rust of iron and the scent of fear filled the air — but none of it touched the platform.
None of the slaves realized what had just taken place.
A divine claim had been made — and their fates had shifted.
Then, the figure extended a pale hand and pointed toward Azareal.
> "You may go into the Second Quarter."
Instantly, the guards pulled him forward with cold precision.
All eyes turned to him — disbelief, envy, hatred.
Until finally, one slave shouted:
> "WHAT?! Why is he allowed to go? The others were thrown away like beasts! He has no affinity! Why him?!"
The hall erupted.
Anger. Desperation.
A storm of voices demanding justice that would never come.
The figure on the platform watched quietly, then spoke again — this time with a voice like venom mixed with amusement.
> "I understand your frustration… truly, I do."
"So I'll give you all a chance."
A soft, chilling chuckle followed.
Then — his hands slipped out of the shadows.
They were pale, almost lifeless, marked by a strange symbol of three dots arranged in a triangle.
Lines of black formed a crown around the mark, as though it had been burned into his flesh.
With one slow gesture, he signaled the two guards.
His words came next — calm, almost kind:
> "It may begin."
The guards moved. The hooded priests followed.
And the massacre began.