The morning sun slid across the towers of Carfein like liquid gold, but its warmth didn't chase away the tension clinging to Aria's skin. She had slept poorly, haunted by two images: the glow of veins beneath the Tree and Xyren's arm braced beside her head, his breath too close, his presence too sharp.
Now, on the balcony, she gripped the railing and looked down. The courtyards below were alive with motion. Dozens of Quarties scurried like ants, stringing sapphire lanterns, painting sigils on stone, setting up floating platforms hung with streamers. The world was dressing itself for Nicasia Night.
She had no place in it. She was a shadow among flames.
The door opened.
Lirien stepped inside, every inch of him composed like a sculpture of iron. His storm-grey cloak dragged the ground as if daring dust to touch it. His gaze swept the room once, then settled on her.
"You're awake. Good," he said. "You'll need the time."
He didn't wait for her answer. A guard brought a tray of glowing fruit and pale bread. Aria took it numbly, eating because refusal would only amuse him.
When her hands had steadied, she turned to the diary on her desk. The pages smelled faintly of iron and dust. She opened to the next entry.
"The stones answer me. The Amoths believe their light is sacred, a fragment of the godroot that birthed the Tree. They don't know the truth: stone is only another form of flesh. If one presses long enough, it yields. If one cuts, it bleeds."
"Tonight, I carved into my own arm, shallow, harmless. I pressed the shard against the wound. At first nothing. Then—heat. The blood drank the stone, and the stone drank the blood. For a moment the shard glowed brighter, pulsing like a heart. I felt it inside me, whispering. My veins sang back."
"It was ecstasy."
"But ecstasy is not enough. I want permanence. Binding. I will stitch stone into skin, root veins into veins. If the Tree carries memory, perhaps I will carry it too."
Aria's breath hitched. She skimmed faster, turning the page with trembling hands.
"Experiment: Subject 1 – fawn child, five winters old. Stolen while the Amoths slept."
"Procedure: I cut the skin of his chest and pressed the shard against his heart. The child screamed. The light spread through him, veins shining through his skin like threads of lightning. For an instant, he looked divine."
"Then the light burst. Flesh charred. Heart collapsed. Death swift."
"Failure."
"I need a stronger vessel. Flesh is weak. Perhaps I should try on myself. My body has already taken to the shards. My blood sings. Maybe it will not break."
Aria slapped the diary shut, bile burning her throat.
She barely registered Lirien standing at her side until his shadow fell over her.
"What did you read?" he asked, voice smooth and cold.
Her mouth felt dry. "He—he took a child. He tried to bind the Tree's veins into living flesh. It killed him."
Lirien didn't flinch. In fact, his eyes gleamed with interest. "So it can be done. But the subject was weak. The principle is sound."
Aria's skin crawled. "You call that sound? He murdered—"
"Spare me your human morality," Lirien snapped, his patience razor-thin. "All progress is written in blood. If Kurag failed, then you will find how he intended to succeed. That is your task."
He leaned closer, his breath cold on her cheek. "Tonight is Nicasia Night. You will attend. You will dress when commanded. And you will remember, Aria—your life here has value only as long as you are useful."
He swept away, cloak cutting the air, leaving silence heavy as stone.
Aria sat trembling, the diary burning in her lap. Murder recorded in ink. A prince demanding obedience. A ritual looming over her like a blade.
Evening fell. Lanterns shimmered to life, painting bridges in sapphire glow.
Aria hadn't moved far from the desk when the door opened again. Not Lirien this time.
Xyren.
He shut the door softly behind him. His face was blank, but his eyes betrayed something storming inside.
"You shouldn't let him see you shake," he said.
Aria looked up sharply. "You were listening again?"
He ignored the accusation, moving to the balcony. The veins of the Tree glowed faintly, reflected in his pale eyes.
"Lirien feeds on fear. Give him that, and you won't last long."
She let out a bitter laugh. "And what about you? You bow to him. You let him order you around like a weapon. You've never said no."
His jaw tensed. "You think I wanted this oath?"
"Yes," she spat. "Because you never resist. Because you let him treat you like a blade instead of a man. If you hated it, you'd fight."
For the first time, fire cracked through his mask. He turned, eyes blazing. "You don't know the price of refusal."
"Then tell me," she said. Her voice rose, sharp with anger she didn't know she carried. "Stop hiding behind silence and shadows. If you want me to understand, say it."
His breath hitched. For a heartbeat, she thought he would. His lips parted, his throat worked—
Then he looked away, storm shuttered. "You wouldn't survive the truth."
Aria's chest ached. She wanted to shake him, to drag the words out of him. But the weight in his voice smothered her fury.
They stood in silence, sapphire light from the lanterns painting their faces. Then, almost too quietly to hear, Xyren muttered:
"Last night… I shouldn't have—" He broke off, jaw tight. "Forget it."
Aria's pulse stumbled. "Then why did you?"
He didn't answer. His silence was heavier than stone.
Before she could press further, the door slammed open. A servant entered, arms full of silks—deep blue, threaded with silver, glowing faintly as though spun from veins of the Tree itself.
"The Lord Lirien commands you to dress," the servant said. "Tonight, you attend the king for Nicasia Night."
The silks spilled across the bed, heavy and gleaming.
Aria looked at them, then at Xyren. His face was stone again, but his eyes betrayed torment.
Her stomach twisted. Tonight she would walk into their ritual. And somewhere between Lirien's command, Xyren's silence, and Kurag's mad experiments, she knew—
The Tree itself was waiting.