When I entered the city, it was morning.
The morning light crept over the city walls like a gentle tide, soft and golden, washing away the darkness one building at a time. It spilled across rooftops, slipped through window shutters, and painted the cobblestone streets in hues of amber and rose. The world was waking slowly, bathed in warmth.
The city name was Abyssania, likely taking inspiration from the jail's name. It was small compared to the cities within the Houses. People were waking up, heading to their jobs. Cleaners. Watchmen. A few travelers like me. Traders. Shopkeepers.
It reminded me of my own job. Of those days.
The memory surfaced unbidden, the game company. The long hours. The quiet satisfaction of creating something from nothing. That man was dead now, buried on a mountain road with a bus wrapped around him. But sometimes, in moments like this, I felt his spectre.
I walked through the streets until I found a local inn. Before going inside, I removed the cloth from my head, though I kept my face hidden. No one would care about a bald man.
I quickly paid and booked a room.
Upstairs, I walked in, locked the door, and removed the cloth from my face. Then I fell onto the bed.
I was tired. My eyes felt heavy. I had only slept an hour. I closed the window so no one could see my face.
My eyes closed.
—
18 hours later.
It was the longest sleep of this life.
My body had finally surrendered to the exhaustion it had been carrying for three years.
My eyes fluttered open at a knock on the door. Slowly, I took the cloth and wrapped it around my face.
When I opened the door, a girl stood there with a bowl of soup. I took it and began eating. A few minutes later, the soup was gone. I brought the utensil down to the counter.
The inn was quiet in the afternoon lull. A few travelers sat at tables, nursing drinks and conversing in low voices. The innkeeper nodded as I passed, too busy to care about a bald boy returning a bowl.
On a stand near the counter, a few papers caught my eye.
Newspapers? They exist in this world too?
I hadn't considered it. In the tower, information came from books and observation. In the prison, there was nothing. But here, in a small city on the edge of the empire, the news traveled on paper.
I glanced through them one by one. Agriculture. Trade. Profit. Useless.
Nothing that mattered. Nothing that would help me.
As I turned to head back to my room—
"BREAKING NEWS! BREAKING NEWS!"
A voice rang out through the common area.
A young man burst through the inn's entrance, a stack of fresh papers clutched in his hands. His face was flushed with excitement, his voice carrying to every corner of the room.
"House Theodore has conquered the King, Mareux, and the Church on various allegations! Here is the paper containing information about the war that ended in less than a day!"
The king too?
How did he do it? He conquered the entire empire.
Bastard.
The reaction was immediate. People rushed forward as if a magnitude nine earthquake were shaking the area. They lunged at those papers like hungry wolves starved by famine.
"Give me one!"
"I need to see!"
"What happened to the Church?"
The paper boy was overwhelmed, papers torn from his hands, coins thrown in his direction. In seconds, the stack was gone, and the inn's patrons were devouring the news.
A man nearby dropped his paper.
He was too absorbed in the front page, fumbling with the fold. The paper slipped from his fingers and fluttered toward the floor.
I planted my right leg forward and snatched it from the air, ignoring his quick slur as I left the scene.
"Hey—!" he started, but I was already gone, weaving through the crowd and up the stairs.
Back in my room, I started reading.
The paper was fresh, the ink still slightly damp. The front page was dominated by a massive headline:
HOUSE THEODORE TRIUMPHS: CHURCH, MAREUX, AND KING FALL IN SINGLE DAY
Below it, column after column of text.
The paper first described how the Church had planned the Aetherlessness of the eighth child of Theodore, destroying his future.
My stomach tightened. There it was. My name. My condition. Being used as the justification for everything.
"I, Lord of the House, personally checked my child's Aether," the statement read. "But after he went to the Church, his Aether was gone. This was a planned, personal attack on House Theodore. The Church supported vicious wanted criminals and had been doing this for centuries."
He was using everything on the table.
The quote was masterfully crafted, carefully positioning him as a grieving father seeking justice while framing the Church as the aggressor and the war as a necessary response rather than an act of initiation.
Beside it, a list of evidence. My letters. The Church's use of wanted criminals.
They had been decoded, presented as proof of the Church's conspiracy. Exactly as he had planned.
He didn't mention that the Church was controlled by a dragon. Hmmm, If he did, a worldwide war might erupt. War between dragons and humans.
Smart. The dragon secret was a weapon he would keep for another day. For now, the human powers were enough.
On the next page, a photo. That bastard standing before the evaporated Church headquarters.
The headline: LORD THEODORE UNLEASHED—FURY DESTROYS THE CHURCH IN A SINGLE STRIKE.
The image was stark. Rubble. Smoke. And in the center, my father, his golden hair untouched by dust, his expression one of righteous fury. A performance for the ages.
So it was indeed that bastard.
Fury, huh? I doubt that.
This was the application of exactly enough force to achieve exactly the desired result.
But wait. How did the shockwaves not destroy this city? It wasn't close, but it had enough potential to cause destruction.
I read on.
Before the strike, the top powerful people in the House had set up massive Aether barriers to contain the energy. The shockwave was redirected, toward House Mareux, which had been in alliance with the Church.
Brilliant. He had used the Church's own destruction as a weapon against his other enemies. The shockwave that could have leveled a city was channeled, aimed, turned into a second strike.
Below that, a massive list of evidence. The alliance. The scandal. How Mareux, in their jealousy, had tried to control the market.
The case against Mareux was ironclad. Their alliance with the Church, their attempts to undermine Theodore trade, their jealousy of the Ethereal Academy acceptances. All of it documented, all of it damning.
Ethereal academy? Is this a famous academy?
Must be.
The Church fell in seconds.
The remaining Church members were brutally massacred by the House. Criminals used by the Church were publicly hanged. Two hundred seventy-three criminals died immediately. The remaining five hundred ninety-eight were hanged in various places across the empire, increasing the respect for House Theodore.
Public executions. Spectacles of justice. The people loved it.
The Church's illegal money was distributed among the vast number of people who had lost family members to the criminals and the Church.
Because of this, that bastard's reputation skyrocketed.
With all that money, of course he would do this.
His coffers were already immense due to monster hunting. However, had he withheld that wealth, inflation would have inevitably risen, and popular support for the House's expansion would have eroded. The distribution was therefore a necessary political maneuver. Many people were lifted out of poverty, helped by House Theodore.
He wasn't generous. He was strategic. Every coin distributed was an investment in loyalty, in gratitude, in a population that would now see House Theodore as saviors rather than conquerors.
On the next page, the fate of House Mareux.
Their money. Their children. Their top men. Everything was seized. The children and top men would be used as hunting dogs. The money would be spent on roads, infrastructure, jobs.
A bitter laugh escaped my throat. Hahahahahahahah… How cruel!
Slaves in all but name, forced to serve the house that destroyed them. Ruthless.
As for the king, he was held responsible for failing to do his job, for letting the Church carry out its vicious activities, for failing to stop them.
The king was killed by the first child?
What? When did he get there?
Alistair. My father's assassination tool, planted years ago. Royal guard. King's trust. Then the Church fell, the war erupted, and in the chaos, a knife. Perfect timing. I deducted this from the timing Alistair joined and when he betrayed.
Cunning bastard.
The empire was now under the control of House Theodore.
I threw the paper on the table. Reading done.
I relaxed the rest of the day.
—
The next day.
New batches of papers arrived.
I descended to the common area, purchased the new edition, and returned to my room.
The heroes of Abyssal AER—the ones who had caused the mass prisoner escape and freed all the innocent people—were granted immense authority. The same authority as the top men of House Theodore.
My heart sank.
Shit.
This worked in their favor. I just helped the House grow stronger. The people they rehabilitated would feel indebted to the House. They would probably work with them.
Cinder. Mirabel. Roran. The prisoners we had freed. They would be hailed as heroes, given positions, integrated into the house's structure. And they would be grateful. Grateful to the house that took them in, that gave them purpose, that made them part of something.
Damn it! Indirectly… but I helped them!
Argh!
But what could I have done in that situation? Left them in that jail?
I had no answer. The choice had been made. The consequences were inevitable.
Suddenly, a knock on the door.
I opened it. A masked man stood there.
"Who the hell are you?!" I demanded, my voice sharper than intended.
My body tensed, ready to fight, to flee. But the voice—
The man pulled down his mask, revealing familiar features. "I'm Cinder."
I exhaled slowly. Why is he here? Oh wait. I called him here.
He slipped past me, entering quickly and closing the door behind him. His eyes were illuminating with excitement.
"We can go back to the House," he announced, practically vibrating with energy. "You'll be treated like a hero!"
I raised an eyebrow. "Is becoming a hero more important than survival?"
His excitement faltered. Confusion creased his forehead. "Who's going to kill you? What are you talking about?"
I turned away from him, staring at the wall. "I'm leaving this country. I am much weaker than my siblings. I will become a pawn again. I want freedom. The only thing I need from you is a carriage, one that will take me to a small kingdom where I can live a long, solitary life."
Cinder was silent for a moment. Then he spoke carefully. "Lysandra wants you."
I spun around. "What the hell do you mean by 'wants you'?"
He met my gaze steadily. "I mean she wants to meet you again. You're coming with me."
A strange sound bubbled up from my chest. I smiled, then I laughed.
"Hahahahahahahahahahaha."
The sound was hollow, bitter. He didn't understand.
I stepped closer, my voice dropping. "Did you forget the oath you took? You HAVE to obey me. My decision is final. I will not go to that House again."
Cinder threw his hands up, frustration bleeding into his tone. "Why are you doing this? You could live a luxurious life!"
"I don't want a luxurious life full of shackles."
"I'm with you!" he insisted, stepping forward. "No one will try to put you in shackles!"
I held his gaze, letting the silence stretch. "Are you sure about that? Did you see that power? Are you even a finger of my father?"
He stammered. "I—I—"
"No. You're not. That's the only reason I need to escape."
Cinder tried another angle. "Then go to that girl—"
"I don't want to become dependent on someone." My voice was steady, almost cold. "Only power matters in this world. People will forget me. They will abandon me once they know I'm Aetherless."
He shook his head, genuine confusion in his eyes. "Why are you so sure about that?"
The words came out before I could stop them. "Because I have seen it happen before."
The room went quiet.
Something shifted in Cinder's expression. Understanding dawned slowly, heavily. He didn't know the details, couldn't know, but the weight of my words was enough. He knew something bad had happened to me. Not the Church. Something related to my family.
We stood there for a long moment, the truth of it hanging between us.
Finally, he spoke, his voice gentler now. "What am I supposed to tell her?"
"Make something up." I turned away, my back to him. "Prepare the carriage… tonight. Or tomorrow."
I heard him move toward the door. He paused, and I knew he was looking at me, waiting for something. A change of heart. A different answer.
I gave him nothing.
The door clicked shut behind him.
I stood alone in the small room, the newspaper still scattered on the table, the evidence of my father's victory spread before me like a map of everything I was running from.
A feeling of emptiness filled my heart.
Am I really doing the right thing?
Am I making the right decision?
The questions had no answers. Only consequences.
I had chosen freedom over safety. Solitude over connection. The unknown over the known.
Was it right? Was it wrong?
I didn't know.
But as the afternoon light faded and the twin moons began their ascent, I remained standing in that small room, staring at nothing, searching for certainty in a world that had never given me any.
The carriage would come. I would leave. And whatever came next, I would face it alone.
Because that was the only way I knew how to survive.