14. Seren
SEREN
The echo of the gates rolls like thunder through the marble walls. I wince—the sound falls like a coffin lid closing. Final. Absolute.
Longing gnaws at me. My life—my home—is gone. In its place sits a bottomless pit of grief for what may never return, and the promise of a future as cold and unforgiving as these walls.
The air thickens like one of Yara’s concoctions, making my breath become shallow, frantic gasps. My vision tunnels, everything around me but the palace disappears from view, like a guiding light illuminating the cold reality of my new prison.
Sweat trails down my spine, pooling into the base of my back as a tremor begins in my hands. My fingernails dig into my palms, the sharp physical pain a necessary distraction from the mental terror bubbling away inside of me.
Fear is a tool, my child.
Yara’s words cut through me—clearing the fog and sharpening my focus instantly.
Monster. I will be the monster they expect to see.
Another pull forward, another jolt that rights my senses, forcing my legs to move.
We enter a long avenue paved with stones so bright they gleam like pearls beneath my boots.
The glare is an assault, a blinding heat so foreign I have to squint, narrowing my view into a sliver of white and gold.
The manacles seem to relish the brilliance, burning hotter and scalding my skin as I lift my bound hands in a futile attempt to shield my face.
The intensity is too much—a flurry of sharp points needling my exposed skin, as if the very sun itself is a weapon.
Buildings rise on either side, not leaning with instability and painted with dirt and soot, but carved with intricate patterns of vines and suns, gilded so that even their shadows shimmer. Towering lanterns line the street, their feeble light only adding to the sun’s strength.
People stand in perfect rows along the thoroughfare.
Not moving. Not speaking. Sun-kissed, smooth faces hide behind half-obscured porcelain masks, all painted in muted shades of cream, while their eyes glint with the sheen of minted gold, silver and copper.
Robes of gradient shades of sand and cream whisper softly as they shift—a restless, rhythmic sound.
Despite the movement, they are silent, less a crowd and more a gallery of living statues.
All staring at the black stain that just bled into their world.
I try to swallow, but my throat is a constricted knot of wire. Chains drag against the stones, the scrape far too loud in the silence as the stranger pulls me forward, his grip steady, pace unyielding.
We approach a massive, gilded arch. Suns are carved into the stone in endless repetition, their rays spilling across the surface like liquid fire.
Its opulence mocks my existence. Passing through it feels like crossing a violent threshold—the point of no return.
The sight stirs something inside me; my guts squirm, rearranging themselves to find a new place to sit.
Tripping over my feet, my gaze drops back to the crowd. A ripple of disapproval hisses through the sea of brown robes. Around my legs, my shadows intertwine, poised to strike—only to be snapped back by an invisible barrier.
Heat flashes across my cheeks as the chain jerks, yanking me forward. No pause. No mercy. I’m being led like the disobedient animal they’ve made me out to be. Ahead, the avenue ends in a staircase of pale stone, endless steps leading to a gold-tipped peak.
A cold, golden fist clenches in my belly as the entrance nears; doors tall enough to swallow me whole, carved with men bathed in light trampling figures that writhe in shadow.
Step, by slow step, the chain scrapes the stone as we ascend to the heart of the gilded city: The Luminary Guild. A place of fables, now a nightmare in my new reality. I know with bone-deep certainty: it’s going to take more than prayers to the Divine Mother to get me out of here.
* * *
The grand, golden doors don’t just open; they grind aside with the heavy resonance of a tombstone sliding into place. A blinding flood of light pours through the widening crack as incense burns the inside of my nose.
I’m pulled inside beneath a soaring ceiling lost to a pale shadow.
Light spills from vast, crystalline windows, painting the floor with brilliant, disorienting patterns of suns, stars and gilded constellations.
An artificial night sky beneath my feet.
A mockery to those of us that live within darkness.
A small, traitorous part of me marvels at the soaring architecture, fingers flexing under the weight of the constraints, itching to trace the carvings on the windows, as my mind catalogues every unnecessary, extravagant detail with bitter precision.
The beauty of it all almost steals my breath, until the image of my starving people flashes across my mind; a stark, necessary reminder of the price of this grandeur.
Squinting against the glare and fighting against the overpowering scent, I narrow my eyes to the far end of the hall.
There, upon a raised dais, stand three large, golden thrones.
Shadows wind around my shoulders; a tendril of smoke strokes my cheek as a hiss pierces my mind at the sight of the occupants.
Murmurs from masked onlookers turn to hushed whispers as glassy eyes track my movement. I cross the floor, my chains clinking with every step, the sound cutting through their silence.
The manacles weigh heavier. Their meaning sinks into my bones—a cold, heavy truth: I am a prisoner. Their prisoner.
My wrists throb, the etched runes burning faintly against my skin. My feet ache, desperate for reprieve. This will all be over soon, I tell myself. I hope.
As I draw closer to the dais, the figures remain still, concealed within white and gold vestments. The Heads of the Luminary Guild—the Triarch—are yet another fable spoken only to scare children.
Frantic pounding in my veins spreads into my fingertips, my neck, my temples, until it drowns out the rest of the world, my vision honing in on the three masks waiting for me.
I freeze at the bottom of the steps, a small, lone fly snared in a spider’s web.
Only I’m not trapped with just one predator—but three.
Their masks are noticeably different from the crowd’s. Ethereal eyes are encased in heavy, wrought metal and inlaid with gems that catch the light just so.
Scintillating robes glimmer with embroidered suns, halos of light catching on every thread.
Three figures sit before me. Two are men: one, with skin like polished obsidian, wears the symbol of a blazing sun.
The other, whose deep-toned skin seems to glow with an inner light, bears a winged bird.
Between them sits a woman, her neck sun-kissed and smooth, her vestments adorned with a crescent circled in fire.
Their gazes drop, eyes cutting through my defences like a knife through butter. A soft, melodic voice cuts the silence as the woman speaks first: “Shadowborne.”
Not a question, but a statement of fact.
Phantom hands twist my insides at the tone laced with centuries worth of disgust. Yet there’s a familiarity there, as if I’ve heard her voice before. A voice sharp and detached comes from the Luminary with the sun mask, his head tilts towards the female, nodding slightly in agreement.
“Without a doubt.” His head tilts upward. “She reeks of it.”
My attention is drawn to the third—the one wearing the winged mask. He studies me through eye-slits ringed in silver. They flash like a diamond hit by sunlight, a thousand glittering points fracturing my vision.
And then, a wink. Small. Quick. Gone in an instant, but enough to make my insides squirm as I question the reality of what I had just seen.
“She is marked. You can see the proof for yourself,” the stranger announces to no one in particular.
The woman raises a hand in my direction. My heart skips a beat. “You will be tested, Seren of the Hollow. Prepare for what the Light requires.” Her words are warm honey over steel, jarring with the iciness spreading through my veins.
How does she know my name?
The sun-masked Luminary leans forward, his deep voice fills the hall, echoing into every crack and crevice.
“Until then, she will remain bound. Kael…” He looks at the stranger standing next to me.
“...ensure no one touches her.” A corner of his mouth curls upward—a silent, mocking expression of disdain.
Kael gives a curt nod and turns to leave.
“Oh, and Kael—” He stops mid-stride. He doesn’t look back, but his shoulders go rigid.“—ensure her…stench is dealt with.”
“Yes, sir.” Kael nods, his gaze directed at the heavy doors ahead. He drags me from the dais, back down the lengthy hall where stares turn to glares.
“I don’t smell,” I mutter, pulling my shoulders back to find some scrap of dignity.
Kael doesn’t slow his pace. “You do to them.”
I look at the back of his head. “And…to you?”
“No.” The answer comes too fast—sharp and honest.
I smile despite myself. “Then that sounds like a them problem.”
* * *
I’m pulled through the grand doors, stumbling behind Kael as we make our way through the labyrinth of white corridors. His broad shoulders block my view, but I still scan every window or doorway—any exit that might lead me out of this pristine prison.
No sconces line the walls or ceilings, yet everything is blindingly bright—as if the light emanates from nowhere and everywhere at once. It’s a suffocating brilliance. The weight of it forces my head down, sending a throb of pain behind my eyes as I struggle to adjust.
Comfort comes only in the dark behind my eyelids. I squeeze them shut, and there it is—the map. It’s still there, as clear as the world I just left. An overwhelming urge to look deeper pulls me to a halt, a sudden, desperate need to find something hidden within the lines.
A sharp tug sends me stumbling. I jolt, my eyes opening as I nearly collide with Kael’s back. He wheels around, his nose wrinkling in disgust. “Walk…properly,” he says, the words forced through gritted teeth.
“I would if you didn’t keep pulling the chains,” I snap.
Silence.
He steps into my space, our noses almost touching. One side of his lip curls into a lopsided smile that sends shivers down my spine. His glare burrows deep, searching for something hidden behind my eyes.
His gaze turns calculating—the kind that clings like oil and reminds you of a man who wants to break you, just to see what the pieces look like. A growl forms deep in his throat, a vibration I feel in my own chest. “Walk.”
People stop and stare. Whispers. Silence. A snigger. To them, I am nothing more than a monster in chains—someone to despise because their masters told them to.
We are no monster, a voice whispers inside me. It curls around my skull, stoking the fire deep within.
My shoulders square, my chin rising as I show them their monster holds no fear. He brings me to a large door at the far end of the hall. Carved of polished wood and inlaid with gold, it hangs from ornate brackets—but it has no handle.
Kael places a hand against the wood. Light erupts from his palm, and runes spread in waves across the surface. A soft click echoes from within. As the door swings open, orange blossom and spices rush out, enveloping me in a cloying, overwhelming scent.
Inside, the room isn’t as I expected. There’s no cell, no chains, no pot for waste. Instead, it’s as lavish and opulent as the rest of the city. My brow hardens as I take in the silken bedspreads, plush rugs that look soft enough to swallow my boots, and incense curling from tall lamps.
With a shaky foot, I step inside. My gaze travels up the white stone to the edge of the ceiling, where runes of every shape and size form a jagged border. As if flicked by a switch, they ignite in a warm, yellow glow. Light-forged. Just like the manacles. Of course.
My jaw goes slack, my breath hitching as I try to process the reality before me: a cell masquerading as a room. It doesn’t feel like a gift. It feels like a gilded trap.
Kael pulls me further in. Behind us, the door shuts with a final, heavy thud. With a sharp movement, he unhooks the chain, but the manacles remain—their runes glowing the same sickly yellow as the ceiling.
My hands flex, blood rushing back into my fingers with a prickling heat.
“Why are you keeping me here?” I motion to the room, the words tearing out of me before I can stop them.
He says nothing. His silver eyes flick over me once, unreadable, before he steps back toward the door.
“Wash,” he says, his voice flat—hollow. “You need it.”
Then he’s gone. The door shuts with a final, heavy click.
I am alone.
The silence presses in, heavier than the chains.