Chapter 15
While the Flight presses on in their search for the weapon, my days blur into a whirlwind of opulent feasts and glittering celebrations. But amid the revelry, one evening brings a familiar face that sparks a moment of realization.
Don’t all stories start with truth?
How many times have I heard those words since arriving in Vilea?
I wonder if I am the one playing the game—or if the game, somehow, is playing me.
Regardless, my curiosity refuses to delay this reunion any longer.
And bringing Nyssa into the shadowy depths of the palace serves more than one purpose.
The servants’ quarters below the palace are dimly lit, the air chilled and heavy with the scent of damp stone.
Nyssa moves beside me, her footsteps muffled on the smooth, worn floor.
We pass rows of tiny identical rooms—each with barely enough space for a bed and chest—most of them quiet now, their occupants likely finishing their duties above.
The corridor veers sharply, transitioning from the carved precision of the palace into uneven terrain.
The stone floor becomes rougher, the walls more irregular.
Darkness pools in the crevices of the rock, broken only by sparse auras mounted along the passage.
“It’s through here,” I whisper, my voice carrying a faint echo in the hollow space. Nyssa glances around, her brow furrowing as the walkway yawns open like the hollow throat of the mountain itself.
The instant we cross the threshold into the cavern, the space blossoms around us.
Smooth stone transforms into a strange, vibrant world.
The troupe has left their mark here so vividly that it feels like the cavern belongs to them more than to the mountain that birthed it.
Tiny strings of lanterns cast twinkling light across the high ceiling, each one creating a dazzling mosaic of color on the glistening walls.
Faint murmurs and bursts of laughter rise as the space opens wider, revealing the source of its warmth and life.
Although members of the Thíasos tou Theíou have been performing tirelessly at every court occasion, I overheard that the king had not granted them proper accommodations for their stay. Instead, he relegated them to a hidden cavern beneath the palace, beyond the servants’ quarters.
They don’t appear to mind at all. Hidden away from the court, this troupe has created a sanctuary. A place with its own rules, its own traditions, and a way of life entirely their own.
Beneath my admiration, something bittersweet stirs.
A part of me envies what they have—the freedom, the closeness they share.
It’s something I’ve never known. Aside from the few constants in my life, the list of people I care about is short.
Watching the troupe’s easy camaraderie stirs something deep within me—a longing for connection that I’ve rarely allowed myself to acknowledge.
Their laughter and shared purpose highlight the stark loneliness that has shadowed my steps since arriving in Vilea.
Even with my Flight, there’s a distance, a barrier I can’t breach.
I envy the performers their freedom, their ability to be themselves without fear of judgment or betrayal.
They chose this life, drawn by the promise of something better than what they left behind.
But I am caged here, compelled to bury my truths and keep them locked away.
While they’ve embraced who they’ve become, I’m left wondering who I am anymore.
“What exactly are we doing here again?” Nyssa speaks from beside me, and I blink the thoughts away.
“Following a lead of sorts,” I say, standing on the tips of my toes as my eyes land on a familiar face in the crowd.
With the second trial approaching and the third not far behind, it’s time for me to focus on refining my performance.
I’ve already informed the Flight of my plan to dance, and I’m steadfast in that decision.
Dancing is my greatest strength, especially compared to other skills that aren’t fit for display.
However, to deliver a performance worthy of victory, I’ll need to gather allies to support me.
“Does it involve unwinding and enjoying time with the fun crowd?” she says. “Because if so, count me in.”
I let out a distracted chuckle as I track my target across the courtyard, my eyes fixed on him as he disappears into a tent. “Come on.”
Reaching the tent, I pause, straining to catch any sound from within. Only when I am certain do I push through the flap and slip inside, Nyssa following close behind.
Pan reclines amid a pile of cushions, with another nymphai sitting beside him at a low wooden table.
The two of them look whimsical, dripping in jewelry and gauzy fabrics.
They embody both a striking contrast and a harmonious duality.
Where Pan is swathed in shadow, she is bathed in light.
Slender and graceful, with flowing silver hair and fair, sculpted features.
There’s something familiar about her, but I can’t determine why.
“Well, if it isn’t the Princess of the Sorrows herself,” Pan says, grinning. He’s just as I remember from the opening ceremony—brooding and enigmatic, his dark, striking features softened by a hint of playful mischief.
“And if it isn’t Pan, entertainer, persuader of hearts, keeper of all things extravagant—and the best musician our troupe has to offer,” I say, recalling the exact title he introduced himself with.
He claps his hands, a wide grin lighting up his face as he gestures toward his companion. “This is—”
“Eleni,” she interjects sharply, cutting him a warning glance. “I swear to the Anemoi, Pan, if you introduce me with one of your ridiculous lists of titles, I’ll throw you out of this tent.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Eleni,” I say, unable to suppress a chuckle. “This is N—”
“Sarra,” Nyssa swiftly corrects, stepping forward with a graceful curtsy to mask my stumble.
“Care to join us?” Eleni waves a hand to the cushions on the ground, setting off a tinkling chorus as the bracelets lining her arm clink together. Pan is already pouring wine into an assortment of mismatched clay cups, causing the other nymphai to roll her eyes.
“What is it we’re joining, exactly?” I ask. As Nyssa and I sink into the cushions, my gaze drifts to the table decorations, a flicker of skepticism crossing my mind. A collection of crystals is scattered across its surface, and scented smoke is curling from embers in a shallow dish.
“Parémvasi tou theíou,” Pan replies with a flourish of his hand. “Intervention of the divine.”
I send a questioning look toward Eleni. She offers me an indulgent smile before translating. “We’re playing at being oracles. Would you like a fortune foretold?”
I forge a smile as I struggle to suppress a shiver, recalling the last time someone predicted my future.
Nothing good, my sweet anemone. Nothing good.
Calliope’s words haunt me. The woman’s ability to bury herself within the deepest recesses of my mind is uncanny.
“Is playing at being oracles something you do often?”
Eleni shrugs, rubbing at the corner of her kohl-lined eye. “Master Leto thinks it adds to the mystery of the troupe.”
I cast my gaze around the tent, taking in the scented smoke as it dances under the twinkling lights strung from the canopy before looking back to where Eleni and Pan watch me. My eyes meet Pan’s with a narrowed stare, and he smiles back impishly. “Do you know what the trials are?”
“Princess,” he exclaims with theatrical flair, one hand clutching his chest as if wounded. Even Eleni’s jaw drops in surprise. “Are you trying to cheat?”
“That depends,” I reply, raising an eyebrow at him. “Were you trying to drop hints?”
“Little pearls of wisdom? Those I can share with no one noticing,” Pan says with a sly grin, leaning in as if sharing a secret. Then his smile shifts, taking on a sharper, darker edge. “But anything more, and I might just end up as chimera fodder.”
As I reflect on everything I’ve heard him say so far, searching for hidden meaning, a growing sense of urgency sharpens my focus.
Every sentence, every pause, feels loaded with significance, as though Pan is daring me to catch the clues hidden in plain sight.
If Pan considers what he’s already shared to be a pearl of wisdom, then perhaps I need to look closer at what he’s told me so far.
What have I overlooked? What truths are hidden beneath layers of metaphor and misdirection?
On the night of the opening ceremony, Master Leto’s story wasn’t exactly about the founding of the Empyrieos, as I initially thought—it was about the Anemoi’s desperate escape from an unknown adversary, a shadowy threat that seemed to pursue them relentlessly.
Their first trial, their very first test of survival, was Sphinx and her riddle—a challenge that eerily echoed our own encounter.
The unnerving similarities didn’t stop there; even the circumstances around the captive creature mirrored our own, as though history itself was circling back, forcing us to relive its most harrowing moments.
If the Royal Trials mirrored the challenges from the tale, could the next test involve navigating a labyrinth?
“There you are,” Pan murmurs, his gaze flickering between my eyes as if deciphering my thoughts. Straightening, he speaks more clearly, his voice warm and inviting. “Is there anything else we can do to help you, darling? A reading, perhaps?”
I survey the tent, once again taking in the soft glow of the lights, the cozy array of scattered throws and cushions, and the two nymphai reclining among them. I won’t press him for more.
“I think I’ll pass on the fortune for tonight,” I say. “I wanted to speak with you about something else.”
Pan perks up, his eyes lighting with interest. “What did you have in mind?”
“I find myself in need of your troupe’s best musician.”