ESPERSIA, YEAR 1889
Raamiz woke in the middle of the night, staring at the darkness above. And all he could think was one thing:
I am an idiot.
I am the biggest idiot in the world.
The kind of idiot who deserves every ounce of pain he's feeling right now.
Raamiz couldn't stop the thoughts from circling like vultures. He knew how fruitless this spiral of self-condemnation was—so much so that he reflexively shook his head, as if he could physically rattle them loose. But still… he couldn't help himself.
After all, it was his own stupidity that landed him here, lying on this narrow infirmary cot, dressed in a loose linen tunic and bandaged across the ribs like some pitiful war casualty. His sleeves had been rolled up hastily, exposing faint bruises blooming across his arms. The faint scent of herbal salve clung stubbornly to his skin, mixing with the cool, sterile air of the room.
Raamiz pressed his fingers against his temples, massaging in small, desperate circles. It was his best attempt to soothe the pounding ache in his head—the lingering gift of the masked intruder's fist.
Gods, I'm so stupid.
Why did I open the door to that man?
Why wasn't I suspicious?
The thoughts—and the sharp, accusing questions that followed—kept coming in waves. No matter how many times Raamiz tried to force them down, they clawed their way back up.
And yet, no matter how many ways he tried to reframe it, only one answer stuck.
A simple, humiliating answer.
He had gotten careless.
He'd realized it in the instant he swung open that door, the masked man's shadow looming over him like death itself.
Raamiz replayed the various different steps leading up to that moment—each one that had felt necessary and calculated at the time. But now, as he retraced them in his mind, each step revealed itself for what it truly was: a string of missteps.
And the final curtain call on his stupidity… had been opening that damned door.
Worst of all, the cost of that mistake could've been more than his own death, but also…
Raamiz clenched his jaw so tightly it ached and forced his gaze to the right.
Zeliot lay on a narrow infirmary cot, swaddled in clean linen, his frame still frail against the stiff mattress. His skin was pale in the torchlight, his breathing shallow but steady. Stray strands of his golden hair clung to his forehead, damp with sweat from his earlier fever. His face was peaceful in sleep—peaceful in a way Raamiz found unbearable to look at.
Raamiz turned away, exhaling sharply, and flopped back onto the cot. Above him, the rough-hewn stone ceiling loomed—cracked and uneven, faint torchlight dancing across its surface like shifting shadows.
"Someone's gonna pay…" he muttered under his breath, his voice barely more than a growl.
His eyelids grew heavy, and as the tension drained from his battered body, he let them fall shut. Sleep claimed him in seconds.
…
Raamiz had no idea how much time had passed, but it must have been considerable. Bright rays of morning sunlight pierced through the stained glass windows, flooding the room in golden light. He rubbed at his eyes, squinting as they adjusted to the brightness. At first, he assumed it was the sunlight that had woken him—but he was wrong.
A trio of robed figures stood at his bedside, their garments marked with the unmistakable insignia of the Church of Theos: flowing white vestments trimmed with deep crimson and gold, each bearing a pendant shaped like the sacred caduceus entwined with flame. The woman stood out among them, taller than her two male companions, her robes adorned with subtle yet distinct embellishments at the hem and sleeves, suggesting higher rank. Middle-aged, with an air of quiet authority, she must have been their superior. A bishop, perhaps? Raamiz thought he recognized her from somewhere, though the memory sat just out of reach.
After his quick study of the trio, Raamiz instinctively sat up, the motion drawing the attention of his visitors. Their quiet conversation broke off at once, three pairs of eyes settling on him with composed concern.
They're pitying me, Raamiz thought bitterly, the corners of his mouth tightening.
"Hello, Raamiz," the presumed Bishop said softly. "How are you feeling?"
Before answering, Raamiz's gaze flicked to his left, searching for his brother.
Zeliot was still out cold.
A subtle wave of unease prickled down Raamiz's spine, but before he could voice it, the Bishop spoke again, as if reading his thoughts.
"Do not worry about your brother...he is only asleep. We've placed him in a healing rest to help his body recover faster. He will awaken before daybreak."
An unconscious rush of relief hit Raamiz—but it didn't last. He couldn't relax. Not yet. Not without some important answers.
"How much time has passed?" Raamiz said urgently.
Please… don't say the summit has come and gone. Don't say it's too late.
She has to be okay. There has to be time left…
He tried to mask the rising panic clawing at his chest, but deep down, he knew the effort was pointless. The Bishop's eyes lingered on him, studying his reaction. She didn't know what weighed on him, but she could clearly see that something did.
She spoke gently, as if trying to ease whatever storm she thought he carried.
"The Prose Summit has not passed, Raamiz. The attack on you and your brother occurred only last night."
As if a massive weight had been ripped from his shoulders, a wave of relief crashed over Raamiz. His whole body slackened, and he nearly flopped back onto the cot, ready to exhale the breath he didn't know he was holding—
But the Bishop's voice cut through the moment like a blade.
"However… there has been some discussion on whether you should be present at the event."
Raamiz's head snapped up, eyes narrowing, the brief calm vanishing in an instant. "Wait—what? What do you mean by that?" His voice was sharper than intended, his hands gripping the edge of the cot so tightly his knuckles whitened.
The Bishop folded her hands calmly, as though she expected his reaction."I mean that it might be for the best if you took time to recover… specifically within the safety of the Valorian Estate."
Raamiz sat up straighter, his jaw tightening as heat prickled up his neck.
"I feel fine. There's no issue with me, right? If there was, I'd be in forced rest like my roommate over there." Raamiz jerked his chin toward Zeliot, still lying unconscious on the adjacent cot.
The Bishop exhaled slowly, her face calm but her eyes faintly tightening. "Your physical condition is fine, yes… but it's more a question of other things, my lord. You were just attacked, after all."
So that's it. They're worried about another attacker. Raamiz clenched his teeth.
"Your safety would be far more guaranteed if you remained within the Valorian Estate."
A surge of anger flared in his chest. His voice rose, sharp and unrestrained.
"Who are you to make that decision?! I said I'm fine, and I'm ready to go. And don't talk to me about safety—me and my brother were attacked on this very estate!"
The presumed bishop gave another long, tired sigh, but there was something different about it this time, maybe a quiet authority that seemed to weigh down the air itself.
"Who am I?" she repeated softly, her eyes locking onto his. "Child… have you already forgotten who I am?"
Raamiz blinked, his anger faltering for the briefest moment. The way she spoke, the casualness in her tone, the utter lack of formalities like "my lord." Even a bishop, someone high in the Church's hierarchy, would never address him this way.
Who was this woman?
Before Raamiz could even open his mouth to ask the question, the infirmary door creaked open and then slammed lightly against the wall. A woman swept into the room with a presence that seemed to draw all the air with her.
She was tall and elegant, her posture rigid as though the world itself should straighten in her presence. Flowing deep-green robes trimmed in gold cascaded around her frame, their edges swaying with each calculated step. Her dark hair was pulled into a severe braid that rested neatly over her shoulder, and a jeweled pendant at her neck caught the light with a cold gleam. Sharp eyes scanned the room like a hawk surveying prey.
"Good morning, my lady," one of the priests murmured, bowing slightly.
"Is it a good morning?" Gaius scoffed, her voice like polished steel as she strode briskly toward Raamiz.
She walked past the trio of priests, offering only the briefest nod to the distinguished woman before closing the distance to Raamiz's side. With a slow, deliberate motion, she knelt until her piercing gaze was level with his own.
As if on instinct, Raamiz looked away, a small, strained cough escaping his lips.
"Look at me, Raamiz," Gaius said, her voice uncharacteristically soft, almost tender.
Hesitantly, Raamiz lifted his eyes to meet hers. His chest tightened as her sharp features came into full focus. He had reason to be nervous—after all, he couldn't shake the suspicion that his mother might be involved in the attempt on Zeliot's life. Could she have had a hand in the assassin's plot? It wasn't impossible.
But something about that possibility didn't make sense.
Yes, Raamiz and his mother had clashed in the past—more than once, and bitterly—but would she really go so far as to threaten the life of her own flesh and blood? He doubted it… or at least, part of him wanted to doubt it.
Still, the unease gnawed at him like a parasite and suspicion lingered in his chest.
"Raamiz, I need you to tell me everything that happened." Gaius said sternly.
"Of course," he thought bitterly. She's not here to check on how I'm doing. No—this was an interrogation. He should have expected nothing less.
He opened his mouth to speak but closed it almost immediately. He needed to think carefully about what to say—to pick and choose what to reveal and what to withhold. A little bit of give might satisfy her questions… but too much could be dangerous.
"I… don't remember much of the attack," he said slowly. "Because, you know, I was knocked in the head pretty hard."
It wasn't a complete lie. The truth was, before Raamiz could even get a proper look at the masked man, everything had gone black.
"Then tell me what you think may be relevant in the past week. Specifically, what you and Zeliot were doing six nights ago." Gaius's voice was soft, almost velvety, but her eyes were sharp as glass, pinning Raamiz like a hawk sizing up prey.
Six nights ago… Raamiz's mind raced. That was the night Zeliot and I forged our plan for Alba and the Duke. The night they'd stayed late in the library… When the guards were questioned, they must have mentioned it to her, Raamiz realized grimly.
Still, he was ready for this. He'd already calculated the right balance of truth to give. Inhaling quietly to steady himself, he delivered his prepared response.
"That night, Zeliot and I were in the library late, reviewing maps of Mahindra. After examining them for a while, we returned to my room to discuss what we should do at the Prose Summit."
It made no sense to lie about their locations that evening—several guards had seen them already and had likely reported their movements.
"So when you were looking at the maps of the capital city," Gaius said slowly, "that was for the Prose Summit as well?"
"Yes," Raamiz replied evenly.
"Why?"
"Is that important?" he asked cautiously.
"It could be. Answer the question, Raamiz," she commanded, her piercing eyes narrowing.
"Well… Zeliot has never really explored the city before, and this time he wanted to have a look around. I decided I would be a good guide, and we could map out our route." Raamiz let the lie slip off his tongue smoothly—it wasn't entirely false, but enough of a twist to keep her from digging deeper.
"Did Zeliot ask Luca for permission on this little escapade?" she pressed.
"Umm… I wouldn't know."
"So he didn't," Gaius said flatly, rolling her eyes with a sharp sigh. She paused, her gaze lingering on Raamiz like she was weighing whether to press the point further. At last, she spoke again, her voice calmer but no less firm.
"Fine. We'll worry about that issue another time."
Raamiz nodded automatically.
"So that was it? That was all you were truly doing?"
"Yes," Raamiz replied.
She studied him, her piercing stare seeming to peel the truth off his skin. After a long pause, her expression softened—just enough for him to think she believed him.
Raamiz allowed himself the faintest exhale of relief.
"Okay…" she said slowly, as if filing away her doubts for later. "Did you notice anything suspicious while you were in the library?"
Raamiz's eyes dropped to the floor, his jaw tightening. "Yes," he said quietly.
Almost as if she'd been expecting that answer all along, Gaius spoke without missing a beat.
"And what exactly was it?"
Gaius leaned in closer, her sharp eyes narrowing with intent. Raamiz stiffened under her gaze, a flicker of unease tightening in his chest. Should I tell her what I noticed?
"Raamiz," she repeated, her voice low but insistent, "what did you notice?"
"I… I…" His throat felt dry. "The reason we left the library in the first place is because… I got a bad feeling."
Gaius's head tilted slightly. "A bad feeling?" Her tone was still calm, but her focus was razor-sharp, her posture taut as if she were weighing every syllable. There was a trace of something else too—concern? Or was her voice just another tool she wielded so effortlessly?
"I… well…" Raamiz stammered, struggling to find the right words.
But before he could finish, the robed woman suddenly stepped forward. Her hand came to rest gently on Gaius's shoulder.
"Duchess Gaius," she said evenly, "your son has not fully recovered. If you continue to press him like this, we risk destabilizing him further."
Raamiz's savior looked down at Gaius with an utterly un-intimidated, faint smile.
Raamiz was stunned.
…She actually did it.She interrupted my mother—and told her what to do.
Almost no one spoke to Gaius like that. Not the guards, not members of clergy, no nobleman, not even the Duke himself unless he was in a rare mood. To see someone address her so calmly, so confidently, without a hint of fear… it was surreal moment for Raamiz.
Who is this woman… and how is Mother going to respond to that?
That stunned feeling, that utter arousal to shock, continued for Raamiz as Gaius only paused—her intense stare breaking for the briefest moment. Then, with a tame exhale, she straightened and stepped back.
"You are right, of course… High Oracle Calvessa," Gaius said smoothly.
Raamiz's mind felt like it froze over. High Oracle…? The pieces clicked together in his mind like a trap springing shut. So this wasn't just some senior priest or bishop. This woman was the Head of the Church of Theos itself—the highest spiritual authority in the realm. Her influence rivaled even the Duke's within Indra… and across Espersia, she might wield even more.
He vaguely remembered having met her once, when he was very young. But until now, he had completely forgotten…
Gods… what is she doing here?
Gaius turned back toward Raamiz, her sharp gaze softening just enough to show a flicker of concern beneath the surface.
"Raamiz… you need to be more careful. You're lucky these injuries weren't far worse."
"I'll take that advice into consideration, Mother," Raamiz said flatly, a faint edge of annoyance threading his voice.
Gaius's brows furrowed, the smallest crack in her otherwise unshakable composure. She seemed poised to deliver a retort, lips parting as if to scold him—then closed her mouth again. A quick breath slipped past her nose as she turned toward the door.
At the threshold, she paused just long enough to glance back, her voice soft but at the same time alarmingly sharp.
"Raamiz… you may not believe me, but I am glad. Glad your life isn't in danger… that your body will recover." She hesitated for a moment, letting her eyes meet his. "And most of all… that your spirit hasn't broken."
Her robes whispered against the stone as she disappeared into the hall.And with that, she was gone.