Inside the marble palace, on a balcony, Arion looked down at his father's subjects. They were all so plentiful they were like rabbits, breeding constantly. He looked down at his freshly done nails admiringly. Unfortunately, his ice had melted again. On his dad's second planet, it was extremely hot—over ninety degrees year-round. But the beaches were to die for. Weirdly enough, the beaches were surprisingly cool, always having a nice strong cold breeze where the sand met the ocean.
Shaking his black curly hair as his sun-blessed skin shined a beautiful bronze, he descended from his room and down the stairs. It took him five minutes to walk over to the kitchen. Looking inside, he saw the maids cooking—as they should be. He had requested fresh brownies twenty minutes ago. Unfortunately, he liked his brownies cooked the traditional way: with an oven. Something was just different in how it tasted with the love of an oven.
But time waited for no one, as he had a meeting to attend. It was with the Consul of the People. They give him, or his father, or whoever the third person in charge is—
Grabbing a chocolate bar, he opened it and moved toward the door when he caught the gaze of a maid who stared at him with an emotion he hadn't recognized in someone's eyes. Was it hate?
Looking down at her badge, he saw the name: Mariu.
Arion paused mid-step, the chocolate bar halfway to his mouth. His amber eyes, flecked with something old and unblinking, locked onto Mariu's.
The kitchen froze. No one dared breathe too loud.
"Watch your gaze, Mariu," he said, voice soft enough to be mistaken for kind.
She flinched. "My lord, I—"
"You are soul-bound to the Kaelis family," he interrupted, almost gently. "That means your disobedience is mine to feel. And correct."
He held out one hand, fingers curling slightly as if around an invisible throat.
Mariu's spine arched as she dropped to her knees, convulsing. A strangled cry slipped from her lips as her limbs locked rigid, her face contorted in agony.
"By the seal of blood and bond," Arion murmured, "I invoke punishment."
Her scream ripped through the tiled chamber, hollow and primal, echoing off steel and ceramic. The other maids didn't move. They'd seen worse. Arion had taught them all the sound of limits snapping.
He took a slow bite of chocolate, its sweetness somehow enhancing the bitterness in the air.
Arion exhaled lightly through his nose, as if releasing the last of his irritation. He stepped forward, his polished boot hovering a moment before descending neatly on Mariu's shoulder, using her twitching body as little more than a footstool. Her breath hitched under the pressure, but he didn't look down.
"To the rest of you," he said, voice lilting with practiced charm, "I expect my brownies to be fresh when I return from the meeting. Warm, not hot. Soft, not crumbling. Try not to disappoint me."
He pivoted on Mariu as if she were tile and strode toward the door, brushing nonexistent dust from his sleeve.
"And someone mop up that noise she made," he added over his shoulder. "It's beginning to stink."
The doors hissed open, spilling him into the corridor like royalty descending from a stage, every step echoing with disdain and dangerous purpose.
__________________________________________________________________________
The Velvet Chamber – High Council of the Manufex District
The Council room was filled with tension as Arion Vel Kaelis entered, his usual nonchalant smile in place. He nodded at the seated Councilors, his gaze lingering on the few who dared meet his eyes.
Councilor Jaren, the eldest, cleared his throat and addressed Arion with practiced diplomacy. "Your Highness, the situation has grown dire. The famine is worsening. People are starving in the lower districts. The resources are… running dry."
Arion leaned back in his chair, a casual, almost bored look on his face. "Ah, yes. The famine. The people grow hungry, and we, as always, must find a way to feed them. How… tragic." His voice was dripping with irony, but he quickly shifted his tone to a more sincere one. "But of course, we will handle it. We'll send thoughts and prayers to the hungry souls. Surely that will help, yes?"
There was a strained silence. Arion raised an eyebrow and smiled, clearly enjoying the discomfort his words caused. The Councilors exchanged glances, unsure whether to respond to his sarcasm or not.
"Your Highness," Councilor Talia ventured cautiously, "While your… sentiments are noted, we cannot ignore the reality. The people are starving. The situation requires more than just empty words. They are dying."
Arion's smile widened. "Yes, of course. Dying. Terrible, isn't it?" He leaned forward, his eyes glinting with a dark amusement. "But let's not get too caught up in the little things. We are a powerful family, after all. Surely, with all our resources, we can spare a few… tokens of our generosity."
He stood up from his chair, walking to the center of the room as if he were the star of a grand performance. "Perhaps it is best we all send our thoughts to the people. And, when the time is right, I shall have a private prayer for them. To the god of machinery, perhaps? After all, they do seem to suffer under his gaze."
The Councilors, too well trained to show their true frustration, kept their faces neutral, but there was an unspoken tension in the air. They had been hoping for action, not just empty words.
Arion paused, his expression turning more calculating as he glanced around the room, making sure all eyes were on him. "However," he continued, "I suppose I could be persuaded to spare them some… bread. Unlimited, if they so desire. The only catch is this: they must give themselves to the Kaelis family. A soul bond, of course, a permanent bond. It's a small price to pay for food, don't you think?"
The silence in the room was palpable, broken only by the soft sound of Arion's amused chuckle. "But then again, who needs to be free when they can eat their fill? Who needs independence when they can be taken care of? After all, what are people without their soul-bound masters?".
The room was frozen in a strange, unbearable tension. The Councilors couldn't shake the icy feeling that Arion's words had cast over them. For a moment, there was an awkward stillness as they processed the sheer audacity of his offer. The promise of unlimited bread for soul bonds hung in the air like a dark cloud. They wanted to speak, to challenge him, but something about the way Arion had positioned himself half mockery, half control kept them silent.
But before anyone could utter a word, the heavy door at the far end of the chamber was violently kicked open, sending a reverberating crash through the walls.
A masked figure, clad in black, slipped into the room like a shadow. The assassin's movement was fluid, inhumanly quick, and with a single, swift motion, his blade tore through the nearest councilor, slashing through flesh like it was paper. The man didn't even have time to scream as his blood painted the walls in a sickening spray.
"Move!" a councilor screamed, lunging for the side doors, but they were too slow. The assassin was already upon the next victim, his twin daggers dancing in his hands as they sliced through the air with deadly precision. Another councilor collapsed, his body jerking violently as he was gutted, his life ending in a pool of blood.
Arion stood motionless, his face an unreadable mask, watching the massacre unfold. The chaos in the room was palpable. Screams filled the air, mingling with the sickening sound of flesh meeting steel. Panic rippled through the remaining councilors as they tried to scramble, to find any way to escape, but the assassin was everywhere—unrelenting, unstoppable.
Then the assassin's gaze shifted to Arion, his dark eyes narrowing. He was closing in fast, his bloodstained daggers raised high. For the first time, Arion's smile faltered, though it lingered at the edges of his lips, a semblance of amusement still present.
But then something stirred within Arion.
It wasn't fear that rose in him—it was hunger. Deep and ancient, coiled in his Neokondria like a serpent stirring from slumber. The air thickened. Every breath tasted like copper and fire. The world sharpened, sound peeled away, and the weight of his father's shadow burned off like morning mist.
He was no longer borrowing power. It was his. His Qiothon.
A tremor rippled through his limbs, subtle at first, like the twitch of a waking beast, then rising—roaring—within his marrow. Arion's spine arched slightly as heat poured through him, not from the room, but from the inside out. Every cell bloomed with pressure, like stars forming in his blood.
The assassin lunged.
Time fractured.
Arion didn't move—not at first. He became stillness. Every twitch of the assassin's muscles, every bead of blood trailing from his knives, unfolded before him like a slow, deliberate symphony.
Then Arion moved.
His foot slid an inch to the left. His torso tilted. And the dagger meant for his heart kissed empty air. The assassin's eyes widened beneath the mask—only for Arion's hand to close around his wrist mid-strike, fingers like a vice sculpted from intent.
With a sickening crunch, the assassin screamed not from his mouth, but from his soul. His arm twisted in a direction it was never meant to go. His other dagger clattered to the floor. He dropped to one knee, twitching, gasping like a puppet whose strings had been devoured.
Arion stepped forward.
The scent of blood, fear, and ozone swirled around him like a crown. His smile returned—slower now, curious.
"…Fascinating," he whispered.
The assassin tried to stab upward with his last strength. A pitiful lunge.
Arion raised his palm.
The air warped.
The assassin froze mid-lunge, his body jerking like something invisible had gripped his spine. His breath hitched. His skin began to wither before Arion's eyes, lips cracking, cheeks hollowing. Black veins spiderwebbed under the flesh like roots choking a dying tree.
His hair turned white.
His bones bent under his own weight.
He died as a husk. A dried-out monument to a life burned away in an instant.
Then Arion's Qi screamed.
It wasn't a sound—there was no echo—but it pulsed through him like a wail in his marrow. The Qiothon within him bucked, convulsed, lashed out. It hated what he had done. Or it loved it. He couldn't tell. It felt like something ancient had awakened and was now judging him from within.
His spine arched. His mouth opened in a silent howl. Blood poured from his nose, ears, eyes—thin streams tracing down his perfect face as if the act of wielding himself had cracked the vessel too soon.
Then darkness swallowed him whole.
Arion collapsed.
Face-first into the marbled floor. Unmoving. Silent.
The corpse beside him aged no further. The chamber was still.