Gunlaug sat leisurely at the round table in his underground war room. A menagerie of different trinkets, items, and dusty parchment used by the previous owners littered the surroundings. An Echo draped him in a fallacious veil of impenetrable golden armor. The man, cast a god in its light, waited patiently for his servant to arrive with the news.
And news it would be.
But for now, he would wait.
Glancing around the interior, he realized — not for the first time — that despite the castle's purpose, war was hardly waged here. Anything that he wished simply appeared manifest. When someone needed to die, they did with a single command. When his carnal desires flared, they were satiated with the wave of a hand.
Thus, there was no need for conflict — not with absolute control.
'Absolute…'
Gunlaug looked at his hand with hollow irony.
Of course, the one thing he had truly wanted, freedom — a privilege deigned to none in this hell — was naught for him nor his subjects to grasp.
Likewise, too was slaughtering that vile woman, Changing Star.
His Flaw forbade both actions. It was a fickle, insidious thing, urging him to commit, and only commit, acts he viewed unjustified.
Why, it had been that despicable reason he began to hunt in the dark sea in the first place. Nothing was a more odious fate than to be molested by whatever ancient beings lurked there. A situation in which that might occur was unjust for anyone, but such was the cruel age of the Nightmare Spell.
It stemmed his ruthless rule of the Bright Castle afterwards as well. The initial takeover, the ruthless massacre of rebellious men that despised his division of the castle, and the silencing of enraged women that attempted to stand up for their misused ladies.
All were immoral.
All were precisely because the Bright Lord was incapable of heeding the very justice he so pronounced.
But, eventually, he had disabused himself from caring. It was much too easy to be swayed; to be seduced into a life of relentless sin.
Just because it wasn't right didn't mean he couldn't enjoy it…
'Ah, how strange indeed.'
Now, it seemed he had changed. When first becoming lord the very idea of killing his fellow Sleepers was a truly despicable act. Tested over almost a decade nothing had differed.
Yet now, he found one worthy: Changing Star, the last daughter of Immortal Flame.
Because unlike his previous absolute disparagement towards murder, his desire of escaping the Forgotten Shore had slowly, steadily waned. What little hope he had for it was extinguished after he became lord. Truly recognizing how insignificant the Bright Castle's Sleepers were in comparison to the Fallen Terror of the Crimson Spire had been their salvation. When, one day, he was able to act upon that very desire, it was recognized a desire no longer.
'What a loathsome girl. Such vain attempts at freedom. Such hubris. To realize her ambition none would be spared, and even should she view otherwise, all would fall.'
Gunlaug shook his head.
Then, he began to hear soft steps approach the open room and let himself lean back into his chair. The sudden introspective thoughts were discarded under the advent of more pressing matters.
Moments later, walking calmly into the room, was the gorgeous daughter of Song. A stunning wine-red dress hung off stormy gray skin. An unmistakable air of professionalism radiated from her practiced but natural posture; she was someone not born into esteem but raised into it.
Stopping aside one of the chairs but not bothering to take a seat, Seishan spoke softly:
"The status report indicates that he appears to still be alive, my lord."
Yet another vexing announcement. Was it so difficult for Sleepers nowadays to undertake reasonable actions? Why had that ludicrous fool decided to undergo an extended adjournment into the monster infested maze?
The sentient armor curled around the Bright Lord, and he extended a hand. Not in welcome, but command — a command to sit and explain.
Showing no reluctance, Seishan took her spot and blinked to meet the man's mask.
She continued:
"After consultation, our seer revealed that Nico is currently alive within the labyrinth to the east. It is not known how far. His physical state is unknown; however, he has remained at the same spot since the first few days for an entire month. Whether he attempts to come back or continue staying there indefinitely remains to be seen."
Seishan paused, collecting her words.
"That is all that had managed to be gather. Other facts either remain to be seen."
The room stilled unnaturally.
Then, the Bright Lord's deep, sonorous voice reverberated through the stone chamber.
"Nico… an alien boy. So quick to commit bold actions, yet much too foolish to understand the implications of them…"
He chuckled humorlessly, letting the weight of the situation dissolve into his carefree attitude.
"Or, perhaps, incapable? Might I have pressured too many responsibilities onto him? His sudden disappearance is truly regrettable! Such a precious ward — a friend — lost! Gemma must be sour, and poor Kido has most certainly been terribly distraught…"
Shaking his head lightly, the Bright Lord sighed and extended his hand towards Seishan. Sharp shadows were cast over the table from the chandelier's bright glow above.
"What say you, my ward?"
Her eyes betrayed no intrigue.
"That woman, Changing Star, holds more importance."
Gunlaug's hand fell. Deflating, the man said:
"Indeed. While the past must not be forgotten, only the future carries new opportunities. Nico, be it as it may, is gone. However, Changing Star will bring no miracles. She is an inspiration, yet one that will bring death to the castle. Rebellion would ensue if she held any sway over our regime, but she doesn't. In her ambition she will fall, and when she does, the outer settlement will lapse further into despair."
His head tilted upwards. Seishan involuntarily shuddered as she caught her reflection in the mask. Though his words spoke as if she were beneath him, and his features remained hidden, it was almost as if a simmering, scalding hatred oozed from his demeanor.
"So… we will… leave her be."
***
It was a late night in the decrepit filth of the outer settlement. Most Sleepers, tucked in by a lull of false serenity, were long since, well, asleep. Some others, meanwhile, were too disparate or hungry for rest, trapped in a waking nightmare spawned from what they'd seen or heard.
There was one group that was secluded from the rest. Their hovel was bigger, bulkier, and made with an extra story to accompany an increased amount of people. Every other day they would gather, plan, and hunt, providing food and safety to the once abandoned Sleepers.
Now, everyone but two were dormant in preparation for the coming day.
Those two — beautiful, brave women recognized as leaders — stayed awake on the roof until only an hour separated night from dawn, a mix of sorrow and resolve smoldering in their chests before they retreated.
Gliding through the stone hallway towards her small room, the first, a young woman with lush golden hair and strained blue eyes, found rest at bed. Her small head buried into an uncomfortable straw pillow.
Their increasingly large cohort had shrunk by only one today, and that number would soon be mended with more, but none would truly be able to fill the spot left behind by his presence.
A while ago she had said her apologies. A while now had her betrayal simmered.
Regardless, fatigue only stole into her when streaks of bleak light tapered across the horizon.
The torment remained even then.
And when her head finally lolled, closed eyes stilling before the sun that could never fully rise…
…Cassie dreamt of a tree.
Cold, purposeless, and spectral, its sprawling roots grew into the depths of a deep, restless sea. An alien mist swept the water's surface. Massive slabs of bark twisted into a giant trunk. Pure white leaves carpeted its many branches. Then, externally, something more. Something intelligent. Something…
…No, someone.
A human.
A man whose features she could not see.
Revealed to her was a deceitful pendant that hung from his neck, showing his vain reflection. The trinket was, paradoxically, truth — truth buried under the years of torture and pain, meant only to show the thoughts beneath the veil of consciousness. Above that, a strange layer of engraved, stained silver like the garb of a distant deity — one that took war for peace and life for death.
Before him, she saw a white inferno melting bark and branch alike, felt the roots of soul invaded by the vastness of shadow, smelled the stench of carrion and death, tasted the bittersweetness of victory, and in the end, heard a whisper so cold, so detached that her heart stopped for a single, impossible moment.
"Can't escape now…"