The hooves of a horse clopped steadily along greenery and paved paths, echoing faintly through the quiet woods.
The carriage rolled slow and deliberate, concealed by a strange magic that bent attention away from it, as if it were a thought no one held for long enough to notice.
Inside, shadows swayed with the rhythm of the wheels.
Yogh exhaled.
"You're late," he said calmly.
Something shifted behind him.
A shape peeled itself from the darkness inside the carriage.
Xavier sat across from the Falsies princess. His body was drained, aching from the chaos that had unfolded hours earlier. His breathing was steady, but shallow, each movement pulling at wounds that had yet to close. He turned his dull eyes toward her, voice rough and low.
"Who even are you?" he asked bluntly. "You've got to at least tell me you're someone important."
He had seen her before. Hanging around the duke's children. Present at gatherings meant for nobles and officials. Even during his troubled childhood, Xavier had been forced to read newspapers, memorize faces, remember names. Targets. Royals. Merchants. Power structures.
He knew how the world worked.
When the plan went off course, he had still chosen to take her. Maybe she was leverage. Maybe she was useful. Maybe she was nothing at all. Either way, she had value.
The princess didn't respond.
She simply looked at him coldly, offended, eyes filled with that familiar noble disdain, as if his very presence was an insult.
That look.
He hated that look.
He was a top candidate from his chamber. A survivor. A weapon forged through pain. A child turned into something meant to kill. And still, nobles looked at him like dirt.
Either way, he didn't care enough to push further. His wounds throbbed, but not enough to drown out his thoughts. He leaned back slightly, closing one eye as exhaustion pressed down on him.
He wanted to sleep.
He couldn't afford to.
Mission merits. The phrase echoed in his head, sour and heavy. Everything always came back to merits. Worth measured in numbers. Lives traded for approval.
I'm sick of this controlled life.
Why did he stay under control? Why did he obey? He knew the answer. Because Evangel was watching. Even now.
But not forever.
He wouldn't stay a pawn. Once he grew strong enough, once he stood beyond her reach, he would kill Evangel. She stood between him and freedom.
That thought steadied him.
The carriage continued forward, hooves striking stone, steady as a heartbeat. The concealment magic shimmered faintly, bending light and sound around them. Even the wind avoided their path.
Xavier's gaze drifted to the window. His reflection stared back at him, pale and unreadable. His hand pressed lightly against his ribs where pain still pulsed beneath the bandages.
It wasn't pain that bothered him.
It was weakness.
I despise weakness.
His thoughts drifted back to the ballroom. The screams. The collapsing stone. The magic tearing through the air.
I should've died there.
Would anyone have remembered him if he had?
The rings around his fingers pulsed faintly. He ignored them.
Across from him, the princess shifted. Her blue hair caught the faint light filtering through the curtains. Her dress was torn and dirtied, the phoenix emblem at her chest smeared with ash. She looked fragile, but when her fierce green eyes opened briefly, they burned with something sharp.
Anger. Rage. Resolve.
She didn't need to speak. The promise of revenge was already there.
Xavier looked away.
Mercy, pity, guilt. Those words meant nothing to him. The world hadn't spared him. He wouldn't spare it.
He leaned back again, eyes open but distant. Regard's voice echoed faintly in his memory.
"You're too quiet for your own good, boy. Someone's going to mistake that for mercy one day."
Still, somewhere deep inside, something remained. Not hope. Not warmth. Just a quiet ember.
Freedom.
Freedom to choose. Freedom to move. Freedom to exist without chains.
The steady rhythm of hooves bled into something else.
Stone floors.
Iron doors.
The smell of blood and chalk.
"Again."
The voice cracked through his mind like a whip.
He was smaller then. Lighter. A blade too heavy in his hands. His fingers shook, not from fear, but exhaustion. Every mistake brought pain. Every cry brought worse.
Children vanished when they failed. Some stopped breathing. Others were simply replaced.
That was the world he came from.
He remembered Brice.
Younger. Watching him. Always watching.
"Today we kill a small merchant," Xavier had said calmly.
Brice looked up at him, eyes wide. "Kill? What's that mean?"
Xavier had answered without emotion. "You use your weapon. Blood comes out. You know what we train for."
"Why do you talk like that so easy?"
"I read books," Xavier said. "Techniques. Words. A man gave them to me once. They call us top performers." He looked at Brice. "This earns merits."
Brice hesitated. "Why a merchant? Can't we stay here?"
Xavier's voice hardened. "If you want to die, say it now. They replaced someone yesterday. You didn't see it."
Brice swallowed. "It's just me and you, right?"
"Yeah."
"So you show me around hell?"
"What's hell?"
"A place where bad people go," Xavier said. "Souls damned."
"Are we bad?"
Xavier never answered.
Pain followed.
The memory shattered.
Back in the carriage, Xavier's fingers twitched against his ribs. His breath steadied. He hated weakness more than pain.
The princess shifted. Her blue hair caught the dim light filtering through the curtains. Her dress was torn, dirtied from the struggle. Her green eyes burned when they opened, sharp and alive with promise.
Revenge.
She didn't speak. She didn't need to.
Xavier looked away.
Mercy didn't exist. The world never spared him. He wouldn't spare it either.
The carriage slowed. Dirt replaced stone beneath the wheels. The concealment magic thinned, the air settling as if the world finally noticed them again.
The entrance to an ability testing lab stood before him. Xavier grabbed the Falsies princess by the hair, ignoring her struggle, and dragged her inside. Her clothes were torn further as he moved her forward.
A sign hung crookedly above the entrance.
CLOSED.
"HELP!"
Xavier struck her with a shadow fist, knocking her unconscious. He and Yogh moved quickly.
"Chamber Twelve's winner," a voice echoed. "Or should I call you Xavier. You brought me a princess. I am thankful. Things haven't gone according to plan, but I will adjust. I must not slip."
"Yes, madam."
"You should've brought me Mathis," Evangel laughed.
"I'm sorry, madam."
"Yogh, good work.
Xavier pushed himself up on one arm. Pain screamed through him, but he ignored it. His eyes locked onto her face, unreadable, cold.
Her gaze drifted briefly toward the girl then back to him.
"You did well," Evangel continued. "Merits will be awarded. Not enough to free you. Not yet." A faint smile touched her lips. "But enough to remind you why you obey."
Xavier's fingers twitched.
"You'll work with Brice next," she added casually. "Your skills complement his. The results—"
That was enough.
Shadows surged.
Xavier moved without thought, without hesitation. Power tore free from him in a violent burst, shadows snapping forward like starving beasts, blades and pressure converging on Evangel's position with killing intent.
For a fraction of a second, the room screamed.
Then everything stopped.
The shadows froze mid-motion.
Xavier froze with them.
His limbs locked. His breath caught painfully in his chest. It felt as though invisible hands had seized his spine and crushed it inward, forcing him down.
He hit the floor hard.
The purple light around Evangel flared once, sharp and absolute, then settled again. She had not even taken a step back.
Her expression had not changed.
"That," she said quietly, "is why you're not ready."
The pressure intensified.
Xavier's vision blurred. His teeth clenched as pain flooded through him, not explosive, not chaotic, but precise. Controlled. Each nerve screaming exactly as much as she allowed.
"You mistake merit for freedom," Evangel continued. "You mistake talent for authority." Her eyes bore into him. "And worst of all, you mistake yourself for someone who gets to choose."
She crouched slightly, just enough to meet his gaze.
"You are a performer," she said. "My performer. I shape weapons. I do not ask them what they prefer to cut."
Xavier felt like what ever grasp she had on him only strengthend as his ribs began to crack .
Xavier tried to move.
Nothing answered him.
"I decide who you work with," Evangel went on. "I decide when you advance. I decide when you suffer." Her voice sharpened, something fractured bleeding through the calm. "Control is the only thing that keeps this world from rotting."
Her hand trembled almost imperceptibly.
"You will not work with Brice yet," she said abruptly. "You'd kill him. Or worse, you'd hesitate." A sharp exhale. "Unacceptable."
She straightened.
"There is another performer," Evangel said. "Someone more suitable for your current… limitations."
The pressure finally released.
Xavier collapsed fully, gasping, his body shaking violently as sensation rushed back in. He did not cry out. He did not beg.
He stared at the floor.
Inside him, something broke.
Not his resolve.
His timing.
"I like you, Xavier," Evangel said, her tone softer now, almost reflective. "You remind me of something this world tried very hard to erase." Her eyes hardened again. "Don't make me erase you too."
She turned away.
"Crawl back to your chamber," she said. "Rest. Heal. Accumulate merits. You'll need them."
Xavier dragged himself across the stone, every movement slow, deliberate, humiliating. Blood smeared behind him like a trail of quiet defiance.
He did not look back this was all Nesacary for the future he saw in 10 years.
In the darkness of the corridor, as his strength finally failed him, the thought returned, steady and unshaken
Not now
But one day
In ten years the vision i had seen in the ball room ill make reality.
.