Solaria shimmered under twin moons.
Even at night, the city never darkened. Lanterns of frozen starlight hovered above every walkway. Towers projected cascading patterns across polished marble, forming constellations as if heaven itself bowed to Lucian geometry.
Tavin hated it.
He hadn't expected to. From a distance, Solaria looked like a dream: all symmetry and elegance, as if someone had painted a cathedral using glass and light. But now that he was inside it, hiding beneath the eaves of perfection, he understood.
Every detail was too precise, too deliberate — like beauty engineered to erase what didn't belong. The city didn't breathe; it posed.Their footsteps had been muffled since entering the noble quarter, sound swallowed by enchanted stones. Even their shadows felt out of place here. Too jagged. Too… real.To Lucian eyes, anything imperfect was intrusion. And they were walking blasphemy.
Their forged papers had passed inspection at the outer gates, but only just. Kaelara's scowl hadn't helped. Neither had the mud on Niah's boots.
Inside, they moved like shadows. Niah led them through side alleys and servant corridors, guided by markings only the desperate would know—symbols etched into stones by former Skotos slaves.
"Too clean," Tavin muttered. "Too quiet."
"They sterilize what they can't control," Niah said.
Kaelara nodded toward a passing patrol. "And then they make it disappear."
They ducked into a storeroom behind a perfumery, next to an abandoned villa, where a single glyph lamp buzzed against the silence. Inside stood Maika—their contact, once a Skotos slave, now an agent within Lucian nobility.
She didn't greet them. She locked the door behind her and unrolled a scroll wrapped in black cloth.
"There's a girl," she said. "They call her Lysaria now. House Thorne adopted her years ago, but she's not blood. She came from the war camps—Skotos lineage if the rumors are true. The light bends around her like it knows her pain."
Tavin stepped forward. "It must be her."
Maika nodded, eyes grim. "They moved her to the Starlight Garden. Her name's been struck from the service ledgers. She trains under mirrorlight. Purified meals, isolation, aura fasting. All signs point to one thing."
Niah's expression darkened. "The Moon Path."
"The Offering," Kaelara whispered. "They mean to sacrifice her."
Tavin felt the familiar pressure under his skin—the Gate's pulse, echoing the horror in his chest. "Why?"
Maika's voice was like lead. "Because Luxarion doesn't age. But his priests do. And they can't bear children. So they recycle power. They offer it back to the source."
"And she's the fuel," Kaelara said.
Maika didn't flinch. "Unless you take her first."
Tavin sat in silence after Maika left, perched on the edge of a half-crumbling fountain in the villa's herb courtyard. Moonlight danced across the surface, but his thoughts churned like silt.
Ema'Tari had said that priestesses were the keys—resonant conduits of power, bonded through choice and spirit. Through them, a god's strength could grow, evolve, and pass on to the next generation. Priestesses bore both magic and legacy.
But here… here was a system with priests. All male. Sterile in both body and magic. Power without succession. A divine echo bouncing endlessly in a gilded cage.
"Why does a god need sacrifice," he whispered to himself, "if it has no seed to plant?"Luxarion, the god of light, surrounded himself with reflections, purity rituals, and sons who could offer nothing but their own dwindling energy. It was like feeding fire with mirrors.
"This isn't power," he muttered. "It's starvation dressed up as holiness."
The Girl of Gold:
It took them hours to cross the ward unnoticed. False corridors. Service routes. Glyph-locked gates Maika had etched backdoors into. Every step felt stolen.
Finally, they crouched atop the observatory roof, peering into a courtyard bathed in moonlight.
There she was.
Lysaria. Veiled in gossamer white and gold, moving like starlight poured into human shape. Her eyes—silver and hollow—stared not at the world around her, but at the mirrored projections spinning in the air. Ceremonial masks. Robes. Postures of obedience.
"She's being rehearsed," Kaelara murmured.
"For death," Niah said.
Tavin could hardly breathe. She didn't look divine. She looked contained.
Then — her movements slowed.
She paused, turning her head slightly. Her eyes flicked toward the upper archways. Just for a second.As if she'd felt something.As if she saw him.
Tavin froze.
Their eyes didn't meet directly, but something passed between them. A pulse beneath his skin. A ripple in the mirrored pool below her feet.
"...Do we have a plan?" he asked quietly.
"Get her out before the priests finish their rites," Kaelara said. "If she resonates, she's one of ours."
"And if she doesn't?"
Kaelara looked down again, then turned her face away. "Then we don't leave her to burn."
The Echo Closes:
High above, in a Lucian sanctum, a silver scroll unraveled. Light splintered across its surface.
"Third pulse confirmed," said a Luxant.
"The fracture is searching for the vessel."
"Permission to extract?"
The high priest's voice rang like crystal.
"No. Let them dance. Let the Gate open... let it feed our Lord…
Then sever it."