[Your memory: Mask of Glass, has met the requirements and has been updated.]
'Oh? So that useless thing finally has some use?' Asteria puffed her cheeks, a small, involuntary gesture of defiance against the overwhelming pressure of the room. It was the only way she knew how to keep from screaming.
She closed her eyes for a split second, letting the runes manifest.
Memory: [Mask of Glass]
Memory Rank: Sacred
'HAH? SACRED?! WHAT?!' Asteria's internal scream was louder than the glass harps. In the world of memories, Sacred was a tier that defied logic. As she read the updated description, she felt a cold shiver that had nothing to do with the drafty ballroom.
Memory Tier: I
Memory Type: Tool
Memory Description: ["Once, there lived a Queen who reigned over a horizon of shimmering prosperity. She was a creature of greed. She was cowardly, gluttonous, and hollow. Dissatisfied with the boundaries of flesh, she turned her gaze toward the stars and craved the weight of divinity.
This Queen wished to become a God.
The lonely Queen worshipped the -Unknown-, begging for an eternal dream.
The -Unknown- listened, and thus she sacrificed her kingdom to the malevolent hunger.
This shameful worshipper offered her kingdom as tinder to the forge. Millions of souls – her subjects – were fed into the bottomless hunger so that she might ascend.
Now, she slumbers within a delusion of glory, a self-made goddess reigning over a graveyard made of the light she once offered.
Consumed by corruption within her delusional glory, she died shortly after, leaving this mask attached to the statue of her corpse.
This mask was carved from the Queen's face and her failure. This mask contains the terror, agony, pain and the last wishes of those sacrificed. It is the testament of a world sacrificed for a foolish dream."]
'Wow... that's... honestly really sad,' Asteria thought, her heart twingeful. But as she scanned the enchantments, the pity turned back into sharp pragmatism.
Memory Enchantments: [Monarch's Worship], [Subjects Agony], [Reflective Beauty]
[Monarch's Worship]: "The wearer of this mask will find their primary desires and raw emotions magnified, inflating them until they become the dominant force of their reality, turning fleeting whims into world-altering compulsions."
[Subject's Agony]: "The mask is saturated with the final, frantic moments of the kingdom's demise. It imbues the wearer with the collective agony and abyssal terror of the millions who perished to create it. Those of weak spirit will find their minds assaulted, potentially succumbing to the same madness that birthed the foolish Queen."
[Reflective Beauty]: "You can see the beauty within the charred remains and smoke of the ruined world; though, seeing the beauty within the horror leaves the wearer enamored and reluctant to remove this mask."
'So, if I wear this mask, I go mad, feel the pain of a million dead people, and then I don't even want to take it off because I've fallen in love with the chaos?' She shifted her gaze to Valerius, then to the glowing, divine silhouette of Queen Halesia. 'Who would willingly wear this? They're both lunatics, but even they wouldn't... right?'
A dangerous, thin smile crept onto her face. If the world was going to be this insane, she might as well be the sharpest shard in the pile.
"Asteria," Valerius's voice broke through her reverie. He didn't look at her; he was still nodding politely to a passing noble, but his tone was urgent. "You whispered that she saw everything. Explain. Now."
"She asked me why I smell of corruption," Asteria murmured back, her lips barely moving.
Valerius's hand tightened on her arm – not enough to hurt, but enough to signal a warning. "Stay calm. If she wanted you dead, you would be so already."
He led her toward the long banquet tables that had appeared as if grown from the floor itself. The surface was a single slab of milky quartz, and the chairs were high-backed thrones of etched glass. They were seated among the Lords – Those same, terrifying transcendents.
Asteria found herself sitting across from Lord Kaelen, a man whose skin looked like burnished bronze and whose eyes hummed with a low, vibrating hum of power. To his left was Lady Myra, whose hair seemed to be made of actual silver threads that moved independently.
The food was laid out with impossible timing. Plates of iridescent fish that tasted like summer rain; meats marinated that made her veins tingle; and towers of glass that looked as if they'd break if you looked at them without manners.
Asteria picked up a silver fork, but her hands felt heavy. She played with a piece of glazed nectar-fruit, pushing it around the delicate porcelain. Despite her usual void of hunger, her stomach was a knot of iron.
"You aren't eating, Lady Asteria," Lady Myra remarked, her voice like wind chimes. "Is the fare of the palace too rich for you?"
"I'm merely overwhelmed by the... hospitality," Asteria replied, forcing a polite tone that tasted like ash.
"It is a rugged place, where we are from." Valerius chimed in, smoothly intercepting the jab. "They prefer their sustenance hard-won. My lady is used to the hunt, not the feast."
"A hunter in a ballroom," Lord Kaelen mused, his voice a deep bass that vibrated through the table. "How... unconventional. Tell me, child, what do you think of Her Majesty? Most find her presence quite... intoxicating."
Asteria looked up. At the head of the table, Queen Halesia sat. She wasn't eating. She was watching the room, a glass of shimmering blue wine held between two slender fingers.
Now that Asteria was sitting still, the feeling of worship began to fade, replaced by the cold analysis of her [Glass Eyes]. Away from the initial shock of the Supreme's entry, she could see the truth. The Queen was cold. Not just distant, but fundamentally frozen. The "warmth" that radiated from her was a projection – a spiritual heater designed to keep the subjects docile.
Beneath the living moonlight of her skin, Halesia looked lonely. And bored. Deeply, dangerously bored. She was a woman who had lived a thousand years in a single day, and the only thing that could move her was a new kind of ruin.
"She is... the complete opposite of what I expected," Asteria said, her voice quiet.
"Oh?" Kaelen raised an eyebrow.
"She is a sun," Asteria continued, looking Kaelen dead in the eyes. "But even the sun is cold if you're far enough away. She's very beautiful. And very, very empty."
The table went silent. Valerius let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-strangled gasp. Lady Myra froze. Lord Kaelen stared at Asteria for a long beat, then let out a booming laugh that shook the quartz table.
"By the Gods! Valerius, you didn't bring just any partner! You brought a philosopher!"
The feast ended with a sudden, discordant note from the glass harps.
With a shimmer of essence, the long tables and heavy chairs dissolved back into the floor, leaving a vast, empty expanse of indigo velvet. The room felt even larger now, the bioluminescent clouds above swirling with a more frantic energy as the festivities shifted.
Valerius stood, brushing a non-existent crumb from his sleeve. His usual confidence seemed to have suffered a minor fracture. He looked at Asteria, then looked away, his face twisting into something uncharacteristically sheepish.
Asteria blinked. 'Wait... is he nervous?'
The "Cunning Master," the man who had dragged her from the pits and blackmailed her into his revolution, was sneaking glances at her like a stable boy at a village fair. In the dim light, he looked almost... cute. It was a bizarre thought, one she immediately tried to stomp out, but the way he adjusted his cuffs and avoided her eyes was undeniably meek.
"The music has started," he said, his voice a bit higher than usual. He cleared his throat, finally extending a hand, though he refused to meet her gaze directly. "And as your escort of this... distraction, I am expected to ask a dance with you..."
Asteria looked at his outstretched hand, then back at his face. He looked absolutely out of his element, a stark contrast to the predator who had torn an arm off a statue just to watch her eat it.
"I told you," Asteria whispered, a small smirk playing on her lips. "I don't know how to dance."
"I'll lead," he muttered, finally catching her eye with a look of desperate pleading. "Just don't step on my boots."
Asteria accepted his hand, her fingers small against his. As he began to lead her toward the center of the floor, the chairs vanished completely, and the Queen stood up from her throne, her blue eyes tracking them with a predatory glint.