Night in Onité was never truly night. The sun, pale and distant, always shone on the horizon, but the light never reached the streets. Only the neon, cold and bluish, illuminated the faces of people who walked with the precision of puppets.
Ollum Der'Olth walked through one of those streets, his hands in his pockets, his white hair shining with its own light. The people, with porcelain masks and mirrored visors, moved out of his way without looking at him. Not out of respect. Out of indifference. In Orthid, no one cared about anyone.
Ollum liked that.
He thought of Olheita. The woman he loved. The woman who did not love him. The woman who, if he wanted, he could lock in his house, threaten, violate—but he didn't want to. He didn't want to because, if he did, she would cease to be Olheita. She would cease to be the woman who made him feel something—even if that something was only the frustration of not being able to have her.
'How do you make someone fall in love with you without resorting to force?'
The question echoed in his mind like a melody he couldn't forget. He knew the answer wasn't simple. He knew that, for most people, love was something that happened, not something that was planned. But Ollum was not most people.
'Perhaps, if I give her flowers...'
The Oséfery flower shop was one of the few in Onité that still sold living things. The flowers, in all the colors of the universe—blood-red, sky-blue, pure-gold, deep-purple—shone with a light that seemed to come from within. Ollum entered, chose five, and paid with a silver coin. The florist, a woman with a glass mask, didn't say a word. She just accepted the money and went back to staring at the void.
Ollum left, the flowers in his hand, and kept walking.
The "Oriundo Prazer" was a building of dark stone, with neon signs that flickered with a sickly light. Ollum entered, the smell of cheap perfume and sweat enveloping his senses. The women, with rabbit and fox masks, looked at him with empty eyes.
"Is Madame Uthuryar present?" he asked, his voice neutral.
The maid, a woman with short hair and a porcelain mask, hesitated.
"No," she replied, her voice trembling slightly. "Madame is not here."
Ollum smiled. A smile that didn't reach his eyes.
His hand moved before she could react. It pierced her skull as if it were made of mist, as if flesh and bone were merely an illusion. The maid didn't scream. She didn't have time. Her eyes just widened, and then... nothing.
The body fell to the floor with a dull thud.
Ollum wiped his hand on his tunic, as if he had touched something dirty.
"Stupid," he murmured. "Lying to me is the only thing that guarantees your death."
Another maid, who was passing by at that moment, looked at the body. Then, without a word, she averted her gaze and continued on her way. Her feet, shod in high-heeled shoes, stepped over the dead woman's arm as if it were a minor obstacle.
Ollum observed the scene with an indifference that was not feigned.
'Stupid,' he thought, of the dead maid. 'So stupid.'
He left the brothel. The Oséfery flowers, still in his hand, shone with the neon light.
He walked through narrow streets, flanked by buildings of dark stone that seemed to suck the light. People continued to pass, indifferent. A woman, with graying hair and a broken mask, stumbled in front of him. Ollum gave her a dry kick to the leg. She fell, trembled, and her eyes, visible through the mask, fixed on him with a fear he knew well.
He was going to cut something from her, as he had done with the maid who just died—perhaps fear, perhaps the ability to feel pleasure. But then her mask fell off, and he saw her face. It was beautiful. A beauty that didn't belong to Orthid. Especially the red eyes.
'A beauty that deserves to be preserved,' he thought, 'not destroyed.'
"Just for today," he murmured to himself, and let her go.
The woman got up and disappeared into the darkness of the streets, without looking back.
Ollum kept walking. His body was calm, but his mind was seething.
'Having someone killed just because she didn't want to sleep with me was stupid,' he thought, as he mentally saw the image of his father drooling over a picture of Dantella. 'But killing the brothel maid... that was necessary. She lied to me. And lying is the only thing I cannot tolerate.'
He realized, with a hint of irritation, that his father, Olthernyuhu, had not told him about the meeting at the tower. Had he forgotten? Or had it been intentional?
'Old fool,' he thought. 'If he died today, the only thing I would feel would be relief.'
He looked at the flowers. The petals, of a deep blue, shone with a light that seemed to come from within. He remembered Olheita. Her smile. Her dark hair. The way she looked at him—not with love, but with a sadness he didn't understand.
'Perhaps, if I give her these flowers, she will look at me differently.'
But he knew she wouldn't. He knew Olheita would never love him. He knew that, even if he gave her all the flowers in the universe, she would still be the woman who looked at him with sadness.
'At least she doesn't hate me,' he thought. 'That's more than most people feel for me.'
He thought of Zirinos. The prince of Z. The man with the power to judge gods. The man who, if they managed to recruit him, could change the course of the war.
'What does one say to such a man?' Ollum thought. '"Hello, prince of Z. My father, the patriarch of Orthid's ruling family, wants you to join us. We promise you power, riches, and the opportunity to kill your enemies."'
'No. That's not how you convince someone like Zirinos.'
'You need to offer him something more. Something he cannot refuse. Perhaps the promise of revenge. Perhaps the promise of power. Perhaps... the promise of redemption. But what redemption? He is perfect!'
'To make Zirinos join us, I need to know what he wants.'
Ollum sighed. He realized he didn't know what Zirinos wanted. He didn't know what moved him. He didn't know what made him get up in the morning.
'Perhaps it's better to leave that task to Olthum Oleara.'
The thought of Olthum brought him a slight sense of relief. His "friend" (if you could call someone who was under his orders a friend) was more competent than most. If anyone could convince Zirinos to cooperate, it was him.
The tower rose before him, immense, white as bone, so tall it seemed to pierce the sky. The walls, of marble so pure it seemed to emit its own light, shone with an intensity that blinded. Ollum stopped, his eyes fixed on the structure.
He was afraid.
It wasn't a fear that paralyzed him. It was a fear that reminded him that, despite all his power, there were still things greater than him. The tower controlled some of the planet's natural laws. If it were ever destroyed...
'The planet would stop rotating,' he thought. 'The sun would stop shining. And Orthid would plunge into darkness.'
The thought was so vast it almost made him step back. But he didn't step back.
He entered.
The cold hit him like a wall. The stone walls, covered in a thin layer of ice, reflected the bluish light that came from nowhere. The floor, smooth and shiny, echoed each step.
A servant, in white robes and a glass mask, approached.
"Good morning, Lord Der'Olth," he said, his voice neutral. "Did you cut anything today?"
It was a greeting. The question, which for anyone else would be macabre, for the citizens of Orthid was as natural as asking what you had for breakfast.
Ollum smiled. The smile, which didn't reach his eyes, was more disturbing than any threat.
"No," he lied. "I didn't cut anything."
The servant tilted his head.
"May you have many good cuts in the future," he said.
Ollum looked at the servant. His eyes, visible through the glass mask, were empty, like everyone else's.
"And you," Ollum said, his voice low. "Lose what you are. Lose your humanity. Lose your soul. And then, perhaps, you will cease to be so... insignificant."
The servant didn't respond. He just smiled, and the smile didn't reach his eyes.
'Interesting,' Ollum thought.
He advanced down the corridor. The enormous doors, of iron and bronze, rose before him. The light, once faint, was now blinding.
Ollum gripped the Oséfery flowers tighter. The petals, which once shone, now seemed paler, as if the cold of the tower were slowly killing them.
'Perhaps it's an omen,' he thought. 'Perhaps the flowers are dying because what I will find inside will kill any hope I still have with Olheita.'
The doors opened.
Ollum Der'Olth entered.