At first, it was disorienting. Eventually, it became useful.
It meant I wasn’t trapped in repetition. I wasn’t condemned to eternal night in my domain, or locked into a single rhythm that enemies could anticipate. I learned the cadence by observation. The sun rose and fell along the same path every day, but that path itself was wrong—wrong by Earth’s standards. Here, the sun climbed from the south and drifted northward, tracing a slanted arc across the sky that felt subtle until you really looked for it.
Seasons were even stranger.
Borders didn’t obey climate. One king’s territory could sit in perpetual summer, crops ripening endlessly beneath warm skies, while a neighboring kingdom lay buried under snowfall that piled feet high by the hour. Climate here wasn’t planetary—it was localized, claimed.
I lay stretched across the roof of an eighth-ring building, stone cold beneath me, watching the final light drain from the sky. My stream had been dead silent since I entered the dungeon. No watchers. No audience. Just me and the city after that ominous warning.
From up here, Solomir looked almost peaceful.
The sun slipped farther north, cresting behind the peak of the mountain said to house the god of Solomir—whatever divinity Alaric claimed communion with. For a brief moment, the light caught the stone and banners alike, turning white fabric gold and red dye almost black. Then it vanished, swallowed by the mountain’s spine, and the city surrendered to night.
If anyone had been watching, I knew they would have called it beautiful.
Even in this kingdom—this staged, cruel, meticulously engineered place—there was still beauty. That was the most unsettling part.
Our king of sunsets, Archivolt might have said, if she were here.
The thought almost made me smile.
Fatigue dragged at my limbs, the kind that sank deeper than muscle. Disorientation lingered too—not from the flight, not from the transformation, but from everything that had happened since I stepped into that dungeon. I couldn’t afford to stay like this. Not now. Not with a banquet looming like a blade over my neck.
I pushed myself up from the roof and moved carefully, mindful of sound, of silhouette. The streets below were calmer now, lanterns of magical light casting warm halos against stone. I checked my clothing after I descended—no tears, no stains, nothing out of place. Presentable. Diplomatic.
Once on the main thoroughfare, I slowed my pace deliberately.
I wandered instead of rushing. Paused at shop windows. Let myself be seen. Let it look like I had been here the whole time. That I hadn’t vanished. That nothing about my absence was unusual.
Normal, I told myself. Be normal.
As I made my way back toward the villa, that feeling came again.
Eyes on my back.
Not the distant awareness of watchers. Not the casual glances of citizens. This was heavier. Focused. Intentional. The sensation crept along my spine, predatory and precise.
I stopped in the middle of the street.
People flowed around me without comment, splitting naturally as water does around a stone in a river. Hands in my pockets, posture relaxed, I waited.
“You have quite a lot of confidence in your personal safety, King Kyris.”
The voice came from inches behind me—cold, silvery, and controlled.
I didn’t turn.
“Well,” I replied evenly, “I was assured peaceful interaction here in the city. After that last announcement, I’m beginning to think that wasn’t all it was talked up to be.”
A presence moved around me then stepped into my line of sight.
The Cleric King met my gaze without hesitation, his expression serene, unreadable. Not a hair out of place. Not a flicker of tension.
“My city is perfectly safe for all of you,” he said smoothly. “The issue with Redmoon is merely coincidental to our gathering. I can assure you, he was not on the guest list of visiting kings.”
The lie slid out effortlessly.
“I had scouts report conflict among his tribes,” he continued, unfazed. “Displacement. Collapse. Many fled the marshlands and eventually found their way here. Of course, I graciously allowed them refuge. Who could turn away those in need?”
I kept my face neutral.
“Hm,” I said. “Of course. Benevolence seems to be a cornerstone of your rule.”
Something unreadable flickered behind his eyes, then vanished.
“We should continue to the banquet,” Alaric said, already stepping past me. “It wouldn’t do for me to be late in my own kingdom.”
He walked ahead, untouched by the crowd.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
Not a single citizen acknowledged him.
They parted instinctively, quietly, as though compelled by an invisible force. No bows. No stares. Just absence—space made for him without conscious thought.
I followed at a distance, my mind racing despite myself.
No fanfare.
No honor guard.
He had just appeared behind me.
Alaric walked his own streets like a ghost—unannounced, unchallenged, unseen by the people who lived and died beneath his rule. No one reacted. No one bowed. No one even looked afraid. They simply moved aside, as if the city itself knew where he intended to go and cleared the way for him.
Had he been watching me?
The thought lodged deep and refused to come loose. Had he seen me on the roof? Had he known I was there, lying in the open with my stream dead and my guard down? Or worse—had he known where I’d been before that?
The dungeon.
My stomach tightened.
Was that encounter coincidence, or confirmation? A warning? A test? Or just a reminder that no matter how carefully I moved, this was still his kingdom—and I was walking through it on his grace.
I forced myself to breathe. Slow. Even.
Spiraling wouldn’t help. Paranoia was exactly how mistakes were made, and mistakes were how kings died. Alaric thrived on pressure and uncertainty. If he wanted me unsettled, I wasn’t going to hand him the satisfaction.
Ground yourself.
You’re not trapped. You weren’t confronted. He didn’t accuse you of anything. If he knew, this would have gone very differently.
That realization steadied me more than anything else.
If Alaric truly knew what I’d done, I wouldn’t be walking freely through lamplit streets right now. There would have been ceremony. Pageantry. A public lesson.
No—whatever that encounter had been, it wasn’t the end of the game.
Yet.
I straightened my posture, slowed my pace, and continued toward the villa as though nothing was amiss. Let the staff see me return calmly. Let the streets remember me as unhurried. Let the story remain unfinished.
I could unravel later.
For now, I had a banquet to attend.
Back at the villa, controlled chaos reigned. Staff hurried from room to room, voices low but urgent as final preparations were made. When I stepped into the circular drive, three silvered carriages waited beneath lanternlight, each drawn by a matched pair of white stallions. Immaculate. Symbolic. Excessive.
A servant rushed toward me, breathless but disciplined.
“My lord Kyris,” they said, forcing composure. “Mayhaps have you seen or heard from King Lucen or Queen Thalienne while you were about the city?”
That caught my attention.
“I haven’t,” I answered honestly. “Did they leave the villa together?”
“No, my lord. Queen Thalienne was observed departing first. King Lucen followed shortly after. I’ve sent word to the Eighth Ring Captain of the Guard to redirect them if found.” A pause, then a practiced smile. “But that is not a concern you should trouble yourself with. Please—this way to your valet.”
I was guided to the second carriage.
Relief washed through me when the door opened and I saw Scott already seated inside. The instant I stepped in and the door shut behind me, he turned, eyes hard.
The look on his face said everything.
{direct message} [Thalos]: What the hell, man?
{direct message} [Kyris]: Yeah, I’m sorry about that, man.
I keep my tone neutral as I say it, my gaze fixed on the small brass lantern swinging gently from the carriage ceiling. Outside, Solomir slides past in orderly, torchlit avenues—stone facades immaculate even at night.
Out loud, carefully, I fill the silence between our private thoughts.
“How was your day in the city?”
Scott leans back against the cushioned bench, one arm draped casually along the carriage wall. He smiles easily for anyone who might be listening through unseen means, the picture of a relaxed king enjoying hospitality.
“Oh man, you know. Enjoying the food, the alcohol, the entertainment.”
He shrugs theatrically. “Hard not to, with this kind of treatment.”
{direct message} [Thalos]: You’ve been silent for hours. Every king here at the summit had their streams cut right after that announcement. The only one still live is Alaric. Victor’s watching it now—making sure everything’s still… stable.
My jaw tightens for half a heartbeat before I force it to relax.
“So,” I say casually, glancing out the window as the carriage turns, “what do you think about that message about Redmoon?”
{direct message} [Kyris]: I don’t want to DM too much right now, but yes. I was involved in the Redmoon thing. I’ll have to bring you and Victor up to speed in the waking world.
Scott exhales through his nose, the sound half-laugh, half-consideration.
“Sounds like he finally got caught,” he says aloud. “The scouts I had watching the marshes never found any trace of him.”
{direct message} [Thalos]: Well that’s ominous as hell. You sure things are still good? Should we even be attending this banquet, or are we logging out and waking up back at home base as fast as possible?
“Hm,” I murmur publicly, tilting my head as if weighing the rumor. “Guess that means it really did come out of nowhere.”
{direct message} [Kyris]: Not yet. I need to see how the banquet goes. I met Alaric earlier—well, he met me. He didn’t act like he thought I had anything to do with it. If we run now, that’s basically us admitting fault.
Scott nods slowly, fingers drumming once against his knee—an idle gesture, but I know him well enough to recognize the restraint behind it.
“Yeah, that whole thing shook everyone,” he says aloud. “Streams going dark all at once? Don’t know what to make of that.”
{direct message} [Thalos]: Alright. I’ve got things to go over too—but we’ll wait until we’re face to face. We should mingle tonight. Learn what we can.
Scott shifts forward, rolling his shoulders subtly, and gestures with his chin toward the empty space across from us.
“Looks like four seats in here,” he says. “Guess we’re picking up the other six royals at the second estate.”
His grin widens, easy and disarming.
“Ready to make some new friends?”
I snort quietly, rubbing my thumb against the ring on my hand.
“As long as I don’t have to fight any of them the moment we meet,” I reply. “Yeah. I’m game.”
The carriage lurches slightly as it turns, horses snorting in unison before settling into a steady rhythm. Lanternlight flickers across polished wood and silver trim, and for a brief moment, everything looks almost normal.
I lean back and let the motion carry me, forcing the tension to coil tighter, smaller—contained.
The dread doesn’t leave. It never does anymore. All I can is push it to the back of my mind and keep playing the part.
The sword of Damocles hangs overhead, invisible but undeniable, and every choice I make feels like it frays the rope a little more.