In Cairnreach, the moon had seemed to lower, almost as if it were on the verge of crashing into the kingdom.

  Seraphiel sat atop a hay bed, nervously picking at his nails.

  "Dinner's ready," a tender old woman—short of sight—called to him from downstairs.

  In Cairnreach, mimicking nobility by mutilating oneself was grounds for capital punishment, as only the Chosen were permitted to bear such a curse. This fragile and earnest old woman believed Seraphiel to be a foolish child and intended to harbour him in the inn to spare him from his fate, should he be seen pretending to be royal. Perhaps her poor eyesight rendered the truth invisible to her: that his eye was not damaged but instead looked as though a doll-maker had forgotten to sew on a button eye.

  "Eat up. This meal was three crowns—more than enough meat and bread for a growing boy like you."

  "Thank you," he replied solemnly. He had not yet adjusted to this frugal lifestyle.

  He looked up at the old woman's face and only then noticed the stress marks and fine lines etched deeply into her skin—clearly the result of grief and turmoil. Yet she still smiled, cheerful as ever. She did not hesitate to conceal a boy she believed to be a criminal worthy of execution, an act that itself was punishable by association.

  "When I was your age," she began, pouring water into both of their cups, "I worked in my father's carpentry business. He would bring my sister and me along on his trips, teaching us the family trade."

  Seraphiel struggled to maintain eye contact.

  "Then, on one harrowing day, we were working in the noble district of Termin. The nobles are cruel—we all know this," she said with a soft laugh, glancing up in search of a smile from Seraphiel.

  She cleared her throat.

  "While we were working, my father had an unfortunate workplace accident. He accidentally sawed off the top of his finger."

  "Naturally, we panicked. We looked around for anything—fabric, cloth, leaves—anything to stop the blood spurting from his hand."

  "But it was all to no avail. We couldn't find anything. He gestured for us to be quiet with his remaining fingers, but we—especially me—were in a frenzy. We were young and had never seen something so visceral."

  "I decided to get help. I ran to the owner of the house—a woman, probably middle-aged—and told her what had happened."

  "Her face went cold. She screamed for the other nobles in the house, and when they arrived, they saw my father's missing finger and my sister desperately trying to cover the wound with her own hand, blood soaking her palm red."

  "She walked toward them. I was relieved—I thought they understood the urgency of the situation. But my father looked strange. As if he were in disbelief. Or some kind of terror he hadn't yet had time to process."

  "She grabbed him by the hair and dragged him from the room."

  "'How dare you,' she shouted. 'We know what was really going on here. You've seen our luxuries and want to be seen as noble yourselves.'"

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  "She then looked at my sister—guilty by association for trying to stop the bleeding—and seized her by the arm, dragging her out as she pleaded for me to help her."

  "I froze. I couldn't move."

  "It was only then that I realized I was the cause of it all. In my frenzy, I had ignored my father's order for silence and instead rushed to do what I wanted."

  "A young man walked up to me, knelt down, put his hand on my shoulder, and said, 'You did your duty well. The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb. We all have a function we were chosen for in Cairnreach, even the commoners.'"

  "He patted my head and stood up before grabbing my hand and taking me into his care."

  "For a long time—until I was about seventeen—I lived in that house in Termin. I was barred to a solitary room, which he said was for my protection, and which I believed. I was functionally in solitary confinement, given meals, random toys, etcetera, until I was old enough to leave."

  "My time there was a punishment for my sin, indirectly. All I had were my thoughts in that room, and the look of fear on my father's face, and the innocent image of my sister covering his wound."

  "She looked up in relief, such a pure face"

  She began to cry.

  "I had gotten them killed and then was commended by those who conducted the execution."

  "I'm sorry," she quickly added before blowing her nose and getting up abruptly.

  Seraphiel was also crying, though she could not see. Perhaps she felt awkward, as his silence was interpreted as disinterest.

  She ran into another room.

  After finishing his meal, Seraphiel got up and peeked through the edge of the door He saw the woman sawing a piece of wood—hastily, without pause, for no apparent reason. Perhaps this was her reliving her past, telling herself a different ending.

  He felt sinful for watching and returned to his hay bed, staring up at the roof's window hatch.

  "I should probably say something to her—not right now, but tomorrow—just to offer some sort of comfort," he resolved.

  He drifted off into a deep slumber.

  The air was cold and crisp. The moons light illuminated his dreams. Glass shattered from above. Men wearing black masks grabbed him and retreated upward with a rope.

  Seraphiel struggled immensely—another kidnapping. He couldn't believe his misfortune and attributed it to being a royal in the commoner district. He drew back his hand and launched his fist into the eye socket of one of the men.

  "Argh, you dolt!" the man retaliated as his mask grew damp with saliva from shouting.

  It was Ryo—though, of course, Seraphiel had no clue about the power of that name.

  Ryo headbutted him on the bridge of the nose. Seraphiel felt a sharp sting; his ears rang, his eye teared up, and his face tensed, about to sneeze—which he did.

  Fortunately for Seraphiel, Ryo was a hypochondriac and let go of him while screeching like a prepubescent child. His men laughed and pointed.

  "Boss, there must be a little girl watching us. There can't be any witnesses," they jested.

  Ryo was a man of valour. He could not be humiliated by a child. He unsheathed his blade and raised it over his head.

  "Boss, wait—we need him!" one of the men cried out.

  Seraphiel produced a card and shielded himself with it.

  Ryo stopped, confused by this strange defence, and reached for the card.

  Seraphiel pulled back.

  The card tore.

  The men all looked up in foreboding.

  They looked toward the moon.

  The moon had been replaced with an eye—the same one on the card—and it stared directly at them.

  Seraphiel turned to see what had caught their attention and saw nothing—only snowy rooftops and the moon, perhaps lower than usual.

  A hand emerged through the floor as though it were liquid. Seraphiel could see that much. It seized one of the men by the leg and dragged him under as he gurgled on something unseen.

  Seraphiel fell over himself, crawling away in absolute terror.

  He could no longer see the hand, or the man, or the men.

  His vision was breaking. Then they reappeared one man now missing, a finger distorted in space.

  A man fell over face to face with Seraphiel.

  Looking into his eye, Seraphiel realized it was looking back at something else.