"Throughout Arial’s history, the final sacrifice of an immortal ruler from the line of Amaranth was considered inevitable. In truth, it was seen as essential — a necessary break from the old, illegitimate order and the beginning of total human ascendancy. But events did not unfold as expected."

  Excerpt from Response to the Tramic Essence, written by Y.K. of Miragilde, known as the Benefactor, agent of His Majesty the Emperor of Santis Celestia.

  Darkness slowly filled the study's room, swallowing the face of the next victim. I reviewed the final lines of my mission, aware that once it was complete, nothing would remain the same.

  Then I heard Athanasius approaching. He would not see me — I was certain of that. No one ever did unless I allowed it. And this was no moment to risk catastrophe.

  I sat cross-legged beside the fireplace beneath the window, where I had a clear view of the door. I had already witnessed the ritual’s final preparations.

  The servants were all occupied the first part of the day in the domain and the tower. And the future sacrificed were brought since noon.

  Athanasius reached the top of the narrow tower stairs, breathless. He paused to steady himself before stepping deeper into the gloom. Without hesitation, he opened the door. Athanasius was a stocky, slightly paunchy man with salt and pepper hair. With light blue eyes, he was considered a beauty ideal in Arial at that time and had absolute success with the female gender. But, he only considered himself as lucky and humorous man with political talent.

  And obviously, if we disregard the fact that he was one of the few immortals to sit on the Council of Five.

  Outside, a clumsy bird tapped its beak against the glass before fluttering away with a shrill cry. Shouts echoed from beyond the private quarters. Prayers and incantations seemed to hum throughout the Necromancer’s tower — or perhaps it was only my imagination, strained by the moment.

  Then silence returned.

  A voice broke through it. Hoarse and severe.

  “Athanasius, are you certain about this?”

  Damn it. Couldn’t he have announced himself ?

  Rhodo rose slowly into the gray light. Tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair and black eyes, his pale skin contrasted sharply with robes as dark as his gaze. Everything about him radiated quiet ferocity and unwavering confidence. He did not merely look at Athanasius — he seemed to pierce straight through him.

  “Yes. The ritual will take place tomorrow morning, at dawn,” Athanasius replied, managing to keep his voice steady. He seemed rather pleased with himself.

  I had already knew his presence, though he remained unaware of mine. At times, I felt his gaze sweep the room in my direction. Perhaps it was only habit or hazard.

  Athanasius eventually broke eye contact and composed himself. There was no turning back for him now.

  He approached the unconscious young man. The poor mortal was restrained, wrists and ankles bound to the metal frame of the bed. Half-asleep, likely drugged, he remained unresponsive.

  “Most people will want to see you when you wake… and then there’s your brother—”

  “My brother has nothing to do with this,” Athanasius snapped.

  The boy stirred briefly before sinking back into unconsciousness.

  “What a waste,” Rhodo said calmly. “A boy like him would have been just as useful dead as alive.”

  Athanasius spat on the floor and glared at him. The necromancer continued without concern.

  “Myosotis will attend the ritual. Do you not trust me?

  Only a fool would trust you, he wanted to snapped.

  “Yes. And he won’t be the only one there — as far as you know. Priests of the Hight-Temple will prepare the ritual and they all be witness of it.”

  Athanasius took the boy’s hand again. It was ice cold. Naked and exposed, he had no comfort, no protection. Until now, no one had seemed to care.

  “Why is he freezing? He could die from the cold. Have you no sense? And why is he naked?”

  The other immortal offered no reply. Instead, he turned toward the door.

  A dead woman entered, carrying with her the faint scent of decay. In her hands, a blanket and an oil lamp. She could not have been dead for long. The boy was covered, wood was added to the fire, and warmth gradually returned to the room. In the growing light, color began to rise in his face. The remaining light revealed patches of dust in the room. The furniture was old and worn. And the cold gravel beneath me attacked my legs and my backside.

  Finally, Rhodo spoke again.

  “He will need to be cleaned after the ritual. The clothes would only be ruined. You asked me to keep him alive — nothing more. I am already doing you a considerable favor.”

  Athanasius took the remark as a veiled threat.

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  He sees me as inferior.

  He stared at the door, hesitated, then turned back toward the bed.

  If only I had inherited such power, I would never have to distrust anyone again.

  Rhodo was far older than he was and held nearly half the City under his influence. People did not simply fear death — they feared dying only to remain enslaved.

  Athanasius had not been so fortunate. His immortality had granted him little more than a modest ability to influence minds, and even that worked only sporadically. Its reach was limited, and he often cursed the Frame for denying him a greater gift. Decades of practice had earned him persuasive skill and a place among legends, but true authority had eluded him. His influence among mortals depended largely on fragile familial and economic alliances.

  His brother, by contrast, possessed far greater power and had cultivated it carefully. Had it not been for his own reckless behavior, Athanasius believed they would already rule the entire City. Now, this was his final opportunity.

  Rhodo could alter his appearance at will — repeatedly, without explanation. Athanasius assumed it must be linked to his abilities. The reasons did not matter; only the outcome did.

  Athanasius inhaled deeply, unwilling to dwell any longer on his fate.

  In silence, he prayed to anyone who might still be listening for one final chance.

  He took the condemned man’s hand once more.

  “When will he wake?”

  “I administered sea serpent venom. He can likely hear us, but he cannot move.”

  “Really?” Athanasius asked skeptically.

  "You know perfectly how the sea snake venom work, don't pretend otherwise..."

  Athanasius did not respond anything like he did not heard.

  He remained standing, unwilling to lower himself to the mortal’s level.

  “How are your wife and daughters, by the way?”

  Rhodo's eyes gleamed with a cold intensity. Athanasius sensed the tension but forced a smile.

  Footsteps approached the door — unmistakably alive. The oldest of Arial’s immortals entered without knocking. He had been summoned.

  “Bernos. You kept me waiting,” Athanasius remarked in tension - he didn't like being alone in the presence of the other one.

  The old man’s pale complexion, silvering hair, and short, unkempt beard contrasted with the lively sparkle in his blue eyes. Despite his apparent age, he moved with surprising lightness.

  “Myosotis warned me,” Bernos said quietly. “He have explained me everything.”

  My idiot brother could never keep quiet. He had to restrain himself from wincing.

  “And what did he tell you?” the immortal asked nonchalantly.

  Bernos turned toward Rhodo, nodded slightly, and approached the bed where the man still appeared to be asleep.

  “There is no need for any sacrifice. All the blessings you seek will be granted in due time.”

  “What does that mean?”

  I have been waiting for a sign for one hundred and fifty years now, you senile old man.

  Bernos opened his mouth, then closed it again, uncertain. He coughed before finally speaking.

  “Everything has already been said."

  Even if Myosotis wasn't willing for it, it would not change anything.

  Myosotis is never there when I need him, he thought.

  Athanasius began to lose patience. He wanted to resort to violence to force the old man to speak, but there were too many witnesses — in truth, Rhodo was the only one present (not counting me) yet Athanasius was deeply attached to propriety. The laws forbade any form of violence between immortals, as well as any coercion directed toward one of their own.

  You shall not kill or coerce your equal, lest you yourself be coerced and killed.

  Bringing about the death of an immortal, or even attempting it, meant one would in turn die irrevocably. This rule had been inscribed by him upon the Common Pediment he had established. Naturally, the law did not extend to mortals, such as the unconscious man lying before them.

  “My decision is made,” he declared. “Every decision I have ever taken has served the same purpose: to serve this City and restore its former glory.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Rhodo’s contemptuous smirk. He pretended not to see it, but I missed nothing.

  “Besides, I fail to see what I truly risk. If some unforeseen and dreadful accident were to befall me, the entire City would learn of it, and the consequences would be severe. You understand that, don’t you, Bernos?”

  “Yes, I understand,” Bernos stammered. Though he addressed Athanasius, his gaze remained fixed on Rhodo. “If your mind is truly made up…” The old man appeared feverish, uncertain.

  What happens now ?

  Yet Bernos continued speaking.

  “It is already dark; we should not remain here any longer. Rhodo is leaving a witness behind. It would be wiser to avoid any possible incident. May the night bring us counsel.”

  This old man plays the innocent, yet everyone knows what he has done, he finally thought.

  He could not help but feel disgust. It was the one quality Myosotis appreciated in him, though often for the wrong reasons. His thoughts drifted suddenly to his brother, and then to Calice. Since his announcement, she had withdrawn into a strange, unsettling silence.

  He swallowed his private reflections and resumed observing the woman’s corpse before turning his attention back to the sleeping man. He was not tired, yet exhaustion weighed on him. Rhodo once again faded into the background, watching in silence.

  It was time to leave.

  Bernos turned toward the door, allowing Athanasius to go first. I continued watching the sleeping man before finally leaving the room shortly before midnight, when no one else remained. Outside, the air was cool, and misty shadows gathered around the Tower. In the darkness, it resembled a sordid place, a dungeon that was undoubtedly unsafe.

  I leaned against a wall near Athanasius' domain and opened my notebook. One hour and half remained before the signing of the Pact with the mortal. The two moons were nearly aligned that evening. I lay down, a round coin resting in my palm, hidden from view as I waited for the moment of perfect alignment.

  As the Narrator of this story chosen by the Frame herself , it is my duty to clearly clarify something now : this story is already finished but no one knows it yet.

  My mission is simply to prevent it from being rushed and arbitrary, and to narrate it of course.

  Thank you for reading the first chapter of my first webnovel...