The Main Quarter swarmed with every Mongrel in the Veil, over two hundred of us herded into categories, with King’s Guards surrounding the square. The air was thick with heat and fear, smelling like salt and body odor. Sweat slicked off our skin as the guards separated those between ten and thirty-five years of age into one side of the square, while the younger children and those over thirty-five were pushed to the other. 

Cyrus and I clung to each other’s hands, determined not to be torn apart in the chaos. On our side, the guards forced us into lines: those aged ten to fifteen in the first row, sixteen to twenty-five in the second, and twenty-six to thirty-five in the third. We were cornered, pressed in by the sheer force of authority.

In the center of the square, a dozen more King’s Guards stood vigilant around the newly constructed wooden platform. Captain Gorvyn, imposing in his armor, unfurled a scroll marked with the King’s insignia– a bright yellow crest with a bold “V” at the center, entwined with purple vines.

“By order of King Varek,” Gorvyn’s voice boomed across the square, “The remaining Mongrels between the ages of ten and thirty-five shall be brought before his Majesty, in chains, to demonstrate their abilities. His Majesty requires your service to quell recent unrest. You will swear a blood oath–”

His words were cut off by the rising tide of panic. Whispers, tinged with fear, rippled through the crowd, growing louder as they mingled with the anxious sweat and heat of the day. My grip on Cyrus’s hand tightened. I was ready to bolt, but Gorvyn’s thundering command halted anyone’s thoughts of escape.

“SILENCE!” he roared. “Any who do not present themselves before the King and swear the oath will be branded as traitors and sentenced to death by flogging!”

The announcement shattered any remaining composure from the crowd. Chaos erupted as families rushed to each other, desperate to cling to what little they had left. They’re screams for their loved ones turned into screams of pain as the guards deployed their abilities, dropping Mongrels like flies. My vision blurred and my hearing grew muffled from my own fear.

I looked across the crowd, scanning with wide eyes for Serf Seraphiel. His blue gaze met mine, and I silently pleaded for a sign, a clue to what we should do– but his expression mirrored my own panic. My palms grew clammy, and my body started trembling uncontrollably as I realized he had no answer.

There has to be a way out– there was always a way out.

…Right?

I looked up to Cy, searching him for an answer, but he just looked at me with the same, horrified expression. We were surrounded by King’s Guards. Escape was impossible.

The guards moved in, dragging Mongrels from the crowd and clamping heavy silver cuffs around their wrists. Some of them tried to fight, only for the power of the brand to be used against them, forcing them into submission. The power imbalance was glaring and absolute.

Cy’s hand tightened around mine, unwilling to let go as one of the guards approached us– the guard’s eyes piercing an unnatural purple that sent shivers down my spine. My anxiety spiked, my breath catching in my throat as the feeling of unconsciousness creeped closer.

“You’re way out of this is right here… I could easily get you and Cyrus to safety.” Kako’s voice slithered in my mind.

I glanced at Cyrus, desperation in my eyes. “We could use Kako, right now,” I whispered urgently. “We can get out–”

“No, Nemmi,” he whispered back, his voice strained. “It’s too dangerous. Father always says full Celestial Demons are unpredictable. He could end up killing everyone here.”

“If full Celestial’s take a blood oath and break it, we die.” Kako insisted. “If I die, you do too. You cannot swear an oath of loyalty to him.”

My heart pounded in my ears, and I gnawed at my throat trying to breathe. “Cy, I have to-”

“No,” Cy interrupted, his eyes locking with mine, intense and pleading “He is not some savior, he is a manipulative demon, Nemmi. Remember that.”

“If I swear the oath, Kako-” I started, but Cyrus quickly shushed me as the Guard drew nearer. We couldn’t risk him overhearing. I bit my lip, my anxiety coming back ten-fold. 

There is no way out.

“Stay calm, Nemmi,” Cyrus said, his voice steady, “I’m right here.” As the guard reached us, Cy straightened, releasing my hand and extending his arms willingly. His brown blouse, torn and stained from his brutal punishment, exposed the scars that served a grim reminder of resistance.

Trembling, I followed his lead, holding out my arms as the guard cuffed me. The cold metal bit into my skin as we were dragged forward, our chains linked together with a heavy rope, binding us to the others in our age group.

This is a death sentence.

The throne room was vast, its walls adorned with symbols in vibrant yellow and purple. Gold streaked along the edges, catching the light in a way that made the room seem both majestic and suffocating. A massive chandelier, its crystals glinting, hung from the ceiling, and the carpet beneath our feet was woven with the same gold threads. Behind the King’s throne, a large tapestry displayed his crest, the bright colors a stark contrast to the decay of the Veil district. The scent of roses permeated the air, a cruel reminder of the luxury and power those outside our walls could afford.

King Varek sat on his golden throne, with red cushions providing him comfort, surrounded by his guards. His hair, brown and loosely braided, framed a face that was deceptively youthful for someone so old. His deep brown eyes, almost black, held a coldness that matched the rest of him. He was thin, but his presence was imposing, like a coiled serpent waiting to strike.

The children were brought forward first, one by one. Each was forced to declare their ability and swear a blood oath of loyalty. Gorvyn cut into their palms, their blood dripping into a decorated chalice. The King drank from it after each child, sealing their fates. Their cries echoed off the walls as they were dragged away to be trained for whatever roles the King saw fit.

The blood oath was designed to manifest a mark of treachery upon the face of Mongrels who dared to break it. This mark served as a signal to the King’s Guards, authorizing them to put the traitor to death.

“I ha-ave p-prophecy, your M-m-majesty,” a young girl stammered, trembling as she bowed. She was the smallest and the last of her group, her clothes hanging off her in loose folds, likely handed down from a sibling or a friend. Her long, black hair framed her pale face, making her look even more fragile.

“A Prophetess,” the king mused, leaning forward with interest. “Show me.”

The girl lifted her head, revealing eyes that were milky white, devoid of pupils. “I…. I am not v-very good at it yet, your Majesty,” she admitted, her voice as soft as she looked. “I don’t know h-how to control–”

“Cut her hand,” the King motioned to Gorvyn, his voice cold. “Pain tends to make the prophetic ones see clearer.”

She started to step back at his words, stumbling over her own feet in the process. She had managed to catch herself, but her body language indicated she must have been blind. She had no clue where to retreat from.

Gorvyn complied without hesitation, slicing into her hand. She cried out, the sound reverberating off the walls, as he held her hand over the chalice. Suddenly, her body went limp, her head rolling back as she hung from Gorvyn’s grip.

“Someone in this room is the child of a Celestial prophecy,” she said, her voice suddenly calm and eerie. The King’s eyes narrowed, staring intently at the girl before him. “This child is destined to bridge a divide, but at a great cost…. darkness, bloodshed… an Original… a portion blackened forever... for when one is far away from the gray line that separates good and evil, it is easy to discern right from wrong; but the closer one gets to that line, the bigger that gray becomes.”

She blinked slowly, as if she was opening her eyes for the first time.

King Varek’s expression darkened. “She will work directly for me. Put her under stress training. Ensure her visions are whole, and not just pieces of broken glass.”

“Say the blood oath,” Gorvyn sneered.

The girl hesitated, but then tightly shut her eyes and let the words flow. “I-I, Miriam Moonseer, do hereby swear my loy-loyalty to King Varek. May no harm come to him. Long live the King.”

Gorvyn handed her off to another guard who dragged her away, and I realized it was my turn. My heart thudded loudly as I stepped forward. I knew exactly where I would be stationed.

I bowed before him, my face scowling. “Mine is blood manipulation, your Majesty,” I spat.

The King’s eyes gleamed with interest. “You are Lucian Vermisial’s daughter,” he said, a dangerous smile playing on his lips. “You’re the spitting image of him.”

“I don’t take that as a compliment,” I retorted. My body was shaking, and my fear was palpable, but I couldn’t hide the defiance in my voice. 

“Oh?” he piped, amused. “Don’t take it as an insult. Your features are more… feminine.”

My scowl only grew deeper. 

“Give me a demonstration so I can see how developed your ability is,” he commanded, his voice turning cold. “Oh, and don’t try to use it on me or one of my guards. Use it on him.”

I turned my head, only to see him referring to Cy. His eyes slowly closed and he took a deep breath as he prepared himself. My ability was more painful now that it was more developed, and he would feel every drop of blood moving like a needle. I couldn’t do that to him.

The King’s deep chuckle broke through my hesitation. “One of my guards has already had a go at you, hasn’t he, boy?” he asked Cyrus, noticing the scars underneath his blouse.

Gorvyn stepped forward, his voice filled with a disgusting pride. “I did, your Majesty. This one was using his ability without permission.”

The King’s amusement vanished, replaced by a sharp frown. “What is your ability?”

Cyrus lifted his head, his voice subdued. “I’m a healer, your Majesty,”

The King’s lips curled into a smirk. “But you can’t heal yourself, I see,” he mocked, his laughter ringing out in the room. 

Cy lowered his gaze again, anger warring on his face. “No, your Majesty,” he replied softly.

The room fell into an oppressive silence, all eyes now on me, waiting for my demonstration. I felt the weight of the King’s command like a weed tightening around my chest. Time seemed to slow, every second stretching out unbearably as I lifted my trembling hand. I had to make this quick, had to minimize the pain I would inflict on Cyrus. I twisted my hand subtly, raising it just enough to cause the blood in his veins to obey my will.

Cyrus’s head jerked up as I manipulated his body, his eyes meeting mine, filled with an unspoken understanding. I could see the pain flicker in his gaze, but he did not cry out. I released him as quickly as I could, my heart breaking at the hurt I had caused him.

“That’s not enough,” Varek’s voice cut through the air like a knife. “Force him to walk to the chalice and cut his own hand for the oath.”

My veins ran cold. The very idea of making Cyrus harm himself was unbearable. Yet, the King’s order was absolute. I glanced at Cy again, my breath catching in my throat as I saw the resignation in his eyes. He was telling me to do it.

Slowly, reluctantly, I lifted my hand again. We were to submit or die. This time, I could feel the pull of Cyrus’s blood more intensely, like threads binding me to him, dragging us both toward an inevitable conclusion. My vision seemed to tunnel, and everything around me disappeared– the only thing I saw in that moment was Cyrus as his body moved under my control.. His groans of pain were the only thing I could hear, each one tearing at my resolve.

He reached the chalice, his hand trembling as I guided it to the dagger in Gorvyn’s hand. I closed my eyes, unable to watch as I forced him to cut his palm, drawing blood. The droplets fell into the chalice, mixing with the blood of the children who had come before us. As soon as there was enough, I released him, my heart shattering into pieces from guilt.

King Varek watched with a cold, calculating gaze, his interest in us only growing. He nodded to Gorvyn, who approached me with the dagger now in his own hand.

Instead of a simple cut, Gorvyn plunged the blade into my hand, the sharp agony sending a scream tearing from my throat. The pain was a hot burst that radiated up my arm, and blood poured from the wound as he pulled the dagger free. I clutched my hand, trying to slow the flow of blood, but it was no use, I couldn’t use my ability unless the King directly gave me permission to. My emotions spiraled out of control– fear, anger, and guilt consuming me.

“Demonstrate yours now, boy,” he said to Cyrus. “Heal her.”

Cyrus rushed to me, his bloody hands immediately covering mine. “It’s okay, Nemmi,” he whispered, his ability glowing a bright blue. “I’ve got you.” The warmth of his power spread through me, the pain slowly ebbing away as his ability worked to close the wound. The light was brighter than usual, a sign that he was pushing himself to heal me faster.

As he worked, he leaned in close, his voice a soft murmur in my ear. “Control the emotions,” he said gently. “Don’t let him take control.”

I tried to focus on his words, the feel of his warm breath against my cheek– trying to find any semblance of calm with the emotions raging inside me.

Nothing. Think of nothing.

“I can’t take the oath,” I whispered urgently. “I’ll die if I break it. That’s what I was trying to tell you earlier.”

Cyrus leaned back to look at my face, his eyes widening in shock as he finished healing my hand. “But you’ll die if you don’t,” he muttered.

King Varek, seemingly oblivious to our whispered exchange, nodded in satisfaction. “Good. Very good,” he declared, his tone final. “You’ll both work directly for me. Now, say the oath.”

We had no other choice. We both did.

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