Taira

You will be the wife of a technogen.
The thought pulsed in her temples, but Taira refused to break. She had been taught to be strong, desirable, irresistible. She knew her beauty, the power of her body, the way to make anyone focus only on her. She hoped that would be enough. If she could not love him, she would captivate him. If he was cold and distant, she would warm him with her fire. If he despised her, she would make him desire her. She wanted to believe that not everything was lost. The night was hot and heavy with moisture, filled with the scents of herbs, wood smoke, and something sharp, as if the very earth was preparing for the ritual alongside her. Taira stood in a half-circle of women, her attendants—the singers of the ceremony—softly chanting, weaving her name into the melody. Their voices rustled like leaves in the wind, stirred but never losing their flow. The fire crackled, casting warm flickers of light across their faces, and in that amber glow, her skin looked deeper, richer, alive.
She was ready.
But now, standing at the threshold between worlds, Taira felt a tension she couldn’t shake, not even by playing with confidence. She could be seductive, she could be wild, she could be free—but now, she belonged to tradition. Her hands clenched into fists. Behind her, the fire flared higher, as if the ancient spirits of her people had blessed her final step.
Taira drew in a breath, filling her lungs with the heat of her homeland—and crossed into neutral ground. 
She stepped forward—and her world vanished. 

The thick, familiar air, heavy with the scent of burning wood, tree resin, and crushed herbs—the air she had breathed since birth—dissolved like smoke, leaving nothing behind.

The land of the Neutrals greeted her with silence—so absolute that even her own breath felt foreign. No hum of insects. No whisper of sand shifting beneath her feet. Even her steps, sure and fluid like a dancer’s, faded into nothingness, leaving no trace behind. This place existed outside of life, outside of time. And for the first time, even her own body felt out of place, something unnatural in this suspended world. 

In the distance, the Palace began to take shape.

It was unlike any structure she had ever seen. It cast no shadow, yet it did not reflect light. Its towering arches did not reach for the sky—because there was no sky. They simply vanished into emptiness. The black, polished columns, carved as if from the very essence of night, did not give the illusion of solidity. The Palace wavered, like a mirage on the edge of vision, and yet, that did not make it any less real.

Every step she took echoed in the void, as if even sound had no right to exist in this place.

Her gown, woven from the finest fabric, rippled behind her, catching the faintest glow. Tiny fireflies, trapped within silk threads, shimmered against her skin, cascading down her bare shoulders. Her hair, braided into intricate patterns, was adorned with delicate chains that usually chimed softly with her every step. But now, they had fallen silent. The space devoured everything that made her feel alive. She walked barefoot, yet she felt no surface beneath her feet. The world around her did not breathe, did not stir. No scents, no sounds, no rustling leaves or distant cries of unseen beasts. Only infinite emptiness stretched out on either side, yawning into nothingness. Even the air here felt wrong—thick, heavy, cold, as if rejecting her presence entirely. Along the passage, the Neutrals stood in silence—amorphous, shadowy figures, faceless and insubstantial, as if darkness itself had coalesced into human form. They did not move. They did not breathe.

But she knew—they were watching her.

Goosebumps rose along her bare shoulders, though she couldn't tell whether it was from the cold or the uneasy premonition of what lay ahead. A narrow bridge stretched before her, vanishing into the void. Taira knew that somewhere in the heights above, her kin were watching, and across from them—the technogens. But her eyes were not allowed to see them. The Palace itself decided what was meant to be perceived. The space around her wavered and shifted, as if she were walking not on solid ground but on a reality as fluid as a restless sea.

She stepped onto the bridge.

Her bare feet touched stone—smooth, strangely warm, as if it had absorbed the breath of the countless generations who had crossed it before her. Her heart pounded faster, but her face remained composed, her steps steady. She walked a path that led to nowhere, across a bridge suspended over an abyss, veiled in thick, slow-moving mist. 

Her people believed that such places connected worlds. If one were to fall, they might disappear forever. 

But she walked on. Beautifully. Proudly. 

As she was meant to—the first beauty of her tribe.

The daughter of a chieftain.

The altar was close now, and the figure before it sharpened into focus. Tall. Strong.

A warrior.

Silver-tinged hair caught the dim light, a straight-backed stance, arms folded behind them. Everything as she had imagined. Everything as it was meant to be.  But as she drew nearer, her gaze caught on their face—on the sharp angles of their cheekbones, the cold, undisturbed stillness in their eyes.
Taira froze. And in that moment, her world shattered. Her heart slammed against her ribs—not from fear, but from pure, ice-cold rage.
Her eyes flicked left—to the seats where her father should be standing. He was there. He was not looking at her. Taira clenched her teeth so hard that pain lanced through her jaw.
They knew.
They all knew.
Silence. The law forbade her to speak.
The darkness of the Neutrals loomed around her, absorbing her fury, her despair.

***

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