Amidst the surging tempest of strife, the youth discovered himself ensnared, sequestered within an opulent palace, his beauteous visage serving as both his bane and his prison. Lamenting the anguish his inscription had wrought upon his brethren, he beseeched the resplendent Aphrodite to liberate him from the shackles of his pulchritude. Yet the goddess hearkened not to his entreaties, her celestial decree unyielding and unwavering.
As the conflagration betwixt the dueling realms blazed relentlessly, the comely youth withered away within his golden confinement, his heart rent asunder by the countless lives extinguished and the idyllic world he had once cherished, now fractured by the inexorable march of strife. In the end, the calamitous aftermath of his bewitching allure would eternally torment him, standing as a sorrowful testament to the treacherous enticement of godly endowments and the mortal yearning for that which lies tantalizingly beyond their grasp.
~From The Divine Pawn: A Tale of Divinity and Desolation
As the last rays of daylight retreated, the expansive sky above was gradually doused in layers of twilight tones. Vibrant shades of purple, fiery splashes of orange, and tranquil hues of blue melted into each other, creating a mesmerizing yet foreboding spectacle. Their subdued radiance enveloped the bustling city, bathing it in a mystical glow that stretched across its sprawling landscape, casting long and haunting shadows.
Nestled in the city's heart, Come Right Inn, an establishment known for providing both solace and clandestine entertainment to tired travellers and local pleasure-seekers alike, seemed to recoil under the pressure of the looming dusk. This site, on any ordinary evening, would have been met with appreciative murmurs.
However, tonight it was an ominous harbinger of an impending disorder. The brothel, celebrated for its crackling hearth and spirited ambience, teetered precariously on the edge of a catastrophic disturbance.
Inside her private sanctuary within the inn, Madam Susan was entangled in a storm of anxiety. She was a sturdy woman who had weathered many a crisis, yet this latest situation left her engulfed by an unusual fear.
Sat sulking in her private quarters, her thoughts were muddled and uneasy. Lady Apate's wrath, provoked by the premature sale of Plum to Princess Moira, was a storm she had not foreseen.
This unforeseen backlash had thrown Susan's meticulous plans into disarray. Her status which was so carefully upheld was threatening to crumble, tearing apart the intricate web of alliances and dependencies she had woven over the years.
The menacing creak of her chamber door shattered the silence, snapping her attention to the present. Her face, usually serene and welcoming, hardened into a stern scowl. She was ready to rebuke the audacious servant who dared to encroach upon her solitude during these trying times.
Her words of admonition froze on her lips as she laid eyes on the intruder. In place of the anger she had initially felt, a frigid surge of fear crept up her spine.
Framed against the doorway was a figure that towered above average stature. The intruder's white hair, threaded with streaks of silver, shimmered ominously under the dim light filtering in from the outside. The mere presence of this intruder sent a chill through her veins.
Muscles taut and armour gleaming, the figure exuded an air of power and resilience, a testament to countless battles fought. It exuded an aura of power that seemed almost tangible, an invisible force that radiated grace and command.
Gripped tightly in the intruder's hand was a holy sword smeared with fresh blood. Despite the crimson stains, it radiated an aura of divine authority, causing an involuntary shiver to pass through Susan. This was not the figure of a mere servant, but that of Saintess Serene, once the celebrated beacon of the Luminaire Kingdom.
But the woman who stood in front of her was a far cry from the saintess of yore. She had disappeared into obscurity, only to re-emerge as an infamous rogue, a woman feared and whispered about in hushed tones. She had earned the title of the Soiled Light, a testament to the alleged betrayal of her duties as a saintess.
Susan tried to gather her wits, her eyes flickering with a mix of apprehension and determination. She forced herself to swallow, her throat parched from fear. Mustering fragments of her shattered courage, she managed to stutter out a question, her voice trembling and weak. "What business brings the Saintess of Soiled Light to my humble establishment?"
Serene's disdainful gaze met Susan's, the former's features remaining impassive.
Ignoring the tremor in Susan's voice, she responded with a demand that reverberated through the room, causing the very air to turn frigid. "Where is my prince?" Her voice echoed in the otherwise silent room, its cadence unyielding and harsh, a stark contrast to the sweet lilt that had once endeared her to her followers.
Gripped by the startling question, Susan fought to regain her bearings amidst the terrifying situation. A shiver of fear crawled up her spine as she stammered, "You... what did you do to my guards?" Her voice was shaky, her words laced with raw terror which had now engulfed her.
Serene remained undeterred, her focus unwavering. Her next words came out like a relentless tide, cold and threatening. "The boy I vowed to protect was left in an orphanage in Hozeil. I've spent considerable time searching for him, and upon...persuading the director, I learned he had been brought here. To Arbo. To this very place."
The Saintess was talking about Plum. The boy who she sold to Princess Moira. The realization dawned upon Susan, making her blood run cold.
Despite the mounting fear inside her, Susan tried to maintain a semblance of composure. "Saintess, you must understand the consequences of your actions. This inn, along with its territory, falls under the rule of Lady Apate. To go against her is to invite the fury of a god-like being."
Serene's response was a cold laugh that echoed around the room. She stepped closer to Susan, the sharp tip of her holy sword tracing a crimson line against the vulnerable flesh of her throat. "Yes, I am now called the Soiled Light. But the holy sword Solstice still burns bright, clear indication that the Mother Goddess Theia has not forsaken me. As for Lady Apate...her perceived near divinity does not concern me at all."
Susan was cornered. Her fate seemed to dangle by a thread as she stared into Serene's unwavering gaze. Driven by desperation, she blurted out her last card. "Your so-called prince was sold to Princess Moira!"
The words seemed to give Serene pause. Her icy gaze studied Susan's terrified features, perhaps assessing the truth in her desperate declaration. After what seemed like an eternity, steeped in the terrifying stillness of her madness, Serene finally lowered her sword.
Her eyes, mirroring the chaotic whirl of her fractured sanity, glittered with wild delight as she issued a prophecy. "The heavens have watched, Susan, and the Goddess Theia has judged. Your deeds...oh, your deeds, have summoned a divine reckoning."
The holy sword Solstice cleaved through Susan, extinguishing the life in her eyes. Come Right Inn, once vibrant and full of life, was plunged into a deafening silence, broken only by the echo of Susan's final scream.
The room bore the horrifying testament to the saintess' insanity, an unsettling display of retribution and death.
In the silence that followed, Serene straightened up, her gaze distant, yet fraught with a deadly determination. Her voice broke the deafening quiet, her words more to herself than to the lifeless body of Susan.
"My quest isn't at its end... oh, no, not yet," she murmured, her tone eerily calm amidst the chaos she had just wrought. "Princess Moira, she holds my prince... she who dared to purchase another's destiny. She shall know my wrath."
The rest of Dravaria was left to speculate about the catastrophic events at the Come Right Inn, its citizens filled with tense anticipation and palpable fear.
Truth behind the destruction of the inn was still shrouded in mystery, turning many into potential suspects, including Lady Apate. As the burden of suspicion began to weigh on her, Apate prepared for a possible confrontation with the Queen of Dravaria.
.
.
.
Within Arbo, in a small territory bequeathed by Queen Themis herself, Moira luxuriated in the growing familiarity of her newfound court. Situated a comfortable distance from the imposing grandeur of the Dravarian palace, this was a space she was beginning to call her own, a personal dominion that hinted at the promise of independence and power.
Adonis, the young man who had seamlessly woven himself into her life, was a mystery she was yet to unravel. Unbeknownst to the princess, his past bore the mark of a rogue saintess, a woman considered an outcast by her people. He was no ordinary man; he was a vessel of a haunting past and a destiny intertwined with hers in ways she could hardly fathom.
Moira, wrapped in her serene oblivion, was unknowingly perched on the cliff of a brewing storm. As she presided over her territory, the threads of fate were already knitting a chilling narrative beyond her sight.
