The Stranger lifted his head slightly. The dark visor reflected her face back at her, a thousand molten shards of herself.
"Because mystery, Your Majesty," he said softly, "keeps even the gods entertained."
A ripple went through the stands... laughter stifled by fear.
Eris' expression didn't change. "Then perhaps you'll humor me with less poetry and more truth. Your lineage. Your house. What master do you serve?"
The Stranger tilted his head. "None," he said. "And as for lineage… I come from a line that cannot be slain nor saved. A cursed blood that devours itself to live. We end only when we consume our own."
Her eyes flickered, a strange recognition, something she didn't want to name. Refused to. "A bold claim," she murmured, "for a man with no face."
He chuckled under his breath, low and dangerous. "I've worn many faces, Your Majesty. All of them burn the same in the end."
"You speak as if fire answers to you."
"No," he said. "Only that it listens."
