The ballroom held its breath.
Masks turned.
Silk stopped rustling.
Even the chandeliers seemed to flicker slower—like the building wanted to savor the moment.
On the dais, the Councilor smiled with practiced warmth, scroll lifted like a blessing.
"Lina Veris. Step forward."
Mira's porcelain mask glowed faintly, the carved letters catching light like fresh-cut bone.
And Mira's body jerked, one foot sliding forward as if pulled by an invisible chain.
Kai's grip on Lina's wrist tightened instantly—iron-strong, steady, anchoring.
"Don't move," he murmured, voice low enough to be a vow.
Lina's ribs burned where his name lived in her bones, the tether pulsing like a heartbeat in panic.
Across from her, Mira trembled—trying to resist, but the identity script tightened.
Under the porcelain edge, a tear slipped down.
And Mira's real whisper—so small only Lina could hear—cut through the music like a knife:
"Run."
Lina's heart cracked.
She didn't run.
Because running would leave Mira to wear her name all the way to death.
Instead Lina lifted her chin and stared straight at the dais.
No mirrors.
No stands.
Just the Councilor's smile.
And the cold precision behind it.
"I'm right here," Lina said clearly.
The line rippled through the hall—murmurs rising, cautious, excited, hungry.
The Councilor's gaze sharpened slightly.
"Then step forward," they repeated.
Lina didn't.
Kai's hand stayed locked around her wrist, steady pressure, grounding her.
Seren moved closer behind Lina, voice trembling. "They're trying to force a sync. If you walk, it seals the script."
Reyon whispered, "If you walk, you're basically signing the cursed autograph."
The Councilor's smile didn't falter.
A second Council member stepped beside the dais, holding a silver stand—taller than the others, polished like liquid moonlight.
"Identity check," the Councilor announced, voice carrying like a bell.
Students murmured again. Some leaned in. Some shifted away. Some looked relieved that it wasn't their name.
The silver stand's surface shimmered.
A reflection formed.
Not Lina's.
Not Mira's.
Something in-between—two faces trying to overlap.
Seren's breath hitched. "They're merging the signatures."
The Councilor lifted a hand, gentle as a teacher.
"Lina Veris," they said softly, "state your full name."
Lina's mouth went dry.
Her name.
A weapon now.
Kai leaned closer, voice barely audible. "Say it. Don't hesitate."
Lina inhaled once, steadying against his grip.
"Lina Veris," she said.
The silver stand shimmered.
The reflection smiled.
Wrong.
The Councilor tilted their head. "Again."
Lina felt the trap's intent now.
Not to hear her name.
To hear how she said it.
To taste fear.
To trigger the lock.
She tightened her fingers around Kai's hand. Touch anchors.
"Lina Veris," she repeated—stronger.
The stand's reflection flickered—uncertain.
Seren's eyes glowed brighter. She whispered, urgent, "They're listening for tremor. I can fog it. But I need a beat."
Reyon's shoulders lifted as if he'd just remembered he had lungs.
"I can create a beat," he murmured.
And before anyone could stop him—
Reyon stepped into the center of the dance floor and clapped once, loud and sharp.
"ATTENTION EVERYONE!" Reyon called, voice bright, charming, just unhinged enough to be believable. "Quick Masquerade rule update!"
A hundred masked heads turned.
The Councilor's smile tightened.
Reyon grinned wider. "If you don't want to be publicly humiliated by a magical identity scan, simply pretend you're enjoying the party and—"
A laugh broke out.
Then another.
Because Reyon's voice had always been dangerously contagious.
And laughter was a rebellion the Council couldn't directly punish without revealing the cage.
The Councilor's gaze sharpened. "Remove him."
Two masked attendants moved—
But Reyon snapped his fingers.
Illusion fireworks burst above the dance floor—real enough to cast glittering light, loud enough to drown whispers.
Students gasped.
Some cheered.
Chaos—beautiful, harmless chaos—flooded the hall.
Seren used the moment.
She closed her eyes, hands trembling, and exhaled.
"Echo fog," she whispered.
The air around Lina and Kai shimmered—not visually, but sonically. Like a thin veil of sound layered over them, distorting the tiny frequencies the silver stands read.
Lina felt her ears pop slightly.
Her bone-tether flared—hot and alive—like it disliked the distortion.
Kai's grip tightened.
"Seren," he murmured, "don't push too far. If your echoes fracture here—"
"I know," Seren whispered, eyes squeezed shut. "I'm doing it anyway."
On the dais, the Councilor's smile became sharper.
"Silence," they commanded.
The music stuttered.
The fireworks flickered.
And for a heartbeat, the entire hall obeyed—like the command hit a rune embedded under the marble.
Kai stiffened.
A pulse of pain flickered across his wrist—Oathbreaker mark reacting to authority phrasing.
Lina felt it through his grip.
Kai's jaw clenched.
The Councilor's voice softened, dangerous now.
"Lina Veris," they repeated, "step forward."
The silver stand shimmered harder, trying to lock onto a signature through Seren's fog.
The reflection blurred.
Stalled.
And then—the Councilor's gaze shifted to Mira.
The porcelain mask.
The carved name.
The easiest target.
"Ah," the Councilor said pleasantly, as if noticing a student at the back of class. "There you are."
Mira's body jerked.
The porcelain mask glowed brighter.
Mira stumbled forward—one step, then another—like her feet had been rewired.
Lina's heart slammed.
"Mira!" Lina surged—
Kai caught her, tight grip. "Don't—if you move—"
"Mira's going to die," Lina whispered through clenched teeth.
Seren's fog trembled, her breath ragged. "I can't hold this long."
Reyon's fireworks died, his grin slipping as he saw Mira being pulled.
"Okay," Reyon muttered, voice breaking. "This is not funny anymore."
Mira's shoulders shook. Her hands clawed at the porcelain mask like she wanted to rip it off, but her fingers slid uselessly—like the mask wasn't on her face, it was in her skin.
The Councilor lifted a hand. "Come, Lina Veris. The Founders wish to honor you."
Mira took another step.
Under the porcelain, Mira's real voice tried to scream—
but only a strangled breath came out.
Lina's bones burned. The tether pulsed.
Kai's name in her ribs felt like a chain pulling her in two directions.
Kai's voice turned rough. "Lina… if you do something reckless—"
Lina swallowed hard.
Then made a decision that tasted like fire.
She didn't reach for the mask.
She didn't grab Mira.
She didn't attack the Council.
She spoke the one line that wasn't just a test.
It was a vow.
A claim.
A truth that could burn through script if anything could.
"Mira," Lina said clearly, voice ringing across the sudden hush, "say my name."
Mira's body jerked mid-step.
The porcelain mask trembled.
The carved letters flickered.
The Councilor's smile froze.
Lina's chest tightened.
"Say my name," Lina repeated, louder. "Stay real."
For one heartbeat, Mira's posture broke.
Her shoulders sagged like someone had cut a puppet string.
And beneath porcelain, a choked, real sound escaped—
"Li… Lina…"
The room shuddered.
The silver stands around the ballroom flickered.
Mirrors trembled.
The Councilor's gaze turned sharp with anger.
"No," they hissed softly, and the word carried weight.
Mira screamed—silent, strangled—
as the script fought back like a living thing.
Lina's flame rose instinctively, gold edged black.
Kai tightened his grip, anchoring her. "Don't burn—don't give them a surge—"
Lina's eyes stung with tears.
"Mira!" she shouted. "Say it again!"
Mira's porcelain mask cracked—
a tiny fracture near the carved letters.
And from beneath it, Mira's real voice broke through—thin, shaking, terrified:
"Lina Veris!"
The crack spread.
A gasp rippled through the hall.
Seren sobbed quietly, Echo fog wavering.
Reyon's breath caught. "She did it."
For one breath, Mira stopped moving forward.
Her feet held.
Her body trembled, free for a heartbeat.
Lina's heart surged with hope—
And then the Councilor smiled again, colder.
"Beautiful," they murmured. "Now we see what you'll sacrifice."
The silver stands flared.
The mirrors around the hall brightened.
And above the dais, a hidden mirror panel—decorative, elegant—shifted into view.
Runes carved themselves into its surface, glowing like fresh wounds.
A name appeared.
Not Mira's.
Not Lina's.
Kai's.
KAI RHEN.
Beneath it, the same chilling line etched itself:
7 DAYS.
Lina stopped breathing.
Kai went rigid beside her.
Seren made a broken sound.
Reyon whispered, horrified, "They just… put him on the wall."
And the Councilor's voice drifted across the room like silk over a blade:
"Dance well tonight," they said softly. "You'll want the memories."
To be Continued© Kishtika., 2025
All rights reserved.