Morning crept in slowly.
A dim, amber light seeped through the palace curtains, spilling across the polished floor like liquid gold. The air was still — too still, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
Nhilly sat on the edge of the bed, shirt half-buttoned, staring at the faint reflection of himself in the mirror. The glass shimmered faintly, warping his image with each slow blink.
He hadn't really looked at himself since arriving here. Now, under this strange, frozen light, he almost wished he hadn't.
His hair a rough, uneven mess of black strands fell just to his eyes, long enough to obscure them if he tilted his head. His face still carried the sharp lines of youth, but exhaustion had hollowed it out. Dark circles clung stubbornly beneath his pitch-black eyes, giving him a haunted look. A small beauty mark rested just above his left lip — the one trait that softened his otherwise weary appearance.
He was objectively attractive, he knew that much, but it was a fragile kind of beauty the kind buried under sleepless nights and too much silence.
"Some chosen one," he muttered under his breath, fastening the last button. "Dragged into a story, outvoted by gods, and stuck with a group of lunatics."
His reflection didn't answer. It never did.
He reached for Draco's Shroud, resting against the nightstand. Even in the soft morning light, the blade absorbed more illumination than it reflected the black steel drinking the glow whole. Nhilly traced a finger along the edge, careful not to touch the symbols carved into its surface.
"You'd think being watched by divine voyeurs would make me want to act the part," he said quietly. "But nah… I've never been good at pretending."
He stood, adjusting the collar of his coat. Every movement was deliberate, slow, almost ceremonial — like he was trying to convince himself he was still in control of something.
The palace felt alive around him.
He could hear the faint hum in the walls, the rhythmic click of unseen gears. Light filtered in through the window, but it was wrong too constant, too bright. Like someone had painted a sunrise and forgot to let it move.
A knock came at the door.
"Nhilly? You awake?"
Celeste's voice soft, cheerful, a little too bright for how heavy the night before had been.
"Unfortunately," he called back.
The door creaked open, and Celeste poked her head in. Her hair was tied back, and her armour gleamed faintly in the morning light. She smiled. "You look presentable. That's new."
He raised an eyebrow. "Trying a compliment?"
"Observation," she said, stepping in. "Seris wants everyone in the grand hall in ten minutes. The council's waiting."
"Council," Nhilly repeated dryly. "That's what they're calling the next disaster briefing?"
She gave him a playful glare. "Try to behave. The Constellations are still watching, remember?"
Nhilly's jaw tightened slightly. "Hard to forget."
Celeste hesitated, watching him for a moment. "You, okay?"
He met her gaze in the mirror. "Define okay."
She sighed. "Never mind."
Nhilly turned, slipping Draco's Shroud across his back. "Lead the way, then. Wouldn't want to keep the gods' favourite show waiting."
Celeste frowned faintly at his tone, but she didn't argue. She opened the door, and the two stepped into the corridor.
The halls were brighter than before unnaturally so. The torches that lined the walls burned without smoke, their flames frozen in perfect stillness. Guards stood at rigid attention, not one shifting, not one blinking.
As they walked, Nhilly's voice broke the silence. "You ever notice they all move the same way?"
Celeste glanced at him. "Who?"
"The people. The guards. The servants. Same rhythm, same posture. Like… clockwork."
She frowned. "Maybe they're just disciplined."
"Or programmed," he muttered.
Celeste looked uneasy but said nothing more.
"Let's not keep the audience waiting," he said, his tone dry but his grip tightening on his sword.
.
Halfway down the hall, a pair of palace guards stood at attention. Their posture was identical shoulders squared, spears upright, gazes fixed forward. As Nhilly and Celeste passed, one of them blinked. Then the other blinked at precisely the same time.
Celeste glanced back, brow furrowed. "You really think everything here's fake?"
"I don't think," he replied. "I know when something's pretending to be alive."
They turned a corner where the corridor opened into a balcony. Below, the capital sprawled in symmetrical perfection rows of white stone buildings gleaming beneath a pale sky. The sun hung unnaturally still above the horizon, locked in place.
The city looked like it was holding its breath.
Celeste stopped beside him, gripping the railing. "It's beautiful," she said softly, though her voice trembled just a little.
"Yeah," Nhilly said. "That's the problem."
He didn't linger long. The longer he looked, the more he noticed the seams how the wind only stirred certain banners, how the sound of the market below looped the same pattern of laughter and chatter every few seconds. Like a recording.
When they reached the stairway leading to the grand hall, Kael was already there, waiting. His stance was sharp, his expression unreadable.
"You're late," he said.
Celeste huffed. "We're five minutes early."
"Exactly," Kael replied. "Seris has been waiting longer."
Seris stood by one of the high windows, her cloak drawn close. Sunlight traced the edge of her face, but her eyes were distant, watching something far beyond the palace walls.
Nhilly followed her gaze but saw nothing.
Eli leaned lazily against the wall, flipping a coin between his fingers. "Morning, sunshine," he greeted with a grin. "How's the existential dread?"
"Consistent," Nhilly said flatly.
"Good. Means you're still breathing."
Kael ignored them both. "We're expected inside any moment," he said. "The king's advisors want a full briefing on our… abilities."
Celeste looked uneasy. "You think it's safe to tell them?"
Seris turned from the window, her voice calm but firm. "We'll keep it vague. Remember what the Constellations said don't speak of the Scenario. We stay in character."
Eli rolled his eyes. "Right. Heroes sent by gods, saving the world, smiling for the camera. Easy enough."
"Eli," Seris warned, her tone quiet but sharp. "They are listening."
That shut him up.
For a moment, they all stood in silence. The only sound was the faint hum of the torches and the rhythm of their own breathing.
Nhilly's gaze drifted to the massive double doors at the end of the corridor. They towered over them, carved from black oak and lined with streaks of gold that pulsed faintly, like veins under skin. From behind them came muffled voices slow, deliberate, like the sound of an old play already in progress.
He exhaled quietly. "Time to perform."
Kael nodded once. "Remember, they see us as divine."
Celeste adjusted her armour. "So, we act like it."
Nhilly brushed a lock of black hair from his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching faintly. "Divine's a stretch. Let's just hope they bought the script."
The doors creaked open before any of them could move. A palace attendant bowed deeply, eyes averted. "The council is ready for you, honoured heroes."
The five exchanged a look — a silent agreement.
Then, together, they stepped forward.
The doors shut behind them with a heavy, echoing thud.
For the first time since entering the gate, Nhilly felt like he'd stepped onto a stage.