By the second week, the palace felt more like a routine than a refuge.
Each day unfolded the same — until it didn't.
At first, the world outside the castle had looped like a broken reel of film. Every sunrise cast the same shadows. Every market call repeated on the same rhythm. The same woman crossed the same bridge at the same time, every day, wearing the same crimson shawl.
But on the fifth morning, something changed.
The city began to adapt.
The loops broke, almost seamlessly. The vendors began shouting new words. The guards shifted their patrol routes. The birds no longer circled endlessly; they landed. It was as though the world itself realized it was being watched — and decided to improvise.
That change unsettled Nhilly more than the repetition ever had.
He hadn't left the palace once.
Not out of fear — just disinterest. The city outside didn't feel real enough to warrant curiosity. Everything he needed was here, inside these walls: food, quiet, and enough space to pretend he still existed on his own terms.
He'd spent most mornings avoiding swordsmanship class. Arielle's lessons were loud, rigid, filled with the kind of confidence only people who'd never truly fought possessed.
Instead, Nhilly focused on physical strength training — alone. The palace gymnasium was built like a cathedral, sunlight spilling through glass ceilings as servants carried in weighted stones and heavy ropes. Every morning, he trained until his arms shook and his breath burned.
Pull-ups, squats, resistance drills, conditioning — every repetition felt like penance.
He wasn't trying to grow stronger. He was trying to remember what strength felt like.
The others followed their own schedules. Celeste attended every session faithfully, often helping the instructors refine techniques. Kael balanced combat practice with strategy briefings. Seris observed more than she trained, watching how the palace guards moved — cataloguing every flaw, every tell.
Eli, unsurprisingly, was the loudest of them all. He turned every class into a performance. The guards loved him; he played the role of divine hero perfectly; all swagger and flame.
Nhilly didn't envy him. He just didn't care.
Palace life was almost too comfortable.
Breakfast and dinner were always served on time. The beds were impossibly soft. The servants smiled no matter what they were asked.
But there was no dust.
No mistakes.
No sound of tired footsteps or idle chatter.
Everything existed in perfect order — as if the gods themselves had proofread it.
Sometimes, when he walked the halls alone, Nhilly would catch glimpses of servants turning corners and disappearing before reaching the end of the corridor. Other times, paintings seemed to shift slightly when he passed — faces angling, eyes following him.
He'd stopped flinching at it. The more he tried to understand, the more it felt like trying to read a language that changed as you spoke it.
He'd begun calling the palace the stage in his head.
And everyone inside it, actors.
Religion class was held in a grand cathedral built within the palace itself. Light poured through coloured glass panels, painting the marble in shifting hues of blue and gold. The scent of incense lingered in the air, thick and heavy.
The priest — a thin man draped in gold-threaded robes — spoke for an hour straight, praising the Constellations, describing their divine wisdom and their chosen heroes.
Nhilly barely heard a word of it.
He stared blankly ahead, lost in thought, his hands clasped loosely in his lap. Seris sat beside him, listening quietly, her eyes narrowed in concentration. Eli had slumped halfway down the pew, snoring softly until Kael jabbed him in the ribs.
When the sermon finally ended, the others began to stand. Nhilly stayed seated, waiting for the last echo of the priest's voice to fade. He was about to rise when he felt it—
A tug.
Gentle but deliberate.
He froze and looked down.
A young boy, maybe ten at most, stood beside him. His pale eyes were clouded, pupils washed out by a milky hue that left no doubt. He was blind.
"Excuse me, sir…" the boy said softly, his voice trembling. "Are you… a Constellation?"
Nhilly's chest tightened. "What?"
Before he could react further, hurried footsteps echoed from the front of the chapel.
"Elias!"
Arielle rushed over, her composure cracking for the first time since he'd met her. She grabbed the boy's shoulders, pulling him gently back. "You can't do that," she whispered harshly. "You mustn't touch the divine heroes."
"I'm sorry," the boy said quickly, bowing his head. "I didn't mean to upset anyone."
Arielle turned toward Nhilly, her face flushed. "My apologies, Hero. He's—" she hesitated, then lowered her voice, "—he's blind, but he's, our treasure. We keep him here in the cathedral. They say he can speak to the Constellations through his dreams — divine visions, more accurately. It's how we knew you were coming."
Nhilly stared at her for a long moment. His pulse hadn't slowed. The boy's presence had stirred something deep and instinctive — something that didn't feel divine at all.
"Ah," he said finally, forcing his voice steady. "I see. Then… maybe it wasn't me he sensed. Probably my sword."
Arielle blinked. "Your sword?"
Nhilly nodded slightly. "It used to belong to one of your gods. That must be what he felt."
Arielle froze, her lips parting slightly. "Oh… isn't that wonderful."
Her tone was wrong — too high, too nervous. The smile that followed was tight and mechanical.
Nhilly caught it instantly.
She was hiding something.
But he said nothing.
Arielle hurried the boy away, still whispering reassurances, and the chapel slowly emptied.
Nhilly stayed seated a moment longer, staring at the stained-glass window depicting twelve Constellations. The coloured light painted his reflection across the marble floor — distorted and fragmented.
For the first time, he wished it wasn't his reflection.
Outside, the afternoon light glowed softer now. The day was far from over.
Sparring sessions were held every ten days, and this would be the first.
Nhilly hadn't looked forward to it, but Eli had been talking about it since the moment they'd arrived at the palace — eager, restless, burning for a challenge.
"Don't skip this one," Eli had said that morning, eyes bright. "I've been waiting all week to see what the quiet guys got."
Nhilly had simply replied, "Then don't blink."
As he walked toward the training grounds, he felt the faint pull of gravity gather at his feet — his Star responding to his focus. It always did when he needed to steady his breathing.
The palace gardens shimmered under the fading light, the air thick with the scent of lavender and steel. Ahead, the training yard buzzed with anticipation. Guards stood aside to watch; Celeste and Kael waited near the edge of the ring.
And there, stretching his arms and cracking his neck, stood Eli — fire flickering between his teeth, his grin sharp and confident.
Nhilly stepped onto the field, hand brushing the hilt of Draco's Shroud. The black blade hummed faintly, as if recognizing what was about to come.
The air between them tightened.
"Finally," Eli said, grinning. "Let's see what the gods see in you."
Nhilly's expression didn't change.
"You'll figure it out eventually