The palace never slept.
Even in the deep hours before dawn, its halls whispered — gears turning behind marble walls, the faint pulse of mechanisms keeping its illusion alive.
The air smelled faintly of oil and roses.
Nhilly wandered those endless corridors barefoot, his steps soft against the cold stone. The torches flickered as he passed, their flames bending toward him as though greeting a familiar shadow.
He stopped by one of the grand windows overlooking Lydia. The city below glowed in eternal dusk — its skyline perfect, its towers gleaming, the sky painted in still light.
Nothing ever moved.
The wind, the clouds, even the smoke from the chimneys were frozen mid-drift.
He pressed a hand to the glass, his reflection staring back at him.
His eyes were darker now, his expression unreadable.
"So this is immortality," he murmured. "A world where nothing rots, nothing fades… and nothing lives."
He smiled faintly. "A perfect stage."
Later, in his chambers, he sat at his desk.
A quill lay between his fingers, scratching across parchment with rhythmic precision.
"Brothers and sisters of Lydia,"
"The gods smile upon our courage."
"Lady Seris's sacrifice lights our path."
"We march not for victory, but for faith."
He paused, tapping the quill against the inkpot.
The candle beside him sputtered, struggling against the weight of silence.
He sighed. "I'm rehearsing my own funeral speech."
The words were neat, elegant, soulless.
Every sentence carried the same hollow sincerity the court adored.
He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. "I've got the tone down," he muttered. "Now I just need the right expression when I die."
His gaze drifted to the mirror across the room.
He stood, walked to it, and stared at his reflection.
"Smile," he told himself.
He did.
It looked perfect.
He held it for a full minute before whispering, "Good enough."
He left his room to clear his mind, wandering through the palace gardens.
The moon hung perfectly still above the hedges, silver light bathing every petal and leaf in a sheen of quiet perfection.
Then he heard it — faint music.
Soft, trembling notes carried on the unmoving air. He followed the sound until he reached the central fountain.
A young woman sat at its edge, plucking a harp.
She froze when she noticed him. "My lord—! I didn't realize—"
Nhilly raised a hand. "Don't stop."
Her eyes flicked nervously to his sword, then back to the strings. "It's a hymn, my lord. For the Constellations."
He listened quietly. The melody was fragile, beautiful — too soft for this world, too real.
After a while, he said, "It's peaceful."
The woman looked surprised. "You think so?"
Nhilly smiled faintly. "Anything that keeps the world quiet for a moment is worth playing."
Her hands steadied. She continued, the notes weaving gently through the night.
"I play because it makes me feel closer to them," she whispered. "The gods."
Nhilly tilted his head. "That's good. They like devotion."
He said it so evenly, so sincerely, that she smiled without realizing she didn't understand what he meant.
When the hymn ended, Nhilly stepped closer, dipping a hand into the fountain's water. The reflection of the moon rippled and split across his black eyes.
"You play beautifully," he said. "Keep doing that. Someone's always listening."
Then he smiled — kind, gentle — and walked away.
The attendant bowed quickly, murmuring a prayer.
When she looked up, he was gone, and the water in the fountain had gone utterly still.
The palace courtyard felt colder than usual.
Eli leaned against one of the columns, watching the soldiers train below. Their movements were mechanical, every strike too precise, every shout perfectly timed.
It made his skin crawl.
He used to laugh at chaos. Used to believe a loud voice and a wild grin could drown out the fear.
Now his laughter felt forced.
He stared at his reflection in the blade he carried — the same weapon that had once spat fire across battlefields. His power had dimmed with his spirit. When he breathed out now, only a faint ember flickered.
Celeste used to tell him that fire wasn't just destruction — it was warmth, light, hope.
He hadn't felt warm in months.
Kael's voice broke the silence. "You still thinking about what he said?"
Eli glanced up. Kael stood nearby, arms folded, watching him with his usual detached calm.
Eli scoffed. "Which part? He says a lot of things now. Most of them sound like they were written by someone else."
Kael didn't smile. "Nhilly's always been a performer. It's the audience that changed."
Eli looked away. "You're saying he's just acting?"
Kael hesitated. "No. I'm saying he's become the act."
Before Eli could respond, Celeste called to them from the far side of the courtyard. "We should meet in the war room. Final revisions for the march."
The map stretched across the table looked like a wound — red markers spreading across the borders of Lydia, closing in on the city like a slow infection.
Celeste stood by the table's edge, her expression calm but pale. Kael moved the markers in silence, calculating troop movements. Eli leaned back in his chair, watching them without speaking.
The air was heavy.
Kael finally broke the quiet. "Do you regret it?"
Celeste blinked. "Regret what?"
"Coming here," Kael said. "Taking this scenario. Listening to the gods."
Eli raised an eyebrow. "You're getting philosophical again."
Kael ignored him. "Life in Yarion was brutal. But at least it was alive. Here…" He gestured to the perfect marble walls. "Even the wind feels artificial, Its hell"
Celeste frowned. "Kael, you can't keep saying things like that—"
"Why not?" he snapped, sharper than he intended. "You really think they don't know? You think they can't hear every thought we have?"
She looked away. "Then why provoke them?"
"Because maybe someone has to," Kael said. "Maybe Seris died because none of us did."
Eli sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You think talking back to gods is gonna fix anything? We can't change this."
Kael's gaze turned on him. "Then why keep fighting?"
Eli hesitated. "Because if I stop, I'll think. And if I think, I'll remember."
Silence again.
Kael sat, his voice quieter. "I keep thinking about what Nhilly said — about playing our parts. Maybe that's all this is. We fight, we die, they clap. Curtain falls."
Celeste's voice trembled slightly. "Maybe that's still better than doing nothing."
Kael looked up. "You actually believe that?"
Her eyes glistened faintly. "It has to mean something. It has to."
Eli exhaled through his nose, voice low. "We sound pathetic."
Kael leaned back, staring at the ceiling. "We sound human."
The door opened.
Humming drifted in before Nhilly did — the same melody that had haunted the courtyard hours earlier, the same hymn the attendant had played on her harp.
He walked in without looking at them, his stride light, rhythmic, rehearsed.
When he finally met their eyes, his smile was already in place. "You really shouldn't start meetings without me. It ruins the flow."
Eli's jaw clenched. "We weren't talking strategy."
Nhilly's grin widened. "All the better. Strategy ruins art."
Kael's gaze was steady. "You were listening."
"I'm always listening." He circled the table, his hand brushing over the maps. "Regret's such a boring theme, don't you think? The audience prefers redemption."
Celeste smiled faintly, trying to keep the peace. "Nhilly… you seem in good spirits."
He turned to her, tone bright. "Shouldn't I be? We march in two weeks. The city's counting on us. The gods are watching."
He raised his fist in mock salute. "And we, their faithful heroes, will lead the way — just like Lady Seris did."
Celeste's breath hitched. Her hand flew to her mouth before she could stop herself.
Kael's eyes darkened. "Enough."
Nhilly's gaze flicked toward him. "Why? It's what they want me to say. I'm just making sure I deliver it right."
Eli spoke quietly. "You don't have to make it sound real."
Nhilly tilted his head, smiling like he'd just heard a secret. "Everything sounds real if you believe it long enough."
Kael's voice lowered. "You're scaring them."
Nhilly laughed softly.
Eli stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. "You really think this is funny?"
Nhilly stepped closer, his tone suddenly calm again. "Not funny. Necessary. Someone has to keep the act together."
The silence that followed was unbearable.
Outside, the bells tolled once — hollow, metallic.
Nhilly looked at the map again, his voice quiet but sharp. "We'll march east, won't we? Toward Wyre?"
Kael nodded slowly.
"Good," Nhilly said. "I like symmetry. She died there. We'll finish it there."
Celeste shuddered. "Don't say that."
Nhilly's smile softened. "Relax. I'm not planning to throw my life away so easily."
He turned toward the door, his shadow stretching long behind him. "But someone has to die."
He stopped once he reached the threshold, glancing back. "You'll understand soon enough."
Then, humming the same haunting tune, he disappeared into the corridor.
Kael stayed still for a long time after he left.
Celeste leaned against the wall, eyes shut, whispering a prayer she no longer fully believed in.
Eli sat back down, staring at the map without seeing it.
Finally, Kael said quietly, "He's not coming back from this."
Eli's voice was hollow. "None of us are."
Celeste whispered, "Then what do we do?"
Kael looked at the fading candles, the shadows twitching along the walls. "We march," he said softly. "Because the show doesn't end until the curtain falls."
Outside, somewhere far above, the unseen audience laughed — faint and distant — as if applauding the line.