The air in the border city of Koyola was thick with the scent of rain and unspoken sorrow. As we walked through the narrow, cobblestone streets, I looked at Mason. Her usual calm, steady gaze had been replaced by a storm of suppressed fury. For twenty years, she had lived as an orphan, pushing herself to become a Slayer, surviving in the gutters, all while her true family had been slaughtered or enslaved.
"I grew up wanting to be strong so I wouldn't need anyone," Mason squeezed his hand tightly as he whispered.. "And now that I find them... they're ghosts. The man who did this... I'll make him pray for the death he gave my mother."
We followed Moya through a series of back alleys until we reached a nondescript merchant's warehouse. Beneath a heavy rug lay a trapdoor leading to the Underground Secret Chamber of the Koyola Guild.
As the door opened, we were greeted by a dozen battle-hardened men and women. Their eyes were tired, but their spirits were unyielding. Moya stepped forward, his voice echoing in the stone room. "Everyone, look. This is the Princess we've been waiting for. This is Selena M. Mason."
The room went dead silent. An elderly man with a scarred face stepped forward, trembling. "The Princess? Is it true? I have just found help for my country. I know because he also has the royal seal of the King of the Lands.."
Moya nodded firmly. One by one, the rebels fell to their knees, bowing their heads in reverence. "We swear our blades to the House of Selena M.!" they shouted in unison.
Mason looked at them, her expression softening but remaining firm. "Please, stand up. I'm not used to being a Princess yet. I'm a Slayer. We are equals in this fight. Now, tell me... what is the plan?"
One of the rebel leaders, a woman named Sariya, stepped toward a map on the table. "The situation is dire. Your brother, King Auther, is a prisoner in his own mind. Doka has been feeding him a drug called 'Hector'—a dark alchemical concoction that turns the user into a mindless puppet. He signs whatever Doka puts in front of him."
"Is there a cure?" I asked, stepping forward.
"There is," Sariya replied, pulling out a glowing, iridescent flower. "The Rainbow Balira. This rare plant can neutralize any mind-altering toxin or spell. We managed to secure one from the deep valleys, but getting it to the King is the challenge."
"Tomorrow is the 20th day of the Month of Chatalee, A.C. 3220," Moya added. "It's Prince Auther's 18th birthday. Doka and the traitorous nobles are hosting a massive gala at the Moka Royal Palace. Every high-ranking official and BTK officer will be under one roof."
"We can't attack from the outside," I noted, looking at the palace blueprints. "The walls are reinforced with Atara-absorbent stone."
"Exactly," Moya said. "Our plan is to infiltrate. We've secured the uniforms of the Elite High-Noble Guards. Tomorrow, the four of you will act as the personal security for a loyalist noble who still has access to the palace."
The next morning, I decided to walk through the city to gauge the mood of the people. It was heartbreaking. While the palace was preparing for a feast, the citizens were starving.
I stopped near a small jewelry stall, watching as a group of BTK thugs dragged an elderly bookstore owner into the street. "You're late on your monthly tax, old man!" one of them barked.
"Please! No one is buying books! I don't even have enough for bread!" the old man begged.
The thug laughed, kicking over a shelf of precious scrolls. "Then you can pay with your labor in the mines."
The surrounding crowd watched in silence, their faces masks of despair. "Will anyone ever save us?" a woman whispered nearby. I gripped the hilt of my gauntlet, my resolve hardening. I won't just stop Doka, I thought. I'll burn this whole corrupt system to the ground.
As evening approached, we returned to the hideout to dress for the mission. We donned the silver and crimson armor of the High-Noble Guards. The fit was perfect. Luke looked surprisingly regal, his green hair neatly tied back; Rim looked sharp and dangerous; and Mason carried herself with a natural authority that commanded the room.
Our "client" for the night was Lord Etharon Khon, an elderly aristocrat who had secretly supported the rebellion for years. He was a man of few words, his face a map of wrinkles and wisdom.
"You four look the part," Etharon said, his voice a gravelly rasp. "Stay close to me. Keep your visors down. In the palace, the walls have ears, and the shadows have blades. We have to wait for Mora to give us a signal."
We boarded a gilded carriage, the crest of Lord Etharon painted on the door. The journey to the capital city of Moka was tense. As we passed through the palace gates, I saw the sheer opulence of the BTK's rule—fountains flowing with wine, gold-plated statues, and guards with cold, predatory eyes.
The palace ballroom was a sea of silk and hypocrisy. At the far end of the hall, sitting on a throne that looked too big for him, was a young man with golden hair and glassy, vacant eyes.
"That's him," Mason is say That's my brother, Auther."
Next to the throne stood a man in a dark, high-collared coat. His face was partially scarred—Doka. He was smiling, looking down at the nobility like a wolf watching a flock of sheep.
Moya's voice crackled in our earpieces. "We are in position at the kitchens and the barracks. Kaelo, Mason... wait for the first toast. Once the music hits its peak, that's our window. Get the Balira to the King."
I looked at my companions. Luke's hand was on his blade; Rim was subtly channeling her light; and Mason was staring at the man who had destroyed her family.
"For Mario," I whispered.
"For my country," Mason replied.
The music swelled, the wine poured, and the fuse of the revolution was lit. We were inside the heart of the beast, and tonight, the Black Tiger would learn the price of its greed.