I stand rigid in the austere chamber, fixing my gaze on a point in the shadows beyond my grandmother's shoulder. Chatelaine Elethra towers before me, her spine as unyielding as the stone pillars surrounding us. Dim light filters through narrow windows, casting long shadows across her face, deepening the severity of her expression. Her eyes scour me, leaving no part unjudged.
"Do you even realize what you've done?" Her voice slices through the silence. Cold. Sharp. Final. "The eyes of the Exarchs are upon us. First it was your father breaking with tradition by spurning the Rite of Fidelity, now this madness you summoned in that chamber."
Her gaze strips away every layer until I feel exposed to the bone. She steps closer, her words measured, each one carrying the weight of a curse she's finally willing to name.
"For your father's sake, I turned a blind eye to the rumors. Told myself you were merely... different." Her lips curl with disdain. "Balah-Born. That's what they call you, isn't it? A demon. A Hunger from Outside."
Demon. The word lands with a chill, stirring something deep and instinctual—a sensation I cannot name, dark and ancient.
Her voice lowers, venomous. "No one, nothing, should survive in the Balah, let alone be born there. Yet you... You emerged from that place, as if drawn from the depths of something that shouldn't exist." She lets out a sharp breath. "A Hunger," she whispers, her voice taut with disgust, "something foreign that took root in human flesh."
The accusation settles like frost across my skin. I keep my face still, but inside, something writhes.
"They say you're not truly Janus. That you're only a vessel for something from Outside—a parasite cloaked in my grandson's skin." Her eyes narrow to slits. "They say that whatever Janus Ragnos was supposed to be was devoured long ago, that you are nothing but a demon wearing his face."
The words strike like physical blows. Alien. Heavy. Chilling me to my core.
"Do you know how much it has cost me to protect you all these years?" She moves closer still, her presence suffocating. "How many times I silenced the whispers that claimed you were a Hunger, that you brought with you an insatiable appetite for power and ruin?"
Her gaze bores into me. Each word falls like a lash. "You carry an instability within you, a danger to House Azure itself. And now, after what happened in the Veilstone chamber..." She lets the implication hang. "The rumors only grow louder."
She leans in, her voice harsh. "If you cannot master this... strangeness... within you, we will cast you out. Do you understand me?"
The Veilstone's whisper echoes back: Is this what you are? The word mingles with my grandmother's accusations, and suddenly they are one and the same—a truth I have been running from, a destiny I cannot escape.
The cold, harsh present of my grandmother's lecture recedes. In its place, the thick silence of the Veilstone chamber returns. The oppressive quiet. Strange whispers. The weight of that memory overtakes me, pulling me back into its grasp.
I staggered backward, yanking my hand from the Veilstone. Cold lingered in my fingers, burrowing beneath the skin. The vision clung—twisted creatures, blood-dark eyes, that hollow throne burning in my mind. Eater. The word slipped through my thoughts like a jagged whisper, as if the stone itself had branded it into me.
The world felt distant. Wrong. The chamber's unnatural stillness pressed against me, heavy after the chaos within. My legs wavered, mind reeling as I tried to reconcile vision with reality.
Confusion. Dread. A cold weight sank in my stomach as I steadied myself. I blinked hard, trying to see past the images seared into my mind, but they clung like shadows, flickering just beyond sight. Those terrified faces. Their blood-dark eyes. An accusation. A prophecy. Something I could not escape.
Then I felt it—eyes. Sharp and watching.
I looked up. The gathered scions stared back, their gazes piercing through the silence. Some studied me with cold curiosity, like a specimen pinned for examination. Others wore disdain, barely veiled. A few—these unsettled me most—looked afraid, their eyes darting between me and the Veilstone as if expecting it to crack open and spill out horrors.
My heart thudded. Each beat amplified the feeling of exposure. Raw. Vulnerable. As though the Veilstone had scraped away something essential.
A hand clamped down on my arm. High-Exarch Oshen towered over me, white robes pooling like fog, his expression hidden behind the hollow-eyed mask of the Autarch. That void-like gaze pierced straight through, as if sifting through the vision still swirling in my mind.
"What did you see, boy?" His voice cut sharp and quiet through the silence.
I tried to pull back, but his grip only tightened. My mouth went dry. The creatures' faces, their terror, the shadowed throne—it all tangled in my mind, refusing to form into words.
"I... I don't know," I managed, barely a whisper.
His fingers dug deeper. "Don't play games with me." A growl beneath the words. "The Veilstone has never glowed so bright."
The scions pressed closer, their whispers urgent, waiting.
"I... I…" Desperation crept into my voice before I could banish it. "Nothing."
Oshen's silence stretched, the mask's hollow eyes drilling into me with judgment as cold as winter rain.
"Release him," commanded a voice.
The gathered scions parted.
Titus strode in, his presence commanding instant silence. Double pupils flashed in his blue eyes—the mark of an eidolon—each iris containing twin dark centers that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. The gold torq gleamed at his throat, its surface etched with intricate patterns. Power radiated from the Codicil imprinted on his forehead, an intricate design centered around a stylized third eye.
His alien gaze made the High-Exarch's grip feel suddenly fragile.
"Let him go, Oshen." My uncle's voice carried calm authority. "Now."
A heartbeat passed. Oshen's mask remained fixed on me, his fingers tightening once more before finally releasing. He stepped back, though that hollow gaze never wavered.
"Of course, my Qilin." Smooth words, cold with implication. "But House Azure would do well to remember the importance of transparency when it comes to such... tests."
I stood still, arm tingling where his grip had been. Gratitude mixed with resentment in my chest. Titus's intervention felt less like protection, more like an assertion of control—over both Oshen and me.
Titus studied me, his expression impossible to read. Cool. Calculated. The scions murmured, their whispers pressing in from all sides. Strange. Different. Demon.
Pain explodes across my cheek, snapping me back to the present. The taste of copper fills my mouth. Grandmother's hand hangs in the air between us, her rings catching the dim light.
"You dare ignore me?" Her voice trembles with fury. Silver hair catches the light as she straightens, drawing herself up like a storm gathering force. "You will heed me when I speak. Or were you planning your next display?"
The sting spreads across my face, but I keep still. Keep my expression blank. Any reaction would only feed her rage.
"You will not attend the Festival of Retrospection tonight." Each word falls like a gavel strike. "I will not have you creating another scene, not during the most sacred night of our calendar. Your... peculiarities have already cast enough shadows on House Azure."
I taste blood. The Festival of Retrospection—where even the Blue Dularch humbles himself before the people. Where judgment and mercy dance their ancient steps. And I am to be excluded, hidden away like a shameful secret.
"Your uncle may tolerate your strangeness," she continues, ice crystallizing in each syllable, "but I will not risk you tainting tonight's ceremonies. Not after what happened with the Veilstone. You will remain in your quarters until dawn."
I hold my silence. Any response would be poison in her hands, any defense twisted into further proof of my unworthiness. So I keep my face still, swallowing down the bitterness that rises like bile.
Two more days, I tell myself. And I will be gone from this place forever.