Shree Heng's footsteps echoed through the cold, stone corridors of the Iron Citadel, a sound that seemed far too loud in the stillness of the citadel's inner sanctum. The walls, etched with the ancient markings of the Heng Clan's forebears, closed in on him like an oppressive weight, a constant reminder of the dark legacy he was bound to. Each step he took brought him closer to his sister, Heng Myrra—the Silent Heir, as she had come to be known.
Her silence was legendary. A silence that had always unnerved the rest of the family. No one knew what thoughts lingered behind her emotionless eyes or what motivations drove her actions. While Shree's ruthlessness was a fire that burned brightly for all to see, Myrra's ambition was far subtler. It was like a quiet poison, creeping through the veins of the family, infecting everything it touched.
As he neared her chambers, the heavy iron door loomed before him. He had always hated the silence of these halls, the oppressive quiet that seemed to grow stronger the closer one came to Myrra. But today, it felt different. There was a tension in the air, something that hadn't been there before. Perhaps it was the growing instability in Varema, the ever-tightening grip of the Kingdoms, or perhaps it was Myrra herself—changing, as his mother had warned.
He knocked once, the sound too soft for his liking, but the door opened almost immediately, revealing his sister standing within. Her face was as unreadable as ever, her expression a perfect mask of indifference. She was dressed in the dark robes of their family, but unlike their mother or himself, her attire had no frills—no embellishments, no signs of status. She was a mere shadow of what the rest of the clan presented to the world.
"What do you want, Shree?" Her voice was soft, detached—like the cold breeze that swept through the open windows of the Citadel.
Shree's eyes narrowed, the faintest glimmer of annoyance flickering in his otherwise composed demeanor. "I came to speak with you," he replied, stepping inside without waiting for permission. "I've heard… rumors. About you."
Myrra didn't flinch. She simply shut the door behind him and took a seat at the small desk in the corner of the room, her fingers idly tracing the surface of a book she had left open. "Rumors are nothing but noise. You should know that by now."
Shree stood before her, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on her face. "What is it you've been doing, Myrra? You've been distant… secretive."
She glanced up at him for the briefest of moments before turning her gaze back to the book. "I've been doing what I must. You should try it sometime."
He wasn't sure if it was her words or the cold, emotionless tone that stirred something deep inside him—a flicker of suspicion, maybe, or a deeper sense of unease. But the reality was undeniable: Myrra was up to something. She had always been a shadow in the family, but recently, she had been pulling herself further and further away from the rest of the clan, a distance that felt purposeful.
"You think you can play the game like I do," Shree said, his voice icy, "but you can't. You're not fit to lead."
Myrra finally looked up at him, her dark eyes locking onto his with a piercing intensity. "And you think you are?" she asked softly, almost mockingly. "You believe that your ambition, your ruthlessness, will get you everything you want. But you're wrong. The game doesn't work that way."
Shree's eyes flickered. This was new. Myrra had never dared speak to him in such a way before. It wasn't the usual meek silence or compliance he had come to expect. There was something more behind her words—something that made him feel, for the first time, like he might not know all the pieces of this game.
"Then what are you planning?" he asked, the edge in his voice sharper than before. "What are you going to do?"
Myrra leaned back in her chair, her hands folding neatly in her lap. "I'm doing what I need to. Unlike you, Shree, I'm not in a rush to burn everything down just to get what I want. I'll wait. I'll let the others destroy each other. And when the time is right…" She trailed off, leaving the words unspoken, but the meaning clear. She would strike when the chaos was absolute, when the world had been torn apart enough to make her the victor.
"You're playing with fire," Shree warned, his voice low and dangerous. "You're just like the rest of them."
Myrra smiled—a cold, empty smile that held no warmth. "I'm nothing like them. I'm not driven by the same blind need for power. I don't need to crush everyone beneath me to get what I want. I just need to wait for the right moment."
Shree didn't know whether to be infuriated or impressed by her calm demeanor. It was clear that Myrra's ambition was as vast as his own, but her method was different. She wasn't a bull charging through the gates like he was. She was a snake, silently coiling, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
"Just remember one thing, Myrra," Shree said, his voice low but filled with cold certainty. "No one survives this game without becoming a monster. Not you. Not me. No one."
Her smile faded, and for the briefest of moments, Shree saw something in her eyes—a flicker of understanding, perhaps even agreement. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.
"You don't know me, Shree," she said quietly. "And you never will."
With that, she turned her attention back to the book in front of her, signaling the end of their conversation. Shree stood still for a moment longer, watching her, trying to read her intentions, but her impenetrable silence once again overwhelmed him. He turned on his heel and left, the heavy door closing behind him with a resounding thud.
Outside, the wind howled through the Citadel, but Shree felt no relief. Myrra's words echoed in his mind, the weight of her calm assurance a constant reminder of the danger she posed—one he hadn't fully anticipated. For the first time in years, he was uncertain.
Perhaps the game had changed. Perhaps there were more players than he had realized.
And the silence of his sister was now more dangerous than ever.