A strong smell of burned cider filled the room. It was richly decorated, completely contrasting with the martial austerity of the rest of the keep. Red velvet cushions were scattered across the floor, and heavy red and gold drapes decorated the stone walls. At the center, opposite the door, a window stood open, and in front of it sat an imposing desk covered in a lamp, a stack of documents, a small portrait, and a mass of flowing red hair occupying most of the surface.
"Commander Miklas, at your service," he said, saluting sharply.
The person yawned and stood up from the desk. It was a young woman with striking, almost unnatural features: her complexion was as pale as fresh snow, and both her eyebrows and eyes were blazing, vivid red.
"Ah, little Miklas, you are finally back. Where were you? Have you been on one of your detours after patrolling the border? You also brought someone with you—that is rare."
"No... well, Commander, she is my daughter," Miklas lied smoothly. "And the delay was because the Mud and Blood Coalition attacked the village of Oakhaven. They were ten thousand strong. My cohort was wiped out to the last man, and the horde broke through our lines. Unfortunately, I think only my daughter here survived the slaughter."
"You had a daughter? I did not know you fathered a child. Do you know that by Imperial law, she needs to be tested in her fifteenth year, as she is the daughter of a manipulator?"
"I am sorry, my Commander. Her mother did not have any special ability besides her beauty, and I did not want to subject the child to humiliation if her seed was dormant, nor be embarrassed by her. But circumstances have changed, so she will be tested. And if it pleases you, she has just had her fifteenth name day."
Fifteenth? I thought, keeping my face entirely blank. I just turned fourteen. He is lying to bypass the bureaucracy and get me into the assessment immediately. Brilliant.
"Hmm. I understand," the Commander mused, playing with a strand of her red hair. "Okay... she will be tested in one week with the other teens from the city. As for your battle, congratulations. The blood of your subordinates will strengthen the Empire’s foundation. I will open up recruitment for your cohort; you can choose whomever you wish. Now go and work on your papers, Faciv has been complaining every day about them."
And with that, the Commander stood up, walked toward the corner with the most pillows, and plopped down with a bored sigh.
"Sorry, my Commander, but what about the villagers of Oakhaven?" I asked, unable to stop myself. She had not talked about them at all. An entire village. Over four hundred civilians butchered, and no mention whatsoever.
"What is your name, girl?" she asked, her red eyes locking onto me with the coldness of a reptile.
"Elvit, Commander."
"I am Erula Fion Buros. Now that we know each other, know that the loss of the village is a terrible misfortune, and I pity you. But their bodies helped to slow down something that could have been worse. New settlers will be sent to the village once the horde is dealt with. Now go."
As I opened my mouth, ready to argue back—to scream that you cannot talk about people just as bodies, as speedbumps, or as tools to achieve victory—Miklas’s heavy hand clamped down on my shoulder, his grip warningly tight.
"Thanks, Commander, for your wise words. My daughter will learn a lot from them. By your leave, we will go attend to our duties."
While we went downstairs, he kept glancing at me, silently commanding me to stay quiet.
As we walked out into the military district, I watched the people around us. They looked relaxed, joking with each other and haggling with merchants. No one cared that just a three-day walk from here, an entire village had been massacred, or that an entire cohort of their comrades had died in the mud. The disconnect was nauseating.
After walking for some time along the paved roads, we approached the third and final wall—the largest one, at least fifty feet tall. This time, there was no gatehouse, but a heavily armed checkpoint guarding what seemed to be a massive vertical shaft. After a thorough verification of Miklas’s identity by the guards, we stepped onto a platform adjacent to the wall. It was made of a solid block of white stone that resembled marble, secured by heavy wooden railings. I could not see any mechanism, ropes, or pulleys to pull us up, so once the platform started to levitate smoothly on its own, I let out an involuntary yelp.
"Hahahahahah!" Miklas laughed, the tension finally leaving his shoulders. "This is an elevating stone. By some strange law Jute made, it always naturally wants to go toward the sky. The old tales say that all the people who dream to fly become levitating stones when they die. The elevator works with these iron stoppers on the wall that move slowly, guiding the stone’s buoyancy up and down."
"Miklas, where are we going now?"
"To our home, of course. We need to wash, get you dressed in some proper clothes, and start to train. You told me you wanted to become stronger, no? Also, in exactly one week, we will know if you can manipulate the Ember inside of you, so we need to work hard before the assessment."
I looked at him. He seemed to be taking both his fake fatherhood and my tactical wish for power very seriously. That was strange. Everything I had seen in this city so far—from the dissociating citizens to Commander Erula casually brushing off five hundred dead soldiers—hinted that people here were entirely selfish. They did not care for strangers, and they certainly didn’t share their power freely.
Perhaps my view of the world was too narrow, I thought. Yes, I have lived in this world for over a decade now, but I was in a relatively ’protected’ rural environment. The real Empire is ruthless.
At the top, the elevator made a sharp stop, almost making me lose my footing, but Miklas, anticipating it, caught my arm and supported me.
"Thanks," I muttered.
In front of me, the scenery was vastly different from the chaotic lower district or the orderly, utilitarian military zone. The whole upper level was extremely green, full of meticulously manicured gardens. Servants and their masters moved around leisurely under silk sun umbrellas.
Ahead of me stood an enormous, majestic palace, very similar in architecture to Jute’s court in my old village, but ten times bigger and infinitely more elaborate. On top of the first building rested another, and on top of that stood elegant towers and chapels reaching for the sky. To its left, an enormous four-story mansion stood, richly decorated with statues and balconies. Lastly, twenty other smaller mansions were scattered along the sides of the hill, leaving a clear, strategic view from the center of each mansion toward Jute’s grand court.
"It is time to go home," Miklas said, taking my hand and leading me toward one of the smaller mansions.