From the upper balcony overlooking the training yard, Princess Alisanne stood with her hands lightly folded over the marble balustrade. Her white gloves caught the early light, but her attention was fixed entirely on the young man below.
Reivo moved through a set of sparring drills, fluid yet razor-sharp. His strikes were clean, his footwork precise. He moved like someone who had shed hesitation—and perhaps, humanity.
"He's stronger today," Alisanne said softly, a note of intrigue in her voice.
Beside her, Meira—her ever-silent shadow—tilted her head in agreement.
The princess turned slightly. "What do you think? Can you use your skill on him?"
Meira gave a small nod. "Of course, Your Highness." She stepped forward without hesitation, boots quiet on the stone floor, until she stood just at the edge of the balcony.
She brought her fingers together in a quick, familiar gesture. "Ghost Eye," she murmured.
Her pupils faded into milky white as the world twisted around her. A chill crept across her spine—not from the wind, but from what she immediately saw.
Reivo stood alone, a stark figure among the other trainees. Yet to her awakened sight, he was not alone.
An aura clung to him like smoke—no, not smoke. Something worse. It writhed around him, shadows with shape and mass, curling and twisting through the air like leashed nightmares. It wasn't natural mana. It was tainted, not chaotic but intentional. Controlled.
Something—things—hovered just behind him, distorted shapes too vague to be human. They slithered at the edge of sight, pressing against the veil between seen and unseen. Meira tried to look closer.
Then one of them turned.
A face—or the idea of a face—pivoted slowly toward her. Eyes, if they could be called that, opened wide.
And they saw her.
Not just noticed—recognized.
Dozens of similar entities followed, their eyeless, dripping gazes turning toward her in unison. A sensation of being pulled began, like her soul was being drawn into their gaze. Whispers scratched at the edges of her hearing. Her lungs locked, her heartbeat stuttered.
One of the entities began to crawl—up toward her, though it stood on nothing. Its mouth opened in a stretched grin that split too wide. There was no sound, but somehow she heard it say:
"We see you, little watcher."
Meira gasped and stumbled backward, severing the connection. Her eyes snapped back to normal, wide and wild. Her knees nearly buckled.
"Meira!" Alisanne caught her by the arms. "What happened? Are you alright?"
Meira didn't answer immediately. She blinked several times, trying to ground herself. Her face was pale, her breathing uneven. The princess had known her all her life—Meira, composed and unshakable. A loyal maid, a protector, and an Awakened trained in perception and defense. She had never seen her like this.
"Meira—speak to me."
The woman finally straightened. Her voice came out low, hoarse. "Apologies, Princess. But… I saw it. He's awakened. There's no doubt."
Alisanne's brow furrowed. "Good. Then why—why were you afraid?"
Meira hesitated. "His aura… It's not just strong. It's unnatural. Warped. The only time I've seen something like it was with title bearers. Cursed ones."
That made the princess blink. "A title?"
Meira gave a slight nod. "Yes. I couldn't tell which kind, but… something was watching me. Not just reacting. It knew I was there."
For a long moment, silence stretched between them.
Then Alisanne composed herself, brushing a golden curl behind her ear. "Go," she said softly but firmly. "Fetch him. We need to speak—now."
---
Later, in one of the fortress's inner chambers
Reivo stood with arms crossed, his expression as guarded as ever. The princess sat across from him, dressed in royal blues with silver trim, her hands resting neatly on her lap. Meira stood behind her, gaze steady despite a lingering tightness in her posture.
"You called," Reivo said plainly.
Alisanne smiled faintly. "Yes. I wanted to congratulate you."
He raised a brow, saying nothing.
"You've awakened," she continued. "Confirmed by someone I trust with my life. Congratulations."
Reivo didn't react. "So?"
"So," she leaned forward slightly, "that changes things."
He didn't move, but his eyes flicked briefly to Meira before returning to Alisanne. "Explain."
"In three months, I turn eighteen," she said. "That's when there should be my awakening ceremony. In a few weeks, we'll be leaving this fortress for the capital."
"And?"
"And since you're Awakened now," she continued, "you'll undergo specialized training. There are things only the Reign can teach—the way the world's system truly works, how to grow stronger, how to survive the next level."
Reivo's gaze was unflinching. "So that's what this is. You want to point me somewhere and let me bleed for your crown."
Alisanne didn't flinch. "I want to give you purpose. You have power now—raw, dangerous. You need refinement, direction. I can give you that."
"No," he said, voice like frost. "You can give me targets. Let's not pretend this is about nobility or duty. You want to use me."
There was a pause. Then, Alisanne nodded slowly. "Yes. I do."
Meira shifted behind her, but the princess didn't break eye contact.
"I won't lie to you, Reivo. You're dangerous. Unstable. And valuable. So yes, I intend to use you—to forge that rage into something useful. But in return, you gain the training, the knowledge, and the legitimacy to survive."
A long silence.
Then Reivo stepped forward, just enough to be in her space. Close enough that Meira tensed.
"You can point me at whatever monster, rebellion, or cursed ruin you want," he said. "I'll cut for you. I'll kill. I'll leave graves behind me if it gets me what I need."
Alisanne's breath caught, just slightly. Reivo's aura intensified, she felt a shiver on the back, it was as something terrifying was just a breath away, watching her.
"But know this," he continued, his voice a cold whisper, "the only reason I'm letting you shape the blade is because I want it sharp enough to gut your father's empire."
Alisanne's expression didn't change—but something flickered in her eyes. A storm behind glass.
"I'll play the weapon," Reivo said. "But one day, I'll choose where it points."
She studied him for a long moment. Then, almost imperceptibly, she smiled.
"Then we understand each other."
She turned toward the door, her tone composed. "We leave in two weeks. Make sure you survive until then."
Reivo watched her go, his fists tightening at his sides.
He would let them train him. Let them mold him.
And when the time was right—he would bring the whole rotting empire down on their heads.
From within.