Raikuto leaned against the icy wall of his cell, his fingers absently brushing the rough floor. The stone, hard and cold, reminded him how much this place was not a home.
Two years.
Two years of isolation. Two years of treatments, experiments, tests that made no sense to him. He was a subject of study, a toy in the hands of Abraham.
He ran his fingers over the dark metal ring around his wrist. His weight had become familiar to him, almost an extension of himself. This seal engraved with ancient inscriptions was his invisible prison. He had never understood how it worked, but he knew one thing: as long as he wore it, its power no longer belonged to him.
A light noise broke the silence.
The door to his cell opened without a creak, perfectly oiled, as if whoever was coming had no intention of disturbing the heavy peace of this place.
Raikuto didn't even look up. He already knew who it was.
Abraham entered, dressed in his sober and impeccably tailored outfit. He moved with the same methodical slowness as a doctor observing a quarantined patient.
"You're quiet today," he said in an almost amused tone.
Raikuto didn't move. He knew that ignoring Abraham was no use, but he refused to offer him any reaction.
The steward approached and crouched a few steps from him, resting an elbow on his knee. He tilted his head slightly, as if analyzing every tiny detail of her expression.
"Still so stubborn," he murmured.
Raikuto closed his eyes briefly, trying to ignore the unpleasant shiver that the presence of this man caused him.
Abraham touched his fingertips to the ring encircling his wrist.
"Fascinating, really…" he murmured, almost to himself. Even after all this time, you resist.
Raikuto opened his eyes and finally stared at him, his gaze dark and unfathomable.
"I don't see what's extraordinary about that," he replied hoarsely.
Abraham surit.
— Oh, but you are a miracle in yourself, Raikuto. You stand where others would have given in.
Raikuto didn't answer.
He knew that Abraham was trying to provoke him, to extract something from him. But he had learned not to take the bait anymore.
The steward stood up and adjusted the collar of his tunic.
— Soon we will do another test. I hope you are ready.
Raikuto clenched his fists slightly, but kept an impassive face.
— I don't see why I would be.
Abraham raised an eyebrow.
— Because this time, I think we will have an interesting result.
He turned and walked towards the door.
But before going out, he stopped and added in a lower voice:
—It's only a matter of time before you understand... what you really are.
Raikuto felt his stomach knot.
He knew it.
Abraham never spoke into the air.
And this simple sentence gave him a very bad feeling.
As the door closed behind him, he finally allowed himself a sigh.
His gaze drifted to her wrist.
One day this ring would give way.
One day he would be free.
And that day…Abraham would regret it.
****
The air was heavy in the dojo, charged with heavy tension. Aisha panted, her muscles trembling with the effort. A fine sweat beaded on his forehead, his fists clenched until his knuckles turned white.
In front of her, the wooden targets remained standing, barely shaken by her last attempt.
His tutor sighed slowly, his gaze cold.
—That's still not it.
Aïsha bit the inside of her cheek. She knew it. She felt it wasn't working. But every training session, it was the same thing.
She raised her hands again, trying to ignore the fatigue. A light breeze escaped from his palms, barely touching the targets.
The silence stretched on.
His master crossed his arms, shaking his head slightly.
—It's pathetic.
Aïsha stiffened.
—I'm doing my best.
— Non.
His tone was sharp, devoid of the slightest patience.
— You try, yes. But your chaos is weak, unstable. It doesn't come naturally to you.
Aïsha felt a weight weigh on her chest.
She knew it.
She already knew that.
From day one, she had seen the difference between herself and other children from families capable of handling chaos. Where they managed to mold it as second nature, she had to fight every moment to get something out of it.
Her master stared at her for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders slightly.
—You will never be a great manipulator of chaos.
The sentence fell like a blade.
Aisha clenched her fists.
— So why continue these training sessions?
The tutor looked her up and down.
— Because your father wants it. And because you refuse to give up.
He paused before adding:
— But honestly... I doubt it will change anything.
Aïsha felt anger rising.
She inhaled slowly, controlling her expression.
She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her give in.
She raised her hands again.
- Again.
The tutor raised an eyebrow, slightly surprised.
- Oh ? Do you want to continue anyway?
- Yes.
He watched her face, perhaps looking for a flaw, a sign that she was doubting.
But Aïsha held his gaze.
—Why insist when you know you have no talent? he asked, a bit amused.
She gritted her teeth.
—Because if I stop now, then they will be right.
He raised an eyebrow slightly.
- "They" ?
— Anyone who thinks I can't accomplish anything.
She took a deep breath.
— I want to be strong. Not because my father demands it. Not because that's what's expected of me.
His eyes flashed with fierce determination.
— But because I need it.
The tutor observed him in silence for a moment. Then he gave a light, almost imperceptible smile.
"In that case… Show me what you can do.
Aïsha nodded and raised her hands again.
She knew she had no innate talent.
She knew she might never become a great manipulator of chaos.
But she had no choice.
Because somewhere in this palace...
Raikuto survived.
And as long as he was there, she couldn't afford to falter.
****
Aisha panted slightly, the chaos having dissipated from her palms after her last effort.
His tutor looked at him for a moment before nodding slowly.
—That's enough for today.
She lowered her arms, her breath short.
— I can continue.
— Non.
The master's tone left no room for discussion.
Aisha clenched her fists. She didn't want to stop. She hated these training sessions, but the idea of not progressing, of remaining powerless, drove her crazy.
But she also knew that there was no point in insisting.
She bowed slightly, a habit dictated more by routine than respect, then turned on her heel.
As she left the dojo, only one thought obsessed her.
I have to become stronger. I have to see it.
She passed through the large door of the building and entered the corridors of the palace, the echo of her footsteps resounding against the gilded walls.
The cold of the night seeped in through the tall open windows. The shadows of the carved columns cast ghostly shapes on the polished marble floor.
Aïsha walked for a while, lost in thought.
But a strange sensation pulled her from her reverie.
A thrill.
A diffuse, imperceptible feeling...
She stopped and frowned.
In the silence of the corridor, she felt a presence.
Lightweight.
Worrying.
She turned slowly...
…and saw only darkness.
But someone was there.
Someone was watching.
She hesitated for a second, then resumed her walk, this time more hurriedly.
In the shadows, Idriss followed his movement with a piercing gaze.
He was hidden behind one of the large columns in the corridor, motionless, silent.
It wasn't Aisha he was watching.
His gaze shifted further, to the other end of the corridor.
Abraham.
Idriss walked through the corridors of the palace with measured steps, his senses on alert.
Something was wrong.
He had been watching Abraham for months, and every day his instincts told him that the man was up to something.
But tonight...tonight was different.
He slowed his walk as he came to an intersection and took a quick glance into the adjacent wing.
Further away, in the trembling light of a torch, he saw Abraham.
The steward was not alone.
In front of him, a messenger dressed in a dark cloak handed him a sealed parchment.
Idriss narrowed his eyes.
It was not a simple exchange of reports.
Abraham's posture was unusual: his body tilted slightly forward, his voice reduced to a whisper, a subtle tension in his shoulders.
He's hiding something.
The messenger nodded as he listened to Abraham, then slowly backed away before disappearing into an adjacent corridor.
Abraham remained motionless for a moment, staring at the parchment in his hands.
Then, slowly, he gave a discreet smile.
Idriss felt his body tense.
He knew that kind of smile.
The smile of someone advancing their pawns in the shadows.
Slowly, he backed into the darkness, moving away silently.
He had to know more.
****
Idriss waited a few seconds after Abraham disappeared, then turned away from the main corridor to rush into the wing where the messenger had just disappeared.
His step was silent, his breathing controlled.
He knew the palace better than anyone.
And he knew where this man was going.
The clandestine messengers never left too quickly. They were waiting for a signal, an opportunity to flee without being seen.
Idriss accelerated slightly, skirting the walls before coming out onto a small interior courtyard.
There, under a stone archway, the messenger was readjusting his cloak, checking that no seal or insignia betrayed his affiliation.
Idriss didn't give him time to react.
In one fluid motion, he grabbed the man by the collar and pinned him against a pillar.
The messenger stifled a grunt of surprise, his eyes wide.
"You don't seem like someone who brings good news.
His voice was low, calm, but icy.
The man, still in shock, took a second to regain his senses.
Then he attempted a nervous smile.
"I am but a mere bearer of words, Lord Idriss. You mistook me for someone important.
Idriss tightens his grip.
—Then why are you running away like a thief?
The messenger blinked, searching for a mental escape.
— I... I'm not running away. I'm just doing my job. I deliver letters and I leave, that's all.
— Letters for whom?
The man hesitated a second too long.
Idriss saw it immediately.
— I can't say. It's confidential.
— I am the head of the guards of this palace. Nothing here is confidential to me.
The messenger swallowed.
—It… It's nothing important. A simple missive to a business contact.
— A business contact, huh?
Idriss narrowed his eyes.
The man was lying. He was sure of it.
But he was clever. His lie was not a total fabrication, but a twisted truth.
—What kind of business justifies nocturnal meetings and messengers who carefully avoid guards?
The man hesitated again, then shrugged his shoulders.
— Discreet agreements. You know how the palace works... Some matters cannot be made public.
Idriss tightened his grip slightly, bringing his face closer to hers.
— Tell me what you gave Abraham.
— A simple report.
— On what?
— … City affairs. Nothing more.
Idriss stared at him for a moment, trying to detect the slightest flaw.
The man held her gaze, but he was sweating slightly.
"If it's nothing important… why are you so nervous?"
The messenger shook his head, trying to keep his composure.
—Because you caught me like a criminal when I was just doing my job.
A heavy silence settled.
Idriss knew that this man would not tell him anything concrete.
He was well trained.
But the simple fact that he refused to speak was an answer in itself.
After a moment, Idriss released him slightly.
- Cleared.
The messenger hesitated, as if fearing a trap.
— Can I… leave?
Idriss stared at him for a moment longer, then nodded slowly.
—But know one thing...
He approached, lowering his voice in a threatening tone.
"If I find out that you are involved in something that threatens this palace... I will find you before you can even flee.
The messenger swallowed and nodded quickly before turning away, disappearing into the night.
Idriss followed him with his gaze until he was out of sight.
Then he blew slowly.
He had obtained certainty.
Abraham was up to something.
And he was going to find out what.
****
Idriss stood still in the silent courtyard for a moment, the echo of his conversation with the messenger still ringing in his mind.
Every fiber of his body screamed to him that danger was approaching, that a shadow was hanging over the palace.
More Ghadib…
Ghadib refused to listen.
Idriss clenched his fists before turning away and heading into the corridors leading to the master's chambers.
He had to warn him one last time.
But what he found when he arrived in front of his office only reinforced his concerns.
Ghadib was sitting at his desk, alone, staring into a medallion that he was slowly turning between his fingers.
He didn't even look up when the door opened.
He already knew who was there.
The middle-aged man stroked his thumb over the symbols encrusted on the cold metal of the locket.
A precious artifact.
A memory of the past.
A relic of a time when all this still made sense.
"You're still here, Idriss.
His voice was low, tired, but tinged with a hint of amusement.
Idriss walked forward slowly, stopping a few steps from the desk.
—I surprised a messenger in conversation with Abraham. He was nervous. Too nervous.
Ghadib gave a mirthless smile.
—Everything about Abraham makes you nervous, doesn't it?
Idriss crossed his arms, his gaze sharp.
— Because he was never trustworthy.
Ghadib sighed and placed the locket back on the polished wood of his desk.
—All that no longer matters.
Idriss narrowed his eyes.
- How so ?
The lord of Samakhrystal sat up slightly, his features marked by fatigue and obsession.
— The shipment is ready. In a few days, the Gem of Memories will be in my hands.
His gaze was lost in space for a moment.
—And then, finally, all this will end.
Idriss felt an unpleasant shiver run down his spine.
He knew that sparkle in Ghadib's eyes.
The brilliance of a man who no longer saw anything other than his goal.
— Do you really think this will work? he asked after a silence.
Ghadib took a deep breath, touching the locket one last time.
— I have to believe it.
Idriss clenched his jaw.
—What if you're wrong?
Ghadib finally looked up at him.
—Then I will die trying.
Silence fell heavily in the room.
Idriss stared at him for a long time, searching for a flaw in this inflexible resolve.
But Ghadib was no longer a man who doubted.
He was a man ready to sacrifice everything.
And Idriss understood, at that moment, that he could no longer take him back.
Destiny was in motion.
And all that remained was to see where he would take them.
****
Transition to the next scene: The Infiltrator
Idriss left Ghadib's office without another word, his mind in turmoil.
He had seen obsession devour men before... But with Ghadib, it was different.
It was not a quest for power.
It was a quest for resurrection.
And that made him even more dangerous.
He walked through the corridors, his steps heavy on the stone slabs, his gaze searching every shadow.
Something was wrong.
Everything seemed… too quiet.
As he turned a corner, he saw a figure slip away.
He stopped.
Abraham.
The faithful steward, always in the shadows.
Idriss followed him at a distance, watching his movements cautiously.
Abraham walked away from the main palace and took a more secluded passage, where no one would disturb a secret conversation.
Idriss stopped, sheltering behind a column.
He knew this behavior.
He knew how to recognize a man who was not acting in the interest of the estate.
He narrowed his eyes, his breathing slowing.
Then he saw him pull out a small communications crystal, glowing faintly in the darkness.
Idriss couldn't hear, but he knew.
Someone was on the other end.
Someone who was waiting for answers.
He watched Abraham nod slightly before an enigmatic smile appeared on his lips.
And Idriss understood.
There was no longer any doubt.
The poison had already seeped into the domain.
And soon...
He discreetly hit the handle of his weapon, cursing inwardly.
Soon it would be too late.
Abraham closed the door behind him and took a small communications crystal from his pocket.
A dark glow faintly illuminated it as a voice rose from the crystal, murmuring, imperious.
—Are you following the plan?
A discreet smile stretched Abraham's lips.
— Everything is in place.
He glanced briefly towards the corridor, where he had felt Idriss's insistent presence a few moments earlier.
— They don't suspect anything.
He brought the crystal to his lips and added in a hushed voice:
—The domain will soon fall.
The plan was in motion.
The fate of Ghadib and everything he had built was already sealed.