I can't sleep. Miro hasn't come back. It's been a week since he left for the east. I'm staring at the ceiling, and all I can see is the floral pattern inscribed on it. I trace the beautifully complex pattern with my eyes, hoping I'll fall asleep.
It doesn't work. It's futile.
"Master, you've been like this for hours now," my maid says from the chair beside my bed. She slowly swings a feathered hand fan, her face expressionless as always, her eyes carrying their usual coldness.
I look at her with a worried expression on my face. "You know how I care about you and Miro, right? I only have you two... and I'm worried about him. What if Miro doesn't come back?"
She stares at me blankly and then replies calmly. "The King won't be happy if you keep thinking of me as your friend."
"I know. That's why I couldn't spend time with you as a good friend. I don't see you as my servant, but if I don't put on an act, you'll have to face the consequences. My dad is a ruthless man, and I'm helpless."
I break eye contact, a sick wave of shame washing over me for being so helpless. What can I even do? I can't overthrow this regime. The only way is for me to become the King... and that is only possible when my dad decides to step down. Even then, I'll have to listen to what he says. I'll just be his puppet.
There's another way... if he dies somehow... or...
I kill him.
If I poison him, no one will know. I'll be made the King. I'll end the suffering and injustice caused by my dad.
I slap a hand over my face, the sharp impact snapping me out of the trance. What am I thinking?! "He is my dad! Even if he's cruel, he is my dad. He loves me. He wants everything for me." I squeeze my eyes shut. "I shouldn't think about it. It hurts. It hurts. His love is sacrificing someone else's child to feed me. It's just wrong—but he does it for me. I can't think straight anymore. What's right... what's wrong... there's no boundary."
I snatch the hand fan from her and look at her with narrowed eyes.
"Take me to your room. I'll be your servant. I'll wave this fan and make you fall asleep. You've been sleeping in the heat all these days without someone to fan you, right? Well, I'll make sure you have a good night's sleep."
"Master—what are you saying—?" It was the first time I'd caught her off guard, and she made a slightly shocked expression.
"Just do as I say."
She pauses and thinks about it. "But if the King finds out—"
"He isn't in the castle today. He'll only return tomorrow."
"But what if someone snitches?"
"We'll be careful. No one will be around at the top level of the castle except for two or three guards. We'll just make up an excuse for them."
"I'm glad at least you got a room at the top level of the castle. It would have been a pain in the ass if we had to go all the way to the backside where the other maids live," I say as we both sneak out toward her room.
"Maids who serve the royal family are supposed to live close by, so we can be called upon at any time," she says with no emotion in her words, sounding almost like the robots I've seen brought by the people of Earth.
We make our way down the long corridor. A crimson carpet stretches out beneath our feet, illuminated by the flickering torches mounted along the stone walls, leading us all the way to a thick wooden door at the very end. We push against the heavy wood, and it creaks open.
"I don't see any guards here. Where could they have gone? This is my first time seeing it so empty, other than the day those terrorists attacked the castle," I whisper to Freya.
"Maybe they've gone to the Ritual. They'll come back soon," she replies.
"The Ritual? What's that?" I ask, genuinely confused.
"It's a form of offering. A sacrifice made to the Goddess of Power. It is done so that the guards and warriors can gain more strength."
"And what do they sacrifice?"
"The maids. Because even if a maid disappears, the public won't know. We have no identity outside this castle."
I feel dizzy just thinking about it. All these cruel things happening inside the castle, and I was made to believe I lived in Heaven.
"Is that what happened to Mai—?"
"Yes," she says.
And the heavy silence that follows prevails until we reach her room.
it's a small wooden room with barely any space to live comfortably
Soon, she goes and changes into something comfortable and lies down. I sit on a chair beside her small wooden bed and begin to wave the fan.
"It feels kind of weird... I don't know why I agreed to this," she says, staring blankly at the ceiling. A trail of sweat runs down my neck from the lamp's heat, but I fan hard enough so she doesn't feel the warmth of it.
"Because you wanted to feel something normal. Nothing about this place... this castle... this kingdom is normal," I say, my voice breaking.
She turns her head and looks at me with eyes that speak silence.
"I guess so."
"I've never had a family. I didn't get to see my parents. I was taken away and trained to be a warrior in my town. They thought I was the best one they had, so they took me away from my parents, trained me until... until your dad attacked our town and took it over. They didn't kill me like the rest of the people in my town. Your dad thought I was strong and pretty, so I'd make a good maid." She pauses.
"My life's been like that, so I don't know what normal is like for you. Because this life is my normal."
I drop the fan, grab her hand, and press it against my forehead.
"THIS IS NOT NORMAL! YOUR LIFE ISN'T NORMAL!" I begin to tear up, my voice fracturing. My throat hitches impulsively, forcing out those jagged, shuddering sobs that make your chest jump like a hiccup.
Her eyes widen, but she gives in, letting me hold her hand in that desperate embrace.
"I'm sorry. I couldn't do anything. I don't have power like the Entropy Manipulators, and I'm not even physically strong..."
I release her hand and wipe the tears away with the back of my hand, some already drying in streaks on my cheeks. I pick the fan back up and resume fanning her.
"You should sleep now, Freya." She nods, still visibly shocked, and closes her eyes. After a while, she falls into a deep sleep.
I'll show you what a normal life is, Freya. I promise.
I close the door behind me and start the walk back toward my room. My footsteps ring out loudly in the silence of the hallway. When I open the doors to the main corridor and step inside, it is pitch black. The lamps were lit before, but now they've all burned out. I can hear muffled screaming—as if the dead are screeching right in my ears. I walk on through the darkness, relying purely on memory and intuition to find my way.
That's when my foot strikes something. It's soft... wet and squishy.
What is it? My eyes slowly adapt to the dark, aided by the moonlight spilling in from the large window beside me. It's just enough light to make out the figure below me.
It's a corpse.
"a terrorist attack?"
I turn the body over. Pinned to the chest is a badge—the insignia of the Royal Guard.
Then I hear a familiar voice. Miro?!
It's coming from the throne room.
I rush toward it, bumping and stumbling in the darkness. The voices of Miro and my father grow louder as I close the distance. Miro sounds angry—but for what?
I throw the huge doors of the throne room open. I freeze.
My dad is sitting on the throne. He's smiling—a disgusting smile that makes me want to retch. It is a look of pure malice and satisfaction for whatever evil he has done.
Miro's face is burning with rage. He is covered in blood, injured, and clearly weak.
"I got you what you wanted! Now free my village from the disease you gave it! I want my mother back to normal!"
My dad stands up and walks down from his throne slowly, his footsteps echoing through the vast room. He bends down and picks up a compass from the floor. It's the one that points to the World Beyond—silvery and embedded with rubies.
Then I notice the corpse. It has no skin, with horns like a bull's on its head. It is red and dead-looking, with a supernatural physique and three eyes; the third sits right in the center of its forehead. In the middle of its chest is a deep, circular pit, as if it were made for a specific key.
"Yes, indeed," my dad says in a coarse, deep voice. "Do you not remember my words, Miro? That I would bring peace upon your village?" His lips curl into a wicked smile.
He takes the compass and inserts it into the circular pit in the corpse's chest—the corpse of the Decay Mutation Devil.
"Cut the bullshit and just save them!"
Miro's eyes have teared up. The realization hits me like a physical blow—my dad was the one who gave the village the disease? The one that caused Miro's mother to be paralyzed?
"I got you what you wanted!" Miro screams.
"Calm down, young man. I am a man of my word." My father's smile widens. "Stand back. I'm going to perform the ritual to bring peace upon your town."
He begins an incantation, his hands moving in blurred, complex signs. "Be my pet. Serve me and protect me, and I'll give you life in exchange for a thousand others."
The gaslights flicker. Then, the creature's eyes snap open. As it stands, its bones and muscles creak with the sound of grinding stone. It looks like a skinned human being with a god-like, terrifying physique.
"WHAT DID YOU DO?!" Miro screams his lungs out.
"Me?" My dad straightens up. "I brought peace upon your town, just like you asked."
"You're lying—you performed a ritual to reawaken the Decay Mutation Devil!" Miro's voice is vehement, vibrating with a rage that looks ready to snap.
My dad laughs—a hollow, disgusting sound. "You're a smart one, aren't you? Well, I shouldn't be surprised; your village is famous for performing rituals."
"Rituals require sacrifice," Miro says, his voice firm and filled with latent fury. "Tell me. What did you sacrifice?"
"Your village. I sacrificed your village."
My father doesn't even blink. "And guess what? This was my plan from the beginning. No one would question me; they would just think everyone died from the disease that took over five years ago. No one knows the truth—that it was all just a show I put on for this sacrifice. How elegant, right?"
He looks at Miro with total indifference. "Now, it's time to get rid of you. You're the only one left who knows the truth."
"All this just for power? My mother... my village... my everything." Miro clenches his teeth, his fists shaking.
"I'm sorry, Adel. I'm already sorry," Miro shouts. They don't know I'm here; I had crawled behind the throne while they were distracted by the devil's awakening.
Miro finally lashes out. He raises his arm and shoots a beam of black energy. It's parried instantly by the devil, who steps between them. That black energy—it's Decay Energy, the death power that prevails in our world. It creates energy by siphoning life from somewhere else. A perfect give and take. I've never seen Miro use it before.
"Deal with him, ugh—I don't want to keep calling you the 'Mutation Devil.' I'll name you MUD." My father walks back toward the throne. "I'm going to entertain myself watching you two fight. MUD, play with him a bit longer."
MUD nods and charges at Miro. Miro parries and dodges, but the devil is relentless. Dad sits down. He is close to me now, his breathing slow and heavy. He is satisfied.
"The ritual will end only if I die," my father mocks Miro. "But you cannot kill me with that monster around, can you?"
I watch Miro. He is struggling. He can't keep up, taking heavy blows that are meant to hurt, but not kill. He is being played with. He draws his sword and imbues it with Decay Energy—a flickering black aura—and throws slashes that travel through the air. The devil is too fast. MUD dodges them all, driving a punch into Miro's stomach before slamming a knee into his chin. He does it again and again, until Miro has no strength or will left to evoke his power.
"That's enough. Kill him," my dad says, sounding bored. "I didn't have fun. You've got boring moves, MUD."
Miro is on his knees, blood gushing from a wound on his head. He's looking down, defeated. MUD points a palm at him, charging a Decay Beam of his own. Miro waits, accepting his fate. He lived his life for others, and now he has no one left. He knew this would come.
Miro looks up at the devil, but the creature is frozen, as if in suspended animation. He looks toward the throne, and his face pales into a look of pure, paralyzed horror.
There's a knife through my dad's throat. Blood is gushing out, and he is gasping for air, coughing up thick, dark crimson.
"What—? What have you done?" Miro asks, his voice trembling.
"I'm sorry, Dad. It had to be done," I whisper. "I couldn't take it anymore."