The corridors of the Liptus Royal Palace were usually a symphony of light and orchestrated silence, designed to amplify the majesty of the Crown. But to High Seer Jabara, they were a tapestry of woven threads—fates entangling, snapping, and knotting together in the invisible realm of àṣẹ.
She walked with the measured, gliding gait of one who sees the world not just with eyes, but with spirit. Her robes, heavy with the embroidery of the All-Seeing Eye, brushed against the polished marble floor. She was heading toward the upper sanctums to meditate on the upcoming tournament finals, but a disturbance in the flow of the palace's energy caught her attention.
It was a dissonance. A sharp note of pain and the metallic scent of fresh blood, out of place in the pristine hallway leading to the servant's quarters.
Jabara paused, her hand resting on a pillar. Around the corner, two palace guards were hauling a stretcher. On it lay a man—one of the tournament fighters, judging by the leather armor that had been shredded at the midsection. He was groaning, clutching a wound that was weeping blood through hastily applied bandages.
What perplexed Jabara was not the injury but the direction. They were not heading toward the Infirmary, where the healers resided. They were heading toward the service elevator that descended into the underbelly of the palace. The dungeons.
"Hold it," Jabara said. Her voice was not loud, yet it carried the weight of a decree.
The guards froze instantly. The servant guiding them bowed low.
"High Seer," the servant stammered. "Forgive the disturbance. We were trying to be discreet."
Jabara stepped closer, her eyes scanning the wounded man. She could feel his àṣẹ was flickering, his life force leaking out like water from a cracked jar. "Since when does King Rega's hospitality involve throwing wounded champions into the dungeons to rot? This man needs a healer, not a cell."
The servant swallowed hard, his eyes darting nervously. "He… he is not going to rot, High Seer. He is going to be healed. The King… the King has given specific orders. The difficult cases, the ones the royal healers fear might die before the night is out… they are sent below."
Jabara's brows knit together. "Below? To whom? The dungeon master knows how to break bones, not mend them."
"To a prisoner, High Seer," the servant whispered, as if the walls had ears. "The Water Aseweaver. Chinakah."
The name was one that Jabara recongnized. The winds of fate she constantly monitored seemed to pull tight around her throat.
Chinakah.
The memory surfaced instantly, bright and sharp. She saw a younger woman of the old King's Guard. They had risen together, in a way. Jabara, a young diviner finding her footing in the court of the previous King, and Chinakah, whose affinity for water àṣẹ healing was matched only by her fluidity in combat.
"Chinakah is here?" Jabara asked, not letting her composure slip any to reveal her shock. "Alive?"
"Yes, High Seer. She has been… a guest of the dungeons for some weeks now."
"Weeks?" Jabara's mind raced. "She was sent on a covert mission years ago. To a backwater called Idara Village. I presumed her lost, or retired."
"She returned, High Seer," the servant said. "To make a report. But… well, she displeased the King."
"Displeased him how?"
"Lying, they say. Or omitting the truth." The servant gestured helplessly to the groaning man on the stretcher. "The King allows her to live, and grants her… slightly better accommodations, provided she uses her àṣẹ to heal the ones the arena breaks. It is her penance."
Jabara looked at the dark maw of the service elevator. She had not been down there in years. The dungeons were a place of stagnant energy, where fate went to die. But if Chinakah was there…
"Take him down," Jabara commanded, stepping onto the platform with them. "I will accompany you."
The servant looked terrified. "High Seer, the dungeons are foul. It is not a place for one of your—"
"I did not ask for your opinion on the atmosphere," Jabara cut him off, her tone sharp. "I asked you to operate the lift."
The descent was slow, the air growing heavier and colder with every passing foot of depth. The smell of lavender and beeswax from the upper palace was replaced by the oppressive stench of wet stone, rust, and the lingering copper tang of old misery.
When the gates opened, the torches flickered low. The dungeon was a labyrinth of shadows, but Jabara walked with purpose. She could feel the pulse of magic—strong, rhythmic, and undeniably familiar—emanating from the far end of the corridor. It was the sensation of a tide coming in, the soothing, cool pressure of water àṣẹ.
They reached a cell at the end of the block. It was larger than the others, and unlike the damp squalor of the common cells, this one was relatively dry, though still stark.
Inside, kneeling beside a low cot, was a woman.
She looked the same age as Jabara remembered. The years in the periphery had etched lines around her eyes, and her hair, once kept in a pristine military style, was now loose and slightly matted. Her tunic was plain, gray wool, stained with the fluids of the people she had mended.
But her hands… her hands were radiant.
They hovered over the shredded abdomen of a previous patient—not the man they had just brought, but another fighter. A soft, cerulean glow enveloped her fingers, the light pulsing like a heartbeat. Under that light, torn flesh was knitting together. Bruises faded from black to yellow to nothingness in seconds.
Jabara motioned for the guards to place the new patient on the floor and wait back by the gate. She stood silently, watching the artistry of the magic. It was a thankless, exhausting task, expending one's own life force to fix the broken toys of a cruel King.
Chinakah finished with a heavy exhale, the blue light fading from her palms. She wiped sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, not looking up.
"You're breathing is too loud for a ghost," Chinakah rasped, her voice rough from disuse. "And you smell like expensive incense."
She turned her head slowly, looking through the bars. When her eyes landed on Jabara, a spark of recognition—and old warmth—flared in the weary depths of her gaze.
"Aseseer Jabara," Chinakah said, a hint of a smile touching her lips. "How are you?"
Jabara felt a lump in her throat. The title was old, a remnant of a time when they were both striving for recognition. She stepped closer to the bars, her hands gripping the cold iron.
"I am no longer just an Aseseer, old friend," Jabara said softly. "I have ascended. My patron Orisha has claimed me, and I have claimed my power. I am an Alaase now. The High Seer of Liptus."
Chinakah blinked, then let out a low, impressed whistle. She sat back on her heels, resting her hands on her knees. "An Alaase. Truly? I suppose no one can complain that a mere Aseseer has such a position anymore. You always did see further than the rest of us."
"And you," Jabara said, her voice dropping, stripping away the formality of her station. "What are you doing down here, Chinakah? How did it come to this?"
Chinakah's smile faltered. She looked down at her hands, which were still trembling slightly from the exertion of the healing.
"I wish I knew, Jabara," she admitted, her voice hollow. "I truly wish I knew."
"The servant said you lied to the King."
"I received visitors from the crown. They told me to come to the capital and make my report. So I did just that. I made my report," Chinakah said, frustration creeping into her tone. "I returned from Idara. I told the King everything. The state of the village, the events that happened… I tried to hold nothing important back. I stood before King Rega and gave him the truth of my service."
"And?"
"And he looked at me with cold eyes," Chinakah shuddered slightly. "You know the look. Like he is reading the scroll of your soul. He called me a liar. He said I failed to mention 'the one I was caring for.' He said I was obscuring the truth about his àṣẹ affinity."
Jabara frowned, her mind working. "His affinity? Who were you caring for?"
"A boy," Chinakah sighed. "An orphan. His mother was a black aseweaver called Sadia."
"Sadia Munda? That great aseweaver has died?"
"Yes, the very one. Killed by the very creature she was tasked on keeping prisoner."
"What creature is this?"
"Jabara, my mission as well as hers was a secret mission by the old King. You know I'd risk both our lives telling you. I've said far too much already."
Jabara looked to the servant and guards nearby. She knew she could command them to leave or keep what they said silent, but they would not betray the King. Her old friend was already a prisoner; she shouldn't risk much more.
"You're right," Jabara said, resigned.
Chinakah nodded slightly and continued. "I was told by her to look after her son as she passed away. So, I took care of him in Idara. He was… he is a good lad. Smart. Kind. But the King… he insisted the boy was something else. Like he was something dangerous. He demanded to know about the boy's power."
"Does the boy have power?" Jabara asked.
"No, he has almost no àṣẹ," Chinakah shrugged helplessly. "No affinity at all, Jabara. Nothing that would or could threaten a Kingdom. I told the King this. I swore it on my life."
She looked up at Jabara, her eyes pleading for understanding. "But King Rega… he laughed. He told me I was either a fool or a traitor. He said the boy's affinity was being hidden by Sadia and me. I had no idea what he was talking about. If not for Gethii I would have been killed on the spot. So King Rega threw me in here until I 'remembered the truth.'"
Gethii! The Kingsguard? She had heard he mangled by an Elder dragon years ago? Jabara thought. She kept the thought to herself focusing on what really mattered. She had not known King Rega long but she knew he was not someone prone to flights of fancy. If he believed the boy was important, he had a reason. And if Chinakah truly didn't know…
"I could speak to him," Jabara said, though even as she said it, she felt the futility of it. "I have the King's ear. I could try to advocate for your release."
Chinakah shook her head vigorously. "No. Do not spend your capital on me, High Seer. If I don't know what my transgression is, how can you help me make it right? You would only draw his suspicion onto yourself."
She stood up, walking over to the bucket of water in the corner to rinse her hands. "I don't care about myself, Jabara. I am a soldier. I can survive a cell. I can survive the blood and the healing." She paused, gripping the rim of the bucket. "I just hope the boy is alright."
"Where is he?" Jabara asked. "If he is not with you."
"I left him," Chinakah whispered, guilt heavy in her voice. "On the way here. We didn't want to bring him into the viper's nest of the capital until I knew it was safe. I left him at an orphanage in Stylwater."
Jabara's eyes widened slightly. Stylwater. That was days away even by air.
"At first," Chinakah continued, turning back to face the bars, "I regretted it every hour. I wanted to take the boy with me. I wanted to show him the city, the grandeur of Liptus. But now? Now that I am in this cage?" She gestured around the stone walls. "Now I know it was right. Leaving the boy in Stylwater was the best thing I could have done. He is safe there. Far away from King Rega and his madness."
Jabara remained silent. She could not tell Chinakah what she knew—that the capital was currently swarming with people, that fate was converging here. She did not know this 'boy,' but if he was in Stylwater, he was indeed lucky to be away from the dark cloud hanging over the capital.
"I can send a message," Jabara offered. "I have runners who can go to Stylwater. I can have someone check on the orphanage. Ensure he is treated well. Discreetly."
For a moment, Chinakah lit up. The years seemed to melt away, revealing the motherly affection she held for the child. "You would do that?"
But then, the light faded. She looked down at the stone floor. "No," she said firmly. "You are the High Seer, Jabara. But I doubt this King would let it slide if you were doing favors for a prisoner. If he thinks the boy is a weapon… no. Any contact might lead Rega to him. It is better if he thinks I simply… disappeared. Better he is forgotten by the crown."
The guards behind Jabara cleared their throats, signaling that the new patient was ready for attention.
Chinakah sighed, the brief respite over. She walked over to the new body on the floor—the man Jabara had saved from the rot. She knelt beside him, her hands already beginning to glow with the soft, blue light of the water àṣẹ.
"My work is never done," Chinakah murmured. She placed her hands on the man's chest, closing her eyes as she began the transfer of energy.
Jabara watched her for a long moment, feeling a profound sadness. This woman was a hero of the realm, reduced to a battery for the King's brutal games.
"I will come by again," Jabara promised. "I will bring you better food. And news from the surface. I will not let you be forgotten down here."
Chinakah didn't open her eyes, focused on knitting the torn muscle beneath her hands, but a small, genuine smile graced her lips.
"I would like that," she said softly. "I'm just glad there's someone in the kingdom that makes sense."
Jabara turned and walked back toward the lift, her robes trailing behind her. As the gate rattled shut and the elevator began its ascent, leaving the blue glow of Chinakah's magic behind in the dark, the High Seer's mind was now not only on the tournament, Silas, or the King.
It was on a boy in Stylwater. A boy with an affinity that the King seemed to want or fear.
What are you? she wondered as the lift rose back into the light. And why does the King think a young orphan is a threat to the throne?