"In the year 5673 after Soter, this planet was colonized. Terraforming took 98 years and required the sacrifice of Supremus Arkitectus Rakner III, Margaris I, Arterus IV, and Sotiris IX, who gave their life force to the Kalyx Stone of the Kaltheris Dynasty, with the assistance of House Tertius, the only vassal house at the time…"Preceptor Rictus's voice was a monotonous jumble—like a clock ticking without hurry or enthusiasm—and his gestures were so slow and predictable they were almost hypnotic in their apathy.
"So you're saying the Kalyx stones are real? That they were actually created with the power of 108 gods to save humanity, like it says in the Codex of Virtue and Grace?" I interrupt, impatient to understand the rules of this world.
Preceptor Rictus pauses for a moment. His lips press into a thin line while his eyes fix on mine. A long sigh, heavy with exasperation, escapes him before a faint crease appears on his brow.His silence weighs more than any answer, as if my question isn't worth the effort of a reply.Though I can't tell if his annoyance is directed at me… or at himself, for being so old interruptions make him lose track.
"After planetary stabilization, Arkitektus Supremus Margaris II began vassalage negotiations with House Noxirian, which had already inhabited the planet's largest moon before colonization…" he continues relentlessly.
My hope of finding in him a source of clear answers collapses again—just like his flat, lifeless words. What a waste.
I had expected the silent delight of Perceptora Inerida at my bruised, swollen cheek, but not Preceptor Rictus's complete indifference—same as everyone else's. Only a faint touch of kindness came when the maid Eleni applied ointment to the area… though I'm still not sure if I imagined it just to feel less alone.
Since what happened, I haven't seen Malcol—he wasn't in my room when I woke up—nor Lady Mallory. And I can't even tell if that's good or bad.
My mind drifts all day and half the night, trying to devise a plan against Lord Mallory.Planning someone's death should terrify me, but what terrifies me more is what will happen if I don't.Ideas come and collapse immediately—ridiculous, fragile strategies that dissolve the moment they appear.
Honestly, a book titled "Murder Without Evidence for Dummies" would save my life. But the library has nothing even remotely useful. Without guidance, with so little knowledge and zero support, I won't achieve anything alone.
That's what I think right before sleep swallows me.
In the morning, what wakes me is movement in my bed.
"Laila, are you still asleep?" the little gremlin asks, in a failed attempt at a whisper.
"I was, one minute ago," I grumble without opening my eyes. I've never been a morning person.
"Then come on, get up! Let's go see Marti's puppies. They'll make you feel better," he says, with a spark that seems to ignore everything that happened last night.
"I promise you nothing will make me feel better right now than staying asleep," I shoot back.
I open my eyes and see his hopeful face. I hate how children use tenderness as manipulation… and still, I fall for it. I get up, grumbling, but I get up.
I'm dragged to the hunting pavilion—a worn structure of pale stone, sloped roofs with mossy metal tiles, and a scent of straw, leather, and dogs drifting from its cracked-open door. Barking and howling echo inside.
Two startled servants bow silently as we enter. Malcol runs to a wrought-iron pen where restless puppies scramble out to surround him. He hands one to me.
The puppy wriggles and licks my face. A laugh escapes me. Its eyes—soft and earnest—mirror his.When I look at Malcol, he's hugging a puppy as if it's the only thing keeping him upright.
But his eyes say something else.They say storm.
"Malcol?" I ask, worried.
"Will you forgive me now?" he whispers, voice trembling.
"Forgive you? For what?"
"I showed you my favorite place… so you'd be happy when you're sad. Will this make you forgive me for being so weak?"
Something breaks inside me.
I set the puppy down and place a hand on his shoulder.
"Malcol, there's nothing to forgive. And if there were, then you'd have to forgive me too—because I couldn't do anything either."
"But it was my fault. All my fault," he cries, squeezing his eyes shut.
"No. If we're looking for blame, didn't everything start because I made noise with the cutlery?" I ask, though my chest tightens at the thought.
"It's not your fault. How could it be?" he finally says, meeting my eyes.His hold wounds no child should carry.
"You know what I think?" I say, gently taking his face so he can't look away."The only one at fault is your father. No one else."
A spark of confusion flickers in his eyes. Then he nods, releases the puppy, and throws his arms around me.
"Then… what should I do next time?"
"I don't know. But we'll face it together. And if you want revenge… then become the man your father would hate.Inherit his title.Be strong, fair, protective.Be everything he isn't."
He smiles faintly.
"I think the hit on your head made you crazy… but I like you better now."
We play with the puppies for a while. But my mind has already decided:
I'm not surviving Regentus Mallory alone.And if I can't do it alone…I need an ally.
The only viable one is Lady Mallory. The servants may hate him, but fear outweighs hate.She, however—she was the only one who stood between that man and us.
But peace never lasts.
As soon as we leave the pavilion, the responsibilities of the day catch up to us—a cruel reminder of where we live and with whom.
It's the first day of the week, so we must dress in our finest attire for the Main Temple of Nova Gaelia. Knowing Lord Mallory is away on business brings me a small, but real, relief.
We travel in the carriage: Lady Mallory, Malcol, and me. Nine guards ride alongside. Malcol clings to my arm, filling the silence with stories about the puppies.Lady Mallory tries to call him to her side, but he doesn't move.
Her wine-colored veil hides her bruises. It also hides her judgment of me.
Meanwhile, I think only of how to convince her to help me kill her husband.If I fail, Regentus Talaveras will arrive soon.
And then, according to the book… I'd be doomed to a horrific engagement with that old man, which the real Laila would publicly reject at the ceremony—sparking a devastating conflict.
The Arkitektus Noxirian, as supreme ruler, would intervene on the old man's side because he's the most influential Regentus.This would end with the annihilation of House Mallory.And I would be the only survivor—kept alive only because I resemble his dead daughter.I'd become a replacement. A tool.A pawn in a plan to take the planet.
All that… in less than six months.
When we reach the city, something inside me halts.
Everything gleams white.Spirelike towers pierce the sky.Massive bridges span a wide river.Lush vegetation weaves through futuristic architecture.
People walk or ride strange creatures. Their clothing varies, though none as extravagant as ours.
Everyone heads toward a colossal white tower, framed by the largest moon in the sky.The main temple, without a doubt.
Inside, the place is an enormous amphitheater focused on a statue of a human figure with a smooth mask—or a spatial helmet. The Resonants—priests—wear immaculate white.
"And the minor goddess of vanity, Migdal, punished the subviviente Jeremica for attempting to tame the untamable: advanced technology used merely to indulge his laziness…" the Resonant preaches.
The crowd nods. Some even seem horrified.I, internally, yawn.Malcol, however, listens as if enthralled.
A small laugh slips from me.Fatal mistake.
Dozens of eyes pierce me.The Resonant stares as if I've committed blasphemy.Lady Mallory doesn't turn, but I can feel her judgment burning through the veil.
I dig my nails into my palms, swallowing my frustration.
I'm grateful when the ceremony ends.
"Malcol, chin up. And you as well, Laila," Lady Mallory murmurs.
Everyone we pass bows.The Resonants greet us with three fingers to the forehead.Suffocating.
At last, we reach the carriage.
"Laughing? In a ceremony? Do you understand what you did? Can you imagine if your father had been here?" Lady Mallory reprimands.
"I'm sorry… it wasn't my intention," I whisper, embarrassed.
"'Sorry' means nothing to your father," she snaps.But after a moment, she exhales—as if letting the anger slip out, maybe conceding something internally.
Then I feel Malcol's hand find mine.Warm.Anchoring.
The ride home is silent.
When we arrive at the residence, I take a deep breath and approach Lady Mallory.
"Excuse me," I say, trying to steady my voice."I need to speak with you alone. It's urgent. Please."
I look at her directly, pleading for her to listen, while my heart pounds as if trying to break free from my chest.