Date: The 24th Day of the Month of Frost, Year 1098 of the Imperial Calendar.
Location: The Kitchens of the Kael Merchant House.
Fate does not always arrive with the thunder of hooves or the blast of trumpets. Sometimes, it arrives with the slip of a foot on wet stone.
A week had passed since Veer had given Aanya the apple. Since that night, a tiny, secret spark had ignited in Aanya's heart. She was still the perfect doll, still the obedient daughter, but now, when she looked out the window, she didn't just see a dirty street—she saw a playground. She saw a boy who had climbed a wall for her.
But today, the window was closed.
The preparation for the "Great Selection"—even though it was ten years away—was a daily ritual. Today was the day of the Bath of Seven Herbs.
The kitchen of the Kael household was a chaotic, steaming cavern. It was located on the ground floor, stone-walled and smelling of woodsmoke and damp rosemary.
"More wood! The water must be scalding!" Elara's voice cut through the steam. She was pacing near the massive hearth, wringing her hands. "The Alchemist said the pores must open fully to absorb the essence of the White Lily. If the water is lukewarm, we are wasting gold!"
In the center of the room sat a massive copper cauldron. It had been sitting on the iron grate over a roaring fire for an hour. The water inside was rolling, bubbling, and spitting violently. It was a concentrated brew of rare herbs, oils, and minerals—dark, aromatic, and dangerously hot.
It was meant to be carried to the bathing chamber and diluted with cold spring water until it was safe.
But right now, it was boiling.
Aanya stood near the heavy oak table, wrapped in a thick towel. She was shivering, not from cold, but from dread. She hated the herbal baths. They smelled like medicine, and her mother always scrubbed her skin until it was raw and pink.
"Mother," Aanya murmured, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "Can I have a drink of water? I'm thirsty."
"Not now, Aanya," Elara snapped, not looking at her. She was yelling at a servant girl who was struggling to lift a heavy bucket of cold water. "Be careful, you clumsy ox! If you spill that, you'll ruin the floor!"
The servant, terrified, stumbled. A splash of water sloshed out of the bucket and landed on the smooth, polished slate stones near the hearth.
Neither Elara nor the servant noticed the puddle.
Aanya sighed. She looked at the copper cauldron. The steam rising from it was fascinating. It twisted and turned like the ghosts in the stories her nursemaid used to tell.
She took a step forward. She was just a child, curious and bored. She wanted to see the bubbles. She wanted to see what "magic water" looked like before it was diluted.
"Aanya, stay back!" her father, Kael, walked into the kitchen, holding a ledger. He looked stressed. "The price of White Lily has doubled. Doubled! We are bleeding money on these treatments."
"It is an investment, Kael!" Elara argued, turning to face him. "When she sits on the throne—"
"If she sits on the throne!" Kael countered. "We have to be realistic. If her skin isn't luminous, the Emperor won't even look at her toes, let alone her face."
While her parents argued about the price of her beauty, Aanya took another step toward the cauldron.
Her bare foot landed squarely on the puddle of water the servant had spilled moments ago.
It happened in slow motion.
Aanya felt the friction leave the floor. Her leg shot out from under her. Her arms flailed, looking for something to grab.
There was nothing but the air.
She fell forward.
She didn't fall into the cauldron—she was too small to topple over the high rim. Instead, she fell against it. Her small body slammed into the scorching hot copper side of the vat.
The impact was hard enough to rock the heavy cauldron on its iron stand.
The cauldron tipped.
A wave of the dark, boiling herbal concentrate sloshed over the rim. It wasn't a lot—perhaps half a bucket's worth—but it was enough.
Gravity guided the scalding liquid down.
It splashed directly onto the right side of Aanya's face.
For a heartbeat, there was silence. The brain takes a moment to register pain that severe. Aanya lay on the wet floor, blinking, feeling a sudden, intense wetness on her cheek and eye.
Then, the heat registered.
It wasn't just hot. It was an agony that erased the world. It felt like a dragon had bitten her face. It felt like her skin was being peeled away by invisible knives.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!"
The scream that tore from Aanya's throat was not the cry of a child. It was a primal, animalistic shriek of pure torture. It shattered the domestic argument of her parents instantly.
Elara spun around. Kael dropped his ledger.
"Aanya!"
Aanya was rolling on the floor, clawing at her face. "It burns! It burns! Mommy! Mommy!"
Steam rose from her skin. The smell of burning roses mixed with the sickening, sweet scent of scorched flesh filled the kitchen.
Elara rushed forward, but when she saw her daughter, she stopped dead in her tracks. She didn't drop to her knees. She didn't scoop her child into her arms.
She put her hands to her mouth, her eyes widening in horror.
"Her face..." Elara whispered, her voice trembling. "Oh gods... her face."
"Get water!" Kael roared at the frozen servant girl. "Cold water! Now!"
The servant dumped the bucket over Aanya.
The cold water hit the boiling burn. The shock made Aanya convulse. She screamed again, a gurgling, choking sound as the water mixed with the blistering skin.
"Don't touch it!" Elara shrieked as the servant reached out to help Aanya up. "Don't touch the skin! It will peel! You'll scar her!"
Aanya was sobbing now, curling into a ball, shaking violently. The pain was pulsing through her skull, blinding her right eye. She reached out a hand blindly. "Mommy... it hurts... please..."
She wanted her mother to hold her. She wanted to be rocked. She wanted to be told it would be okay.
But Elara didn't hug her. Elara was pacing in a circle, pulling at her own hair.
"The accident... the swelling..." Elara was hyperventilating. "If it blisters... if it marks... Kael! Do something!"
Kael fell to his knees beside Aanya, but he didn't look at her tears. He leaned close, squinting at the red, angry burn that covered the right side of her face from her temple to her jaw. The skin was already bubbling, turning a gruesome shade of white and angry red.
"The doctor!" Kael yelled. "Run to the Alchemist! Tell him to bring the silver salve! The expensive one! Tell him I'll pay double!"
"Is it bad?" Elara asked, her voice shrill. "Kael, tell me it's not bad. Tell me it will heal without a mark."
Kael looked up at his wife. His face was pale, not with sympathy, but with the realization of a failed investment.
"It's deep," Kael choked out. "The skin... it's cooked, Elara. It's cooked."
"No!" Elara screamed, grabbing a ceramic bowl from the table and smashing it on the floor. "No! We have spent seven years! Seven years of money! The loans! The debt! It can't be ruined! Not by a pot of water!"
On the floor, amidst the shattered pottery and the spilled water, Aanya lay alone.
Her parents were screaming about gold. They were screaming about the Emperor. They were screaming about the Astrologer's prediction.
Nobody was asking if she was dying. Nobody was holding her hand.
Through the haze of pain, Aanya opened her left eye. She saw her mother's shoes. She saw her father's knees. But they felt miles away.
Why aren't they holding me? she thought, the realization hurting more than the burn. I'm hurting. Why don't they care that I'm hurting?
"Mommy..." she whimpered one last time, her voice barely a croak.
"Quiet, Aanya!" Elara snapped, tears streaming down her own face—tears of frustration. "Stop crying! The salt in your tears will sting the wound! Stop it! You are making it worse!"
Aanya squeezed her eyes shut. She bit her lip until it bled to stop the sound. She lay there, shivering, burning, and utterly alone in a room full of people.
Meanwhile, outside the Kitchen Window.
Veer had climbed the garden wall. He had a smooth gray stone in his pocket—a "skipping stone" he had found by the river. He wanted to show it to the girl in the window. He wanted to see her smile again.
He had crept through the garden, hiding behind the rose bushes, approaching the back of the house where the kitchen was.
Then, he heard the scream.
It was a sound that made his blood freeze. He had heard screams in the slums—screams of fights, screams of drunks—but this was different. It was the scream of something breaking.
Veer froze. He crouched behind a rain barrel, peering through the small, low window of the kitchen.
He saw the steam. He saw the chaos.
He saw the girl—his girl, the one who smelled like apples—lying on the wet stones. He saw the angry red welt destroying her face.
He watched as her parents stood over her, arguing. He couldn't hear every word through the glass, but he saw their body language. He saw the mother smashing a bowl in anger, not grief. He saw the father checking the wound like a merchant checking a damaged crate of fruit.
Veer gripped the stone in his pocket so hard the jagged edge cut his finger.
"Help her..." Veer whispered, his breath fogging the glass. "Why aren't you helping her? Pick her up!"
He wanted to smash the window. He wanted to jump in and beat them with his skinny fists. He wanted to drag Aanya out of that house and dip her face in the cool river.
But he was ten years old. He was a rat. If he went in there, the guards would kill him before he took three steps.
He watched as the servants finally lifted Aanya onto a stretcher. She looked limp, like a broken doll. Her beautiful black hair was matted to the burn.
As they carried her out of the kitchen, Veer saw her hand dangle off the side of the stretcher. It looked small and pale.
Veer sank down into the mud of the garden. He felt sick.
He looked at the skipping stone in his hand. It seemed stupid now. A stupid rock for a stupid boy who thought he could be friends with a princess.
"They broke her," Veer whispered to the dirt. "They didn't catch her. They just let her burn."
He stayed there in the rain that had started to fall, keeping a vigil for the girl who was currently screaming in a room he couldn't reach.
The innocent childhood days were over. The burn had marked not just Aanya's face, but the timeline of their lives.
The Goddess was dead. The Scarred Girl was born.