Arch 11: Maid of Thorns
She returned during morning prayers.
The Saintess.
But not the girl they remembered.
Not radiant, not serene.
She came back draped in muted robes, her hair loose, her gaze low—and when she walked into the inner sanctum, no one cheered. They watched. Waiting. Wondering how long she'd last this time.
Aris stood at the altar, lighting candles like any other palace woman. Her presence smooth, calm. The gold bands on her wrists caught the light—but it was the contrast they saw: her deep, warm skin against the flame, steady and silent, while the Saintess trembled under every eye.
> System: Oh look. The prodigal girl returns. Think she brought forgiveness?
> Aris: "No. She brought resentment. That's much more useful."
That evening, Aris was summoned again. Not by the Prince.
By the Emperor.
He sat alone in the war chamber, wine untouched, maps folded.
"You're not from here," he said.
She didn't respond.
"You're not one of us. Not of blood. Not of name. Not of nation."
Still, she waited.
He poured a second glass of wine, then slid it across the table.
"But you are the only one in this palace who seems to get anything done."
That was the offer.
No title. No crown. But a seat at the table no woman had ever held.
Imperial Liaison.
No one would say it, but it meant: Advisor. Commander. Threat.
She wore violet that night. The deepest shade they could find. Her skin turned it to velvet, her movements to prophecy.
The other nobles barely disguised their panic. Aris didn't smile. She didn't need to.
Even silence bowed to her now.
The Prince found her in her chamber after midnight.
"You met with my father."
"I did."
"And you didn't tell me."
"I didn't owe you."
He flinched. He always did when she said things plainly.
He tried to kiss her. She let him—but when he pulled back, she looked past him like he was already fading.
"You don't need me," he said bitterly.
"I told you that," Aris replied.
The Saintess came to her in the chapel again.
Different this time. No holy rage. No trembling hands. Just a quiet stare and a steady voice.
"I used to think you were evil," she said.
Aris lifted a candle. Lit it.
"Now you just think I'm winning," she said.
The Saintess didn't deny it.
"You'll burn everything down."
"I'll leave them the match," Aris said, "and they'll light it themselves."
That night, the Knight lingered in the corridor outside her door.
He didn't knock.
She didn't open it.
But they both stood there—breathing the same quiet air, full of things they'd never say.
> System: You're slipping into legend, you know that?
> Aris: "Legends end in blood."
> System: Exactly. This is going to be beautiful.