The Door of Stone and Wood

Anger coiled within Mirak like a serpent, tightening with every thought. What would Sanni Fell know of hardship? What would she know of the mines, where food was barely enough to keep you alive, where survival wasn't guaranteed with the dawn?

She didn't know about the karnen—the creatures that lurked in the darkness, their slick bodies waiting to feast on anyone who strayed too far into the tunnels. She didn't know about the endless labor, the constant weight of fear pressing down as rock and dust threatened to collapse around you.

She didn't know what it was like to feel the sting of humiliation from overseers—Watchers—who treated you as expendable. She didn't know the helplessness of lying awake in the Lunar Storms, praying you'd survive another day, while being too exhausted to even shiver in the cold.

"And you," Mirak hissed, his voice sharp and cutting, "sit in your room and flip through book after book. What hardship have you lived, Sanni Fell?"

Sanni froze, her back pressing against the wall as Mirak loomed over her, his body tense with rage. "What would you know of suffering?" His voice rose, echoing off the palace's pristine walls. "A lady of one of the founding Houses of Koona, where every need is met with the ring of a bell. Where comfort is your birthright and consequences are for others. Don't you dare pretend to know what my people feel. What I feel."

Her lips parted, perhaps to offer a retort or explanation, but Mirak didn't give her the chance. The words poured out of him, spilling forth like the weight of years he could no longer bear.

"You hold a chain around our necks!" His voice cracked with the force of his fury. "All your noble houses do. You bind us, break us, and then throw us away when we're no longer useful. You see me as a tool, Sanni. A thing to use because I didn't die in those mines. Because I can fight and weave Atta. But don't you ever forget—"

His hand flicked upward, the currents of Atta swirling in his palm. They sparked and hissed as his emotions flared, feeding the energy. With a sharp snap of his fingers, a burst of energy lashed out, striking the wall next to Sanni's head. Resin shattered in jagged streaks, and golden flecks sparkled as they fell to the ground.

"You didn't have to buy me in the market, but I'm still your property, aren't I?" He spat the words with venom. "Don't pretend we share the same pain. Don't act as if you understand me."

Sanni's face paled, her usual calm shattered. Silvery strands of her hair fell around her face, framing her wide amethyst eyes. For the first time, Mirak saw something unfamiliar in her gaze: fear.

But he couldn't stand to look at her any longer. Turning sharply on his heel, he stormed away, his chest heaving with the effort to calm himself.

He didn't bother looking back. "Do not get yourself killed," he said over his shoulder, his voice clipped and cold. "I'll be back in time for the inner circle meeting."

And with that, he disappeared down the maze-like halls of the Palace.

The farther Mirak walked, the more his anger ebbed, leaving a dull ache in its place. His breathing slowed as he clenched and unclenched his fist, forcing the tension to release. He hated that he had lost control. He hated that Sanni had seen it.

But most of all, he hated the truth in his own words.

He didn't belong here. No matter how finely tailored the clothes Solomon had given him, no matter how polished the golden Fell ring on his finger, he would always be a Publici in their eyes. A servant. A tool.

Mirak sighed heavily as he rounded another corner, his eyes scanning the walls for some sign of direction. The resin-lined halls twisted and turned, their intricate carvings shifting in subtle patterns. He had been so consumed by his anger that he hadn't realized it sooner.

He was lost.

The realization hit him like a blow. He paused, glancing back the way he came, but the corridors all looked the same—polished resin, gilded trim, and faintly glowing carvings of the Didacts' words. He exhaled through his nose, muttering a curse under his breath.

"You look troubled."

Mirak spun at the sound of a familiar voice. His eyes landed on a figure gliding toward him with unhurried grace.

Angelene.

The priestess of the Lady of Flesh was draped in silken black robes that clung to her form, their fabric catching the faint light of the resin walls. Her golden curls framed her delicate features, and her lips curved into a knowing smile.

"I didn't expect to see you again so soon," she said, her tone light and teasing.

Mirak's shoulders stiffened. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here as a representative of the church, of course," Angelene replied smoothly. "The Lady of Flesh guides us all, even the Didacts."

Mirak frowned. Her presence here felt… wrong.

"And you?" Angelene continued, her golden eyes glinting with curiosity. "You don't belong in a place like this, do you?"

"I was invited as a bodyguard," Mirak said tersely. "I thought I might explore the Palace while I had the chance."

Angelene's smile widened, and before he could react, she slipped her arm through his. "Then let us explore together."

Mirak resisted the urge to pull away. Refusing her outright would draw too much attention, and he couldn't afford to make a scene. For now, he would play along.

As they walked, Mirak couldn't help but marvel at the Palace's architecture. The walls, floors, and even the ceilings were crafted of resin, their surfaces alive with intricate patterns of flowing script. The words glimmered faintly, shifting as if they were alive.

"What are these engravings?" Mirak asked, trying to mask his unease.

"They say the Palace was built with the whispered words of the Didacts themselves," Angelene said. "Three words, spoken to bind the thoughts of a kingdom into these walls."

Her words sent a shiver down Mirak's spine. He traced the carvings with his eyes, noting the way the resin shimmered like liquid gold.

"It is said," Angelene continued, "that the engravings are etched with the Infinite Arcana. Perhaps even the Essences themselves."

Mirak froze. The mention of the Infinite Arcana—and the Essences—immediately put him on edge. Those words were rarely spoken aloud, even among the Revenant.

Angelene's gaze lingered on him, her golden eyes gleaming with something like amusement. "Ah, so you are familiar," she said softly. "Good. That will save us time."

Their path eventually led them to a descending staircase, flanked by two guards clad in heavy armor. The air grew cooler as they descended, the walls growing darker and more intricate with every step.

When they reached the bottom, they entered a circular chamber unlike anything Mirak had ever seen. The resin walls glowed with an otherworldly light, the words engraved upon them packed so tightly together they were barely readable.

At the far end of the room stood two massive doors—one of stone, heavy and immovable, and another of dark wood, intricately carved but tightly shut.

Mirak's breath caught. This had to be the place Lancelot had spoken of.

Angelene turned to him, her smile as serene as ever. "Which will it be, Mirak? The unopenable stone doors, or the altar to the Lady of Flesh?"

Before he could answer, the guards stepped forward, their hands on their weapons. "None are allowed to enter," one said, his voice muffled by his helmet. "Orders from the Didacts."

Angelene's smile darkened, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Such a shame," she said.

In the next instant, chaos erupted.

Angelene moved like a shadow, her hand brushing against the first guard's chest. His body convulsed violently as something burst from within—flesh and bone twisting unnaturally until he collapsed in a heap. The second guard raised his spear, but Angelene struck him down with a single, brutal motion.

Mirak staggered back, horror and disbelief warring in his mind.

"What have you done?" he demanded.

Angelene turned to him, her expression calm and unbothered. "What was necessary," she said simply.

"You killed them!" Mirak's voice rose, his hands trembling.

Angelene's smile widened. "I merely let Anntom run its course. The Lady of Flesh works in mysterious ways."

Her golden eyes gleamed as she stepped closer, her voice soft but chilling. "Don't be afraid, Mirak. We're friends. There's no need for fear between us."

But Mirak could feel the fear curling in his chest, cold and unrelenting. Whatever lay beyond those doors, he realized, was far darker than anything he had imagined.