The Viceroy

The hall was larger than one could imagine.

Marble walls, golden windows, ceilings high as the sky.

Everything gleamed: chandeliers, paintings, sculptures.

The air smelled of incense—and something else.

A scent like the echo of a memory.

And amidst that splendor—him.

A man.

Calmly, deliberately, as if performing a sacred ritual,

he was watering live flowers growing in tall vases flanking the marble staircase.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, striking.

His long, heavy coat—deep indigo, the color of midnight—was adorned with golden embroidery.

Baroque patterns curled along the edges, cuffs, and hem.

Epaulettes linked with gold chains gleamed in the chandelier light.

Beneath the open coat: a black vest with teardrop-shaped golden buttons and a cut revealing part of his chest.

His wrists were wrapped in ornate bracelets that resembled skulls.

His thick, copper-red hair was slicked back, catching the light.

He hummed an ancient tune, and every movement of his body was almost obscenely graceful.

At that moment, the far doors of the hall swung open.

Two masked guards shoved Cain and Ko'oni inside.

Cain—beaten, bloodied, lips split.

He stood tall, but every muscle ached.

A bruise bloomed beneath his right eye.

Ko'oni walked beside him.

Silent.

But her gaze was locked on Cain.

She didn't allow herself to speak—not here, not now.

The man watered the last petals, set the watering can on a table.

He turned.

His fingers folded into a flawless gesture.

His voice was nearly gentle:

"Welcome to Memento."

"My name is Osher."

"I am the viceroy of the great Kofion."

He strolled across the hall, slowly, eyes soft, almost fond—

as if they weren't prisoners, but honored guests caught in a velvet trap.

He stopped before Ko'oni.

Leaned in closer.

"You're trembling. That's good. Fear is one of the truest emotions."

She didn't answer.

Only clenched her fists.

Osher ran a finger along her cheek, where the mark of the slap still burned.

"A beautiful strike. Ombre is a true artist of punishment."

Cain stepped forward.

"Don't touch her."

Osher turned to him.

And for the first time—truly looked.

"Cain. Our guest with no past."

He stepped closer. Close enough to touch.

"Let's not rush toward tragedy just yet.

For now... we'll talk.

Over dinner."

He gestured toward the table.

Cain and Ko'oni sat at a long banquet table in the center of the hall.

Everything around them felt dreamlike: wine, fruit, golden utensils.

Steam rose from rich, unfamiliar dishes.

Osher sat at the head.

A goblet in his hand.

Inside—thick wine, dark as blood.

"Please," he said gently, watching them.

"This feast is in your honor. Eat."

Cain didn't move.

His gaze only darkened.

"We're not hungry," Ko'oni said softly.

Osher smiled.

His goblet traced a slow circle in the air.

"Hunger... is a thing that can return.

Sometimes all it takes—is a reminder."

Ko'oni flinched.

A second. Then another.

Her body tensed.

She clutched the edge of the table, nails digging into wood.

"No..." she breathed.

Cain turned to her.

"What are you—"

He surged forward—

But the shadows beneath his chair flared.

Five figures erupted, masked and cloaked, pinning him down.

Ko'oni shook.

Her eyes wide with terror.

She was hearing voices—inside.

Osher took a sip, utterly unbothered.

"Enough," he said calmly.

And everything stopped.

The pressure vanished.

Ko'oni gasped for air.

The whispering faded.

Tears streamed down her face.

"Bon appétit," Osher said.

No mockery. No joy.

Only inevitability.

She lowered her eyes.

Picked up a spoon.

Put food in her mouth.

Then another bite.

Silently. Through tears.

Osher turned to Cain.

"Ombre, release him. Let him eat."

The masks vanished.

Cain didn't move at first.

His eyes burned like flame under skin.

He reached out.

Took a piece of roasted chicken.

His fingers tightened around the charred skin.

Never looking away from Osher,

he bit down—

hard.

A crunch echoed through the room.

"What a look," Osher said, as if offering praise.

He snapped his fingers.

A woman entered the hall—a maid.

Empty eyes. A face like a porcelain mask, devoid of joy.

On a pale silk cushion—Cain's sword.

A black katana. No guard.

The hilt melted into the blade.

It was covered in cracks, like shattered glass, with a jagged point.

"Where did you get this sword?" Osher asked.

Cain said nothing.

"Very well. To make this conversation more productive... Clarisa, please place it on the table."

She obeyed without question.

Osher's eyes flared with turquoise light.

Clarisa froze—then screamed.

Collapsed.

Convulsions.

Foam at her lips.

A final, shuddering wail.

Ko'oni recoiled.

Cain stared at the body—and understood that this could just as easily have been her.

Osher didn't even look at the maid.

"Clarisa just remembered burning to death ten years ago… and saw her own death."

Two other maids calmly picked up her body and carried it off like garbage.

"You don't want our lovely young lady to remember being torn apart by arrows on a battlefield, do you?"

Cain clenched his fists.

His jaw tightened.

But his voice stayed cold:

"I found it."

"Where?"

"In the mines."

"The mines…" Osher echoed thoughtfully.

"Bastion. So you're the one. There's a bounty on your head. A rich one."

Cain said nothing.

Ko'oni bit her lip, trying to hold herself together.

"From the look of this palace, I doubt you need the reward," she said.

Osher smiled.

"The reward? Bastion is just another viceroy. Like me."

He leaned back in his chair.

Broke a piece of bread—but didn't eat it.

His gaze returned to the sword.

"That blade… it's special. I can feel power in it.

Very close to my own. But not mine.

Something else."

He looked at Cain again.

"What can it do?"

Cain remained silent.

The sword lay between them like a silent witness.

Osher raised a hand.

Fingers tensed, ready to snap.

Cain understood: a threat. Not to him—to her.

"When I kill with this sword… I see them."

"Them?"

"Their fears. Their memories. The deepest ones.

Everything that haunted them before death.

Everyone this sword kills dies in agony."

Osher lowered his hand.

"Fascinating," he murmured.

"Truly fascinating."

He swirled his wine slowly.

Ko'oni spoke:

"If you want the sword, take it.

Why do you need us?"

"The sword… merely caught my attention.

But it's not what I need."

Osher looked at Cain.

"Do you know what a viceroy of God is?"

"Someone who carries a fragment of God's power," Ko'oni replied.

"Correct. But viceroys are forbidden from settling disputes with power.

It's an ancient agreement."

He stood.

Strolled along the table—slowly, savoring every step.

"Each viceroy may choose a representative.

A mortal. One who will fight on their behalf."

He stopped behind Cain.

"A duel. To the death.

Whose champion wins—wins the right."

Cain listened in silence.

Kuni clenched her jaw.

"The problem is," Osher continued,

"my previous champion… died a week ago."

He looked down at Cain.

"So now I need a new one.

A warrior.

One who can fight."

Ko'oni spoke up:

"Take the one who breaks walls."

"Vigfuss?" Osher chuckled.

"Vigfuss bears the blessing too."

Cain's voice broke through—hoarse, but firm:

"You want me to fight for you?"

Osher laughed.

"For me? Who am I, that you'd fight for me?"

He strolled back toward his seat, fingers brushing his goblet.

"No. You'll fight for her."

He pointed to Ko'oni.

Cain met her gaze.

She was no longer just a girl.

No longer just a prisoner.

Between them—a thread. Thin. But real.

"Don't," she whispered.

"He's not going to let us go anyway."

"You're quite talkative today," Osher said.

"Not like the past few days."

Ko'oni didn't want to speak.

But something inside her snapped.

Fear gave way—to fury.

"You think I'm afraid of you?" she said, firmly.

"I've seen someone far worse than you."

Osher watched in silence.

Then—laughed. Loud. Unrestrained.

"Well then…

Ombre.

Teach the young lady some manners."

From the shadows, the masks emerged. Five of them.

One went to Ko'oni.

The others—surrounded Cain.

Four grabbed him.

The fifth—he didn't see.

Not until that one lifted Ko'oni by the throat.

"NO!" Cain gasped.

She thrashed, choking.

Her face turning red.

Her eyes fading.

Cain didn't just shout—he broke.

For the first time, he didn't scream in rage—he screamed in fear.

"STOP! I…

I'll fight!"

Osher stopped.

Smiled.

"Excellent."

"Ombre, let her go."

The mask's fingers uncurled.

Ko'oni collapsed to the floor.

She gasped like someone breathing through broken ribs.

Alive—but barely.

Osher leaned in toward Cain.

"Sleep well, Challenger.

Tomorrow… will be a very hard day."