Chapter 4 - Beginning Of The End

I stared. Not in fear, of course. I do not flinch at glass. But in study. Precision. The way a sculptor eyes marble that speaks back.

My lips parted to issue a correction.

But I said nothing.

Instead, I turned. Slowly. Elegantly. As if I had not noticed. As if nothing had happened. I moved toward the dressing alcove where my evening robe waited, steam-coaxed into a posture of reverence. But it did not feel like obedience anymore. It felt like mimicry. Like it was guessing how I'd want it to hang.

The hem was two centimeters off the floor.

I adjusted it. Not because I needed to. Because the world needed to see that I still corrected things.

"Alaria," I called.

No reply.

The room had always echoed differently when I said her name. As if the walls braced. As if they understood she was the one thing allowed too close.

Now the air stayed still.

No breeze. No footfalls. Not even the whisper of distant silk. Just silence. Thick, circular, too deliberate to be empty.

I crossed the floor without sound. My footsteps should have prompted motion—should have called servants into position, cued the windowlights to adjust, signaled the automirror to bow and recalibrate.

Nothing.

The mirror remained facing center. But I knew what it had done.

I reached for the summoning tassel.

It wasn't there.

My fingers closed on air. Cold, clean, mockingly vacant air.

I held my hand in place. Waiting. Letting the absence prove itself. Then I closed my fingers with ceremony, as if I'd chosen not to summon anyone after all.

That was power. Not control, but performance. If the world stopped responding, I would teach it to pretend.

The door creaked.

Alaria entered.

She was not carrying a tray.

Not bowed.

Not late.

Just… there.

"You're out of rhythm," I said.

She looked at me, not startled. Not even amused.

"I'm keeping time," she said softly. "You're not listening."

I studied her.

The braid was symmetrical. The robe hung properly. But she stood differently. Not lower. Not higher. Just off. Tilted, like a painting hung too long on a crooked nail.

"What time is it?" I asked.

"It's almost Ceremony."

She never said Ceremony like that. As if capitalized. As if it was something with mass.

"That's impossible," I said.

"You overslept."

"I do not oversleep."

"You did today."

A lesser man would have slapped her. I almost wanted to. Not from rage. From curiosity. Just to see if she would move.

Instead, I walked past her.

Down the central hallway of my wing. Past the glass mosaics. Past the silent lanterns.

Nothing responded.

Where there should have been folded cloth awaiting my next ensemble, there was only an empty dais.

Where the scent diffuser usually greeted me with rose-laced vanilla, the air smelled… wet.

Not bad. Not wrong. Just not mine.

I stopped at the northern threshold.

The window was open.

It should not have been open.

It opened only when I approached.

Alaria stepped beside me.

She did not apologise.

Below, the promenade was not yet lined. No children rehearsing petal formations. No bowing staff. No ceremonial guards.

But the tower, The Affinity Spire was lit.

Not with the usual blue-glow sigils.

But white.

White was never used. White was unowned. White meant the system had not yet assigned meaning.

The sky above it flickered.

Not lightning. Something deeper. Like an eye shuttering.

I turned to Alaria.

She was already looking at me.

"Who changed the schedule?" I asked.

She didn't answer.

Instead, she stepped forward. Out of rhythm. Ahead of me.

"The world is ready," she said.

"And I'm not?"

"You're always ready," she said. "That's the problem."

The chimes rang once. Then again.

Off-tempo.

I stood very still.

Then I smiled. Not because it was funny.

Because it was time to be seen.

I did not descend the stairs.

I allowed them to catch me.

Each step curved beneath my foot with engineered grace, but I noticed it this time. The slight vibration. The tiniest pause. As if the structure itself was buffering.

Alaria walked beside me.

Not behind. Not three paces. Not anywhere I had assigned.

Beside.

She didn't look at me. Which was almost worse.

The corridor was brighter than usual. Not warmly lit. Not flattering. But sharp. Surgical. As though someone had scrubbed the colors from the walls and replaced them with performance lighting.

It made my robes look... ordinary.

At the atrium, we passed the bronze relief of the First Bloom. It should have caught the morning light and cast petals of gold across the marble floor.

It didn't.

Instead, the metal looked flat. Unpolished.

Dead.

The attendants were waiting by the gates.

They didn't speak.

Not a greeting. Not a breath. Their heads were bowed, but not in prayer. In something tighter. Like submission had been ordered from above.

I paused.

"You forgot the banner," I said.

One of them flinched. The girl on the right. She opened her mouth. Closed it.

"The banner with my affinity crest," I clarified. "It hangs behind me when I walk."

Still no answer.

I stepped forward.

The gate opened without sound. That was wrong too. The gates always made sound. A soft, harmonious chime of brass and wind.

Silence was never part of my entrance.

Alaria followed.

Outside, the promenade stretched before me in perfect geometry. Pale stone. Rosewood trees. The scent of pressed orchids. Everything in place.

But too many windows were open.

Too many heads watching from behind glass.

And the orb.

A broadcast orb. Suspended above the garden canopy, almost invisible in the filtered light.

I had never seen one in person.

It hovered in place, utterly still.

Watching.

Recording.

I tilted my head toward it and gave a small nod.

It did not move.

"They're watching," I said.

Alaria didn't ask who.

Because she already knew.

A child crossed our path. Briefly. Then scurried back into the crowd. The petals in her basket were blue.

The Festival color was violet.

"Everything's been changed," I said.

"No," Alaria replied. "Everything's been revealed."

I stopped.

Before me, the Affinity Circle awaited.

But it was taller.

Wider.

A massive dome of glass and alloy, encircled by unfamiliar devices. Rods. Spires. Sensors humming faintly with power.

I blinked once.

"That's not the platform," I said.

Alaria looked up at it with me.

"No," she said. "That's the test."

She stepped forward.

I didn't follow.

Not immediately.

Because the light inside the dome wasn't ambient.

It was white.

Raw, unsorted, absolute.

No color had claimed it.

And it was waiting for me.