Amorphous: A Trace in Ashes

The candlelight flickered, casting long shadows on the walls of Roxail's room. His fingers trembled ever so slightly as they traced the back of the letter. Faint symbols — lines, curves, angles — marks that spoke no language he recognized. Encrypted. And beside them, a set of numbers hastily written, the ink smudged but still visible:1045.

Roxail stared at it, his mind trying to unravel what meaning it might hold. But before thought could take shape, a firm knock echoed through the room, breaking the fragile stillness.

His hand slid the letter inside his coat, fingers lingering over it for a breath longer than necessary.

"Enter," he called, voice low.

The door creaked open, and there stood Sir Darick, the imperial butler. His pale face, composed as ever, betrayed nothing. Only his dark eyes glinted in the candle's light.

"Your highness, prince Xavier," Darick said, his voice polished and soft, "Her Majesty the Empress requests your presence in her parlor. It is… urgent."

A pause. A faint hesitation that only someone like Roxail would catch.

Roxail rose slowly, smoothing his coat as he did. "Lead the way."

The palace corridors were silent, the kind of silence that felt unnatural — as if the very walls had secrets to keep. Their footsteps echoed softly on marble floors. The chill of the autumn night seeped through the windows and stone, and each breath came out cold.

They walked in silence. But after some distance, Roxail halted, his boots stilling on the polished floor.

His sharp gaze turned back, eyes narrowed into the shadows that pooled at the far end of the corridor.

Darick stopped as well, turning with quiet efficiency. "Is something amiss, your highness?"

Roxail's eyes searched the darkness. A flicker? A movement? Or was it merely his own growing unease, born of too many questions with no answers?

"No," he said at last, voice measured. "Nothing at all."

But inside, his mind did not let go of the feeling — that prickle at the back of his neck, that subtle wrongness in the air.

They continued, the journey feeling longer with each step. At last, they reached the heavy double doors of the Empress's parlor. The soft glow of lamps spilled from within, mingling with the fragrant trace of spiced tea and burning wood.

Darick stepped aside, and Roxail entered.

The room was warm, inviting even — but beneath that warmth was an undercurrent of something colder.

Empress Semantha sat at the head of the room, her figure regal, draped in rich fabrics that gleamed in the light. A fan of deep crimson hid the lower half of her face, but her dark eyes watched him over it, sharp and assessing.

Vivienne sat near her, posture perfect, hands folded neatly in her lap, as if sculpted for display. Her soft gaze flicked to Roxail, and she offered a small, uncertain smile.

Chancellor Grey stood at the side, half in shadow, his expression unreadable save for the glint of calculation in his eyes.

Darick moved to pour tea — only for Roxail — before stepping back to stand at a respectful distance.

Roxail inclined his head, taking the seat offered, but he did not touch the tea. His gaze, cool and steady, met each of theirs in turn.

Semantha spoke first, her voice honeyed, soft enough to soothe, yet carrying weight beneath.

"My son. How relieved I am to see you, after such troubling events this night."

Her fan lowered slightly. Her smile was delicate, almost motherly.

"I see now," she continued, "why fate returned you to us. The gods knew we would need you."

There was a pause — as if she waited for him to speak. Roxail remained silent, waiting instead.

It was Grey who stepped forward, voice low, each word deliberate."The Crown Prince… dear Darmire… his collapse tonight has shown us all what we feared. His health… his youth… he is not strong enough for the burden of rule."

Vivienne dropped her gaze, as though in sorrow. The Empress gently touched her fan to her lips.

"Your brother is loved," Semantha said, "but love cannot shield him from the weight of this Empire. Xavier, you returned to us at the very moment we needed a leader. You are strong. You are wise beyond your years. You have seen the world beyond our borders."

Grey added, his tone smooth as silk,"The court will support you. The people will look to you. You can be what this Empire needs."

And then, as if rehearsed, Semantha's gaze flicked to Vivienne."With Vivienne at your side, the nobles will unite behind you. Your marriage would secure peace, strength, and prosperity for generations."

Vivienne's soft smile returned, touched with the faintest hope.

Roxail sat very still. His eyes, cold and clear, took in every word, every glance exchanged between them. The air in the room felt thick, as though layered with hidden meanings.

At last, he spoke — voice calm, but with steel beneath."I am honored by your trust. I will… consider your counsel."

The Empress's eyes glinted behind her fan."Good. You are wise, my son. I know you will choose what is best."

Roxail rose slowly, bowing with the formality expected of him. He turned to leave, their gazes burning into his back as he stepped from the room.

The corridor outside felt colder still. The letter's hidden code weighed heavy in his coat pocket.

They offer me the crown and a bride… but what do they truly want?

And somewhere deep inside, Roxail knew — the game had only just begun.