Melia stared into the mirror of her vanity, sighing as her fingers toyed with the mask in her lap. It was a dreadful thing – empty eyes and fake red lips and pallid skin. She wanted nothing to do with it, yet it was customary for a woman of mixed heritage to wear it during sacred rituals. With no other option, she gave in and slipped the mask over her face, securing the strap around the back of her head.

The mirror reflected her image, suddenly monstrous with the lack of emotion and too-perfect features. She wrenched her gaze away, turned to Catlaina. Her guard smiled and stood up a little straighter when she noticed the princess's eyes on her.

"You look lovely, Your Highness," she said.

"Thank you." Though Melia didn't feel beautiful at all. She wanted to rip the mask from her face and put on display the makeup she'd so painstakingly applied. It had taken her an hour to perfect the look of the cosmetics, for she had little practice with such things. Yet she had truly tried today. Only for her efforts to be covered up and smudged by an accessory that scarcely allowed her to breathe. Even as a child – who, admittedly, enjoyed playing dress up – she had hated the mask, envied those who weren't required to wear it.

She remembered on one occasion, a festival in honor of the Bionis, she'd spent the entire evening alone by a fountain. The other children feared her mask, teased her for wearing it. A foggy memory of sadness and longing. She had been quite young then. A friendless outcast… But if there was any upside to the accessory, it was that it obscured her emotions better than her training ever could. The tears she had cried that night went unnoticed. Even the guard assigned to her had chosen to turn a blind eye and deaf ear to her plight. Children, to some extent, were expected to be cruel; they hadn't learned proper etiquette yet. But that man was an adult. He should've known better.

So, from that moment on, she knew she couldn't rely on others. And no one ever bothered to prove her wrong. Except Kallian. Her brother had always made her feel welcome, always had her best interests at heart. She wondered what that night would have been like if he'd been in good enough health to attend the celebration. Not that he was currently very well… But emotional illness was entirely different from physical.

Tears sprung to her eyes at the thought. Doubt filled her mind, brought forth questions from the darkest corners of her mind. Why had he not told her that something was wrong? Why couldn't she help him the way he would've helped her? She knew she would lose him eventually, had never even pretended that he could live forever. But he had at least two centuries of life remaining and she wasn't prepared to let go any sooner. Especially not right then, during the most difficult years of her life. She still needed him.

Slowly, she rose from her chair. The tears slid down her cheeks, though she did nothing to stop them. They couldn't be seen under the mask anyway. And there were places to be, royal duties to accomplish. She possessed no spare time for distractions.

"Princess Melia, Prince Kallian requests permission to speak with you," one of the guards stationed outside her door announced.

She smoothed the skirt of her dress then quickly checked her reflection in the mirror. Nothing out of place… "Let him in."

The door opened, silent on its freshly oiled hinges, and allowed her brother to enter, along with three guards. He appeared much healthier than when she'd last seen him, but her heart broke in spite of his apparent recovery. She couldn't keep herself from wondering if he continued to struggle. Whatever pain he felt, she wished more than anything that she could take half of it upon her shoulders. Perhaps that would be enough to convince him to keep living…

"Mother told me that you'll be undergoing the Tomb Trial today," he said. He came within a few feet of her then stopped, glancing back at the men accompanying him. But he returned his attention to her without speaking a word to them. "It'll be dangerous. I wish I could go with you but… I can't violate the rules."

"I know," she replied, voice emotionless.

He nodded once, acknowledging her response. Perhaps he was disappointed by her coldness towards him, though he showed no sign. Instead, he continued on with his line of thought. "So, I figured out a way to stay by your side regardless." He held out the locket that she'd admired during their breakfast two days ago. "You don't have to wear it. I only ask that you keep it with you. Always."

She hesitated. The necklace dangled from its pure silver chain, sparkling, taunting. Gold branched through the disk-shaped pendant like cracks in dry earth. Perhaps it had been broken before. And still, she wanted it. Her fingers twitched with the urge to accept it but she couldn't. A present from Kallian was too precious for her careless hands. She didn't deserve such fine jewelry. The excuses swarmed in her mind, a mob of flies over a carcass.

Only a few years ago, she had broken one of her hair clips in a sudden fit of anger. It had been a rough day for her, failing in her lessons and facing harsh punishment from her father. She had fled to her bedroom, prepared for sleep in a blur of agitated movement. At the time, she scarcely registered that she'd ripped the ornament from her hair and flung it to the ground. But she saw what she'd done in the morning.

She happened upon the scattered fragments of porcelain and wept. Though it was far from expensive, its sentimental value made the loss hit harder. It had been her mother's. One of the few possessions that Yumea had allowed Melia to inherit. She couldn't forget the smirk on her stepmother's face when she learned of the hair clip's fate…

"Please, take it." Kallian's voice interrupted her recollection, shattering the images of ruined keepsakes and sneering lips. "Sister, do not deny me this one happiness…"

Freshly reminded of her brother's fragile state of mind, she reached out her hand. The locket's weight fell into her palm but she didn't cast her gaze upon it. Her eyes locked on Kallian, assessed his features. The relieved smile. The almost feverish glimmer in his eyes. He looked happy enough but she wasn't reassured. He seemed happy before too… She swallowed down her misgivings.

"Thank you," she said as Catlaina took the locket from her.

"I'll make sure she wears it into the Tomb, Your Highness," the guard promised. Then she bowed deeply and moved to secure the chain around Melia's neck.

The princess tensed, but didn't resist. She couldn't. Not with her brother watching her so intently. If she only wore it once, how much harm could come to it? Surely, the Tomb wouldn't be as treacherous as she imagined. She really should've let Minister Asdis show her those diagrams… But even with an abundance of powerful enemies, she still held some confidence in her ability to protect the necklace from outside forces. It was her own temperament that she feared. Too often, it caused more damage than she was willing to admit. She hoped she would be fortunate today and manage to control herself. No matter what happened during the trial.

Kallian enveloped her in a crushing hug. She stiffened at the suddenness of his action then relaxed. But she didn't return the embrace. Her arms refused to move.

"Please be careful…" he murmured. Then he released her and backed away. "I'll wait for you outside the Tomb, if I can. When you emerge victorious, I wish to be the first to celebrate with you." He pressed his lips into a tight line, stifled a snicker. "A parade in your honor should suffice."

Melia rolled her eyes. "As if you have the time to arrange one."

His expression turned grave, teasing forgotten. "Father insisted I take a leave of absence. An indefinite one." He paused. When he continued, there was a strained levity to his voice. "So, unfortunately for you, I have too much time on my hands."

The joke didn't sit well with her. She faked a laugh, hoping he wouldn't notice how empty it sounded. Her stomach twisted. He'd tried to make the words soft, playful. But they landed like a Mechon raiding the Bionis. Was it really just a joke? She tried to shake away the feeling. It clung to her, stubborn. And, after her laughter died out, she couldn't think of a response. Something humorous, yet still conveyed the right message.

"You should go," she said at last. "I want to speak with Catlaina privately. Before I…"

He had the grace to ignore her disrespect. His eyes darted to the Homs Entia guard. The woman's face had paled, her relaxed posture turning alert. "Has she done something wrong?"

"Not… exactly." She wasn't sure what answer he was looking for. Or what he would do with the information once he had it. The thought gave her pause. When had she become so distrusting? Of course, he was asking because he was worried about her. And like any good older brother, he wanted to fix every problem she faced. "You really mustn't concern yourself with this. It's nothing."

His eyebrows furrowed as he studied Catlaina. Then he turned back to his sister and shrugged. "If you're sure." He took a step backward. Perhaps debating whether or not to obey her wishes. An almost silent sigh escaped his lips. "I'll see you soon, Melia."

"Of course." She waited for him and his guards to leave before focusing on Catlaina. The woman stood straight-backed, shoulders rigid. "Yesterday was… odd."

"It was," Catlaina agreed cautiously. When the princess didn't immediately reply, she panicked. "I'm sorry, Your Highness. I was out of line. But he— Maybe I misinterpreted."

For once, she was thankful for the privacy the mask afforded her. She couldn't suppress the blush that took over her cheeks. So, her guard had assumed the same thing she had. That Dunban's offer to walk her to her room wasn't an innocent one. How could Melia blame her for getting protective? It was her job.

"He was trying to be kind," she said. Her hand drifted down to check that her staff was secured to her belt. It was almost time… "At worst, it was an attempt to lengthen our conversation. Nothing more than that."

"Are you sure?"

The sun had only just crested the horizon when Melia, Catlaina, Minister Lorithia, and Minister Asdis arrived at the High Entia Tomb. Below them, Eryth Sea was eerily still. It gave the illusion of someone holding their breath in anticipation. Melia had avoided even looking at the water since Kallian's confession. Being so close now only added to her nerves. Stomach churning, she followed the ministers to the entrance of the Tomb. Catlaina hung back by the transporter, looking on dutifully. With a deep, metallic thrum, the barrier dissolved, allowing entry into the sacred place. But no one moved.

"Princess, this shall be considered your first and final trial," Lorithia said, a lethal smirk playing over her lips. A cruel expression, yet she assumed her companions would mistake it for mirth. "Should you succeed, not a soul will doubt your legitimacy. Do proceed with caution, though. We are all anxious to see you return safely." She turned her head slightly to the side, eyes resting on her fellow minister's face. "Anything to add, Asdis?"

"I don't believe so. Oh, hold on a moment…" The younger minister shuffled through the stack of documents she'd brought with her. Pens and metal clips clattered to the floor as she did so. Sighing in annoyance, she clawed through the papers more vigorously until she produced the one she'd been seeking. "Ah, yes. Here it is. This little slip I have – nothing to worry about, Your Highness, really – it's just a bit of legal banter. If you'll permit me to explain?"

Melia nodded once.

"Very good," Asdis said, smiling and sparing a finger to push up her sharp-framed spectacles. Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the page a few times. Then she handed it over to the princess. "You see, Your Highness, in the unlikely event that you fail to return from the Tomb, we must ensure that your belongings are properly taken care of."

"That is reasonable, I suppose…" she mumbled, not wishing to think about how 'unlikely' her death truly was. She skimmed the words to distract herself, though found them confusing. Then her gaze settled on the signature line. "And if I sign this, what am I agreeing to, exactly?"

"It legally promises all of your possessions to the First Consort." The Minister of Records pressed a pen into Melia's hand. "You're young so you've never written a will. Your untimely death would cause quite a mess! Her Highness mentioned it to me – she was quite distraught – and she wants to preserve your memory if the worst comes to pass. It will be easier on her if you entrust your personal effects to her. In writing. Does that agree with you?"

Melia frowned inwardly. Such an arrangement seemed strange to her, as if, perhaps, Asdis was attempting to fool her. She studied the contract a few more times. Upon finding nothing suspicious, she signed her name on the line then returned the pen and paper to the minister's haphazard pile.

"Is that all?"

"It would appear that all matters are settled," Lorithia replied.

"Good luck, Princess!" Asdis's long wings fluttered as she bounced on her toes.

Gulping down a lungful of air, Melia turned to face the yawning entrance of the Tomb. Then she stepped inside. She had walked no more than five steps when the barrier materialized once more, trapping her within. But her resolve was unshaken; it was one of her most strongly exercised traits. With its power, she found herself able to push forward, stride farther down the frigid corridor. The cold brought to her mind memories of another entrapment from long ago.

She'd been a child then, not yet wise enough to question her stepmother. So, when Yumea asked her to take an exam in one of the Investigation rooms, she obeyed without complaint. Clutching a pen and sheaf of paper in her tiny hands, she entered the chamber via a transporter. A few questions in, the icy blue light died out, robbing her of her sight. Then the heat failed. The winter chill infiltrated the room like the walls were cloth. She remembered the frozen metal of the teleporter against her palms. Stinging as she tried to hit the machine until it worked again. But its turquoise flame wouldn't ignite.

In the end, her mother found her, a summoned flame bobbing in the air above her. She lay against the transporter, curled into a ball, unconscious. At her mother's touch, she revived. Her mother – wizened and ill in her old age – picked her up and brought her to safety.

The doctor said she'd been lucky. If she'd spent any longer in that room, she wouldn't have woken up.

She shook herself, freeing her mind from the tangles of moments she wished to forget, pockets of time she couldn't reclaim. There was work to be done in the present. She scolded her emotions for interfering, putting her at risk. Then she forged ahead, reaching a dead-end room with a control panel protruding from the smooth floor. It housed a single button, which she promptly pressed.

It – whatever 'it' was – greeted her in its garbled, Mechon-like voice then recited a number that she didn't recognize. Perhaps it recognized her confusion, thought her foolish for being unable to understand such a simple method of time-keeping. But it didn't berate her. Instead, it asked for her name and the purpose of her visit.

"I am Melia Antiqua," she said, hoping her voice sounded more dignified and confident than she felt. "I have come to prove that I am a worthy successor to the High Entia Empire."

The machine was silent and, for a moment, she feared that it didn't believe her answer. Her heart rate increased, her palms began to sweat. The longer she was kept in suspense, the more dramatic these reactions became. By the time the Tomb bathed her in green, DNA-reading light and permitted her to move on, she felt faint. She gathered herself as completely as possible then continued through the newly opened door.

With each room she cleared and each monster she faced in battle, her apprehension receded. These ancient machines posed almost no threat to her; she could fry their circuits with a quick Bolt before they had the chance to register her presence. It was rather anti-climactic. Almost a disappointment for a girl who had been raised on the awe-inspiring tales of the terrors within the Tomb. The kind that killed indiscriminately. The kind that couldn't be defeated by anyone less than a legendary hero. She wasn't even a regular hero. Far from it, actually.

She shoved the feeling aside, reminding herself to be grateful that she was alive and unharmed. Coerced by instinct, her hand flew to her throat. Fingers brushed against the delicate chain. It was still secure, thankfully, and, from what she could feel, the pendant was also undamaged. She huffed out a sigh of relief then allowed her hand to drop back to her side. If she stayed in one place too long, she was certain she would be trapped forever. So, she continued across the golden light-bridge toward her final challenge.

The Ceremony Hall was much more ornate than she'd imagined, though she supposed that detail was of little consequence. Towering columns lined the chamber, each one adorned with its own glowing emerald orb. Directly across from her, a carving graced the wall. Its intricate design cut deep into the smooth marble and, briefly, she found herself enchanted by the blue stone set into the pattern's apex.

When she regained her senses – scarcely a heartbeat after they'd first fled – she dropped to her knees and waited. She didn't know what to expect, but she mustered up her most respectful patience. Just as she was about to give up, return to Alcamoth, a low, authoritative voice spoke to her. It was utterly unlike the voice that had questioned her earlier. This one seemed nearly real, as if she could reach out and touch the man it belonged to. Of course, she refrained from such a foolish action, for she knew that his only physical form was the flashing light of the blue orb above. A soft light that pulsed with the natural cadences of the stranger's words.

He shared with her the wisdom of the ancients. And she listened, though he often talked of things she didn't understand. She nodded when she thought it necessary, but otherwise, remained motionless. Could he even see her? The answer didn't come and she let the question go. Attempting to make sense of the genes and curses he'd mentioned was a task she couldn't afford to give partial attention to. She had to stay focused.

As his speech drew to a close, he proclaimed that she shall be the next ruler of the High Entia and branded the forehead of her mask with some sort of royal seal. In the back of her mind, a spike of relief left her grateful for the accessory once more. But its occupation of her thoughts was short-lived, forced aside by a more pressing matter. What had her ancestor meant when he said she was likely to be the last? She had no time to ponder it.

"So, the spirits look favorably upon you?" The unfamiliar and malicious voice of the intruder assaulted her ears. "I had hoped they would have been more intelligent…"

Melia whirled around, coming face to face with a masked High Entia woman. "Who are you?" she demanded as her hand scrambled to draw her staff. "You aren't permitted to be here."

"I need no permission." The assassin lunged at the princess, wielding a pair of wicked daggers.

She reacted without thinking, jerked the staff into a defensive position in front of her. The first knife bit into the wood, while the second managed to correct its aim. It connected with the fabric of her dress, opening a gash that exposed an uncomfortably large section of her stomach. She jumped away and summoned earth. A rocky barrier built itself between the two combatants as Melia fought to steady her breath.

Yet her assailant tore through the stone chunks almost effortlessly, using her daggers like claws to dismantle the shield. She stepped over the rubble and cackled as she crept closer to her target, both knives poised to take the princess's life.

"You are filth," she hissed, lashing out with one of the blades.

Melia dodged backward. Unbalanced, she fell to the cold, steely tiles.

"A half-breed has no right to the throne!" The assassin smirked at being presented such an opportunity, pounced on it without hesitation. She pinned the Homs Entia girl to the floor with one hand and held both daggers in the other. Her blades rested against her victim's throat.

Melia struggled beneath the masked woman's weight, desperate to free one of her hands. There had to be something she could do. Her mind raced through each hurriedly concocted plan, declaring them all ineffective or impossible. But if she could just get a grip on her staff – which lay a mere inch away from her fingertips – then she could… The thoughts cut off when she felt it. Cold at first, then terrible, searing pain. She heard herself gasp, cry out as the agony leeched from her neck into the rest of her body. Her heart thumped harder. Each beat against her ribcage pushed more blood out of her throat wound, spilling down her chest.

"Oops," the assassin said, her venomous tone ringing with amusement, "I slipped."

It was still early morning. Somehow. Even though it felt like an eternity had passed since Melia began her trial. He really had intended to wait for her. But when he saw Minister Lorithia, leaning on the safety rail outside the Tomb, he turned around. His breath caught in his throat, his heart hammered erratically. Cursing his cowardice, he slinked back to Alcamoth.

The group of Homs stopped him before he could reach the Imperial Villa. They insisted Melia was in danger but he told them that there was nothing he could do. The words burned him as he spoke. Damn the rules. That was his baby sister and he should— No. If she was meant to die then she… She had to.

They didn't like his answer any more than he did. The Nopon bounced in agitation and he was sure the red-headed Homs would've snapped his neck if his guards weren't present. It was Dunban who calmed everyone, suggested his own solution with a sly grin. It could work… The outsiders had no obligation to honor High Entia traditions. But he couldn't make himself agree aloud. He didn't disagree either. He let them go without a word then continued on his way.

At last, wrapped in the privacy of his suite, he threw himself into his chair by the fireplace. The plushness couldn't comfort him. How could he just sit there while Melia fought for her life? Why didn't he do anything? What was he so afraid of? The accusing questions crashed against his mind in waves. Like Eryth Sea, tugging him down. He shuddered, clenched his fingers around the armrests.

And, of course, the guards noticed his unease. They crowded around him, suffocated him with their soothing words. He hadn't been able to breathe since he saw Lorithia. It only worsened with the constant attention. If Kennet was there, it might've been bearable. But he wasn't. His friend had probably been reassigned or dismissed or… Either way, it was all his fault. He released his grip on the armchair to crack his knuckles.

"One of you, fetch me a drink. Something strong."

The three guards exchanged worried glances. But before the prince could repeat his order, one of the men slipped out of the room. He forced himself to relax. Only two left. He could manage that. Cautiously, he rose out of his chair and strode toward the adjoining bathroom. His guards didn't question him. He heaved a relieved sigh as he shut the door firmly behind him. All he needed was some space. Just a few minutes and everything would be alright.

His hands were shaking. He braced them against the edges of the countertop and gazed at his reflection in the mirror. It had been a while since he'd last seen himself. Before his breakfast with Melia. He didn't know how long ago that was. It could've been a lifetime.

Though he'd been cured of the ice blight, the color never returned to his face. He looked… haggard. The sleepless nights finally taking their toll. No wonder his mother had fussed over him when she'd visited the previous day. She'd been more concerned for his wellbeing than Melia's. Even though she was facing a deadly trial and he was fine. He was fine.

Guilt frayed his nerves. He'd lied to everyone, made them worry for him when he didn't deserve it. Stupid… If he hadn't been so careless, none of this would've happened. His stomach lurched. It was out of his control now. Maybe that should've made it easier. To betray his family, to do as he was told. But… Everything was spiraling.

The corner of the counter bit hard into his palm, pulling him back to reality. He didn't have much time left. A minute at most before his guards burst in on him. His fingers moved of their own accord, searching through drawers and cabinets until they connected with the leather-wrapped hilt of his former training dagger. He had a vague memory of storing it there one night. Years ago. Just in case.

Then he sank to the ground, setting his back against the cool porcelain bathtub. He stared at the blade, sharp, glimmering in the light of the ether lamp. The razor edge aligned with his left wrist. What am I doing? It was just a cover story. He didn't have to convince anyone else. But what if they still doubted him? A fall into the sea could've been an accident, after all. No matter what he said. They would see right through him. See him for the liar that he was.

He pressed down until the blade broke his skin. Blood welled up to meet the steel. A soft gasp of pain slipped from his lips, but he didn't stop. He couldn't.

Again and again, the knife slashed through his flesh. He barely felt it anymore. The realization made him want to push harder. Hurt more. That was what he deserved. He tried to count the gashes, gauge the damage. His vision swam, obscuring the details until all he could see was blood.

Blood pooled on the floor, seeped through his clothes, stained his wings. It was enough. More than enough to… He lost the train of thought. His mind was fuzzy. The dagger passed to his left hand and began its work on his unmarred wrist. A rush of dizziness hit him. Shadows closed in around the edges of his vision. He leaned his head back against the tub, eyelids slipping shut. The movement of the blade had become automatic by then. He didn't need to see to keep cutting.

It felt like a dream. Floating above the bloody tiles and the slumped body with sabotaged veins. Distantly, he heard a pounding noise. He couldn't determine what it was. Someone screamed his name and, for a moment, he wondered if it was Melia. Where was she? He tried to lift his head, open his eyes. His body didn't move.

Then the darkness claimed him, guiding him down into its bittersweet embrace. The knife slipped from numb fingers and clattered to the floor.