Nitocris II

She was on the boat again. She'd once more sailed down the great river, over the great clear waters filled with fish and crocodiles. The ship had cut through the reed, and sailed until it hit the horizon, and met the sun in its final descent. They then shot through the sun portal, and into the sea of stars, where the ship continued to row, until once again she was in front of the massive scales.

And then, once more, she reached in, ripped out her heart, and placed it on the scales. The feather was placed on the other side, and the scales began to tip one way, and then another. Nitocris could feel the back of her neck begin to sweat, as the chimeric demon standing on the other side seemed to stare at her heart gluttonously. While drool began to pour around the rows upon rows of teeth, the reptilian eyes were simply unmoving. She couldn't even fathom what the thing was thinking.

I'm Going to Eat You

The voice came from nowhere, but it wasn't the reassuring voice she had heard before from behind. No, it was a new voice, a female voice, an evil voice. And Nitocris didn't have to take much of a guess on where that voice was coming from. The horrific demon did not move, but it continued to talk to her.

I'm Going To Eat You

'This isn't a dream,' she thought for herself, the demon's words penetrating her very core. She knew that this thing was real. This monster was real. And should she be found wanting…

First Your Heart

The scales seemed to be slowing down. In the bottom of her stomach, she couldn't imagine what would happen if her heart was somehow heavier than the feather. She knew that was what would bring her doom.

Then Your Body

She held her arms. She desperately wanted to run, but she was stuck. The great barge she had been riding on was stationary. Even if she could get the magic oars to move again, rowing away in the opposite direction, she knew it would not matter. This thing hungered for her.

Then Your Soul

'I'm alone,' she felt tears pour down her cheeks, as the beast's mouth opened, and the drool seemed to flow as freely as the river the barge had left when it had hit the sun. She held her shoulders as it seemed like the scales were finally about to come to an end, and her fate would be sealed. She then felt a hand on her shoulder, and once again heard the voice of assurance, the powerful deep voice that had always reassured her.

Fear Not Little Pharaoh, I Am With You

And then she woke up.

Her eyes flashed open, and she nearly jumped up. Sweat was covering her skin, and she could look down on the sheets of the bed she had been sleeping in, and see her outline in sweat among the sheets and cushions. The disgust at the scene was barely able to register,as the image of the demon's jaws covered her mind's eye. That hideous voice, declaring that she was nothing but a meal for its wretched body. Just thinking about that vo-

She turned around, and quickly found a free lying urn, probably usually used for some kind of storage, placed her mouth in it, and dry heaved. As soon a layer of spit formed in the bottom of the urn, she groaned, and rolled onto her back, and stared up at the ceiling.

'I can't throw up because I didn't eat anything,' she thought sadly, rubbing her belly as it growled in anger, 'I haven't eaten anything for three days,' she shuddered, remembering what had occurred over those last three days, 'Not since my waking hours have been stalked by a demon just like the hours of my dreams.'

Grazdan the Great, after slaughtering the family Nakkloz, had come to her, and declared her to the whole of the audience as his consort. She had been whisked away from her brother and her countrymen, and had been placed in this room, three floors high in the pyramid. It was honestly more opulent than anything she had ever been in, even as a member of the Great Masters. Fine silk sheets with massive cushions. Gold covered furniture. Massive mirrors. Rather…distasteful mosaic murals on the side of the room, showing scenes of contact between men and women that would be inappropriate in public.

Then, each day, she was to stand beside his throne as he did the business of the day. Whatever happened, she was to stand there, being quiet, seen not heard, and to watch as Grazdan ran the government. There had been nothing as horrific as the murders he had committed in the GreatForum, though there was plenty of groveling from her fellow Masters of the Slaver Cities. Throughout those days of waiting, however, she hadn't seen her brother, and because of Grazdan's orders, she hadn't been able to ask anyone about him.

The only change had come the afternoon before, when four strange travelers had arrived. Grazdan's cloaked assistant, who she had never learned the name of, had managed to use a strange spell to hold down two of them, while the other two, a bronze man and a boy, had run. Grazdan himself had been forced to capture the Bronze one, but the boy had been at large when she had gone off to sleep.

Grazdan had actually thrown the unconscious captive down in front of her when he had returned, smirking at her like a hunting dog that had shown off an unusually impressive kill. HIs fascination with her…frightened her.

She wasn't bad looking, but there were so many others much better than her. It wasn't as though she was dumb, but there were many more intelligent. It wasn't as though she was poor, but there was far greater wealth within the Slaver Cities that her house would not be worth that much. Why choose her? Why pluck her out of the crowd, and take delight in terrifying her and driving her to fear him.

"Two more nights," she said to herself, "Just two more nights."

DOKDOK

She nearly jumped out of her skin. She looked over, and stared at the door into her room. She sighed, and waited for a moment. Yet, she heard the sound again, and realized it was a knock, she shook for a second, before finally groaning, and saying, "Come in."

And yet, her fear dropped away the instant a dark skinned man with scars along his face opened the door, and then swiftly shut it behind him. Yemsaf, her brother, had finally returned. She felt the weight of the world fall off her shoulders, and she rushed over to him, grabbing him in the tightest hug she could.

"It is good to see you," he said, as he returned the hug. His voice was quiet.

"You too," she kept her own voice quiet as well, "I was worried I'd never see you again," she looked around, making sure to shut the door, and pull him as far into her chamber as possible, so no one who would walk by could hear. She pulled him over to two ornate chairs, and sat him down, "I'd offer you some food, but I've been so worried I haven't been able to stomach brining anything here to have."

"I understand," Yemsaf nodded. He sat straight, looked her in the eye as she sat down, and when she had taken her seat, reached over and grabbed her hand. HIs eyes were filled with a mix of worry and anger, and she could see that he was barely constraining himself. He squeezed it tightly, and asked, "Has that thing done anything to you?"

"No," she stuttered for a moment, "He has restricted my movement and taken me away to here, but he has not yet forced me to… "Serve Him"," Yemsaf seemed to grit his teeth at the implication, "But he has made it known that I shall have to do so eventually," that caused the grinding to increase. Yemsaf held his hands together, and looked at her, "I hope…that he chooses to wait until after he leaves for his Cucerine," she allowed herself a small smile, "Then perhaps a Horse Lord shall grant me a blessing of the man's head being removed from his shoulders."

"But you don't believe he will wait," it wasn't a question, it was simply a connection,"Do You?" Nitocris shook her head in response, her smile at the thought of Grazdan's death snuffed out like an unnecessary candle.

"No, I believe he means to request my presence in his chamber after the fights tomorrow, the last night before he leaves," she shivered, the thought of the man using her, "I believe he wishes to start his conquests…with a conquest."

Yemsaf's shoulders seemed to shake, rising as his anger seemed to fill him up. He took the chair he had been sitting in, with it's gold plated limbs, and tossed it against the floor. Before he could begin a tirade, Nitocris forced herself to her feet, and placed a hand over his mouth. He glared at her in wrath and surprise, but she again held her finger to her lips, and picked up the chair swiftly.

"You must be careful," she said, she tried to smile, as she walked back to her own chair, "He is so powerful, I dare not consider what he might do to you."

"Nito, for once in your life, care about yourself before you care about me," he snapped, causing Nitocris to jump back, nearly knocking down the chair she was about to sit in once more. She looked at him for a second, and his eyes softened, "I understand you are scared, but what this man is demanding is beyond his right."

"Why not?" she sighed, catching her chin in her hand as her elbow planted itself on the table, "After all, he is Grazdan the Great, founder of Ghis," she shook her head inside the cup formed by the hand, "He is the founder of our cities, why shouldn't he have the right to whatever woman he desires," she was probably just repeating what Grazdan had implied in the few instances they talked.

"Because he isn't," Yemsaf said, getting on his knees right up against the table, all so he could look Nitocris in her eyes, "He isn't Grazdan, he's some upstart politician by the name of Merian."

"What?"

"I had plenty of capital on hand to ask about the goings on, and gold tends to loosen the lips of men," his face remained completely serious, "Merian won election to be the Tyrant of New Ghis fourteen months ago," Yemsaf shook his head, "The free citizens elected one of their own, an admiral who managed to sink a small fleet of pirates around Naath. He returned, and used the money he took from their treasure to finance a campaign, which he won, giving him a three year term," her brother shook his head, "He never promised anything, and being the most recent conquering hero, he won easily."

"There was no-"

"No, no history of magic, no relation to spells," Yemsaf's hand wiped over the burn scar adorning his face, "No moderate understanding of alchemy, and yet now, he has shown more magic than perhaps any living man since the Empire of the Dawn."

Nitocris nodded. Honestly, it made a sort of sense. She hadn't heard much about upheaval from New Ghis. Had a mad man calling himself Grazdan the Great taken over New Ghis, the other slaver cities would have heard of it, if for no reason but to mock the upstart. If he had been an ordinary politician, then it wasn't that difficult to imagine him flying under the radar until the Conclave and declaring himself lord of Ghis.

"But how?" she asked.

"From what I understand, Merian began to grow bored during his term. Within three months, he abandoned discussions on taxes and trade and other such things," Nitocris winced, as she thought about the complete abandonment of duty that involved, "He shut himself off for weeks at a time, and would only come out for festivals to gorge himself," Yemsaf's bad eye twitched, "But about six months ago, he met the man in the cloak."

"Yes," Nitocris thought back to the figure who had actually first pointed her out, and who had used strange magics to tie down two of the travelers, "Who is he? He is clearly a powerful warlock. Perhaps he is from Asshai-by-the-shadows," the thought of that dark city, where all sorts of dark sorceries were practiced and incomprehensible knowledge flowed caused her to shiver. But she had to ask, as her brother had gone there twice before, one of the only men in Slaver's Bay to have done so, and studied there to perform his own alchemic experiments.

"No one knows his name, besides Merian," Yemsaf then added to answer her question, "I would not be surprised if he was from Asshai, but I never encountered any magics like the ones he used in the Forum, and especially not ones practiced in the open so brazenly."

Nitocris sighed, "So much for that being an avenue of discovering why I am of such interest for him," she shook her head, and felt her brother's hand on her shoulder. She smiled, and looked him again in the eye, "Please continue the story."

"Of course. So, for around six months, he would take counsel with the cloaked figure. Some thought the figure was a mistress or paramor, though I don't know why," he shrugged, before explaining, "He never had any problems having multiple partners in his chambers," Nitocris shuddered, "Yet, after that six months, or about three months ago, Merian disappeared one evening. That night, there was a great storm, and the whole of the island stayed within their homes."

"Yet even from their homes, some could see something strange occurring on the top of the pyramid," Nitocris nodded, at least understanding that it was this very building, the tallest in all of New Ghis, "At the summit, some saw two figures, one standing on the very top, the other only a few feet away. They withstood the wind and water, and then, a lighting strike found the figure at the very top…"

"That was Merian?" Nitocris asked, and Yemsaf nodded.

"At least that was what was guessed. When the storm cleared the next morning, some citizens went to see if they would have to vote for a new tyrant. Instead, they found Merian, only he was not the same. He was thinner, and younger as well, with more muscles and a stronger jaw. He smiled, and talked about architecture and taxation with far greater interest. And he began to refer to himself as Grazdan the Great."

"This of course, was seen as the Tyrant having lost his mind, though they left him alone for a while, with only some minor assistants. Yet, over the next month, he forced himself further into power, and he began to show off strange powers. He created his wings and declared himself the Son of the Harpies. He began to use magic spells to offer jewels and coin to those he considered allies. He began to speak to the legionnaires, and suddenly they became fanatically loyal to him," Yemsaf shook his head, "After only a few weeks, the whole of this Island accepted his new persona, and were ready to support his plans."

"The reconquest of Ghis," Nitocris had seen some of the maps of the planned invasions of the mainland. Six legions currently leaving in three days. Six more were being trained as they spoke. SIx more were being recruited for service. Alongside the unsullied serving as Auxiliaries, this force would reach at it's final strength over one hundred thousand fighting me in total, with a backbone of ninety thousand legionnaires. First Lhazar, and then hunt down every khalasar they could find, one at a time, and annihilate them utterly, so that by the time the Dothraki realized what was occurring, they would be unable to bring overwhelming numbers to the battle, and Grazdan's magic and the legions discipline would be enough to destroy the horselords, even if the dothraki refused to retreat.

"Yes, then he called us here," Yemsaf said, "And, well, you've seen all that has been involved with that," he looked to the ground.

"What of the Masters of Slaver's Bay?" she asked.

"They have all given their approval to the matter," he gripped his hands tightly. When he said no more, Nitocris felt her eyebrows raise.

"They gave in so easily?"

"Of course they did!" Yemsaf could no longer hold his rage, "They saw his magics, and they bowed before him as though he truly was Grazdan. They've been trying to curry favor with him every moment of the day since then. First they sent ravens to their cities to inform them of "Grazdan's" return and to warn them that they will probably not be able to stop them," Nitocris almost hoped that the other Masters would ignore orders, though with the number of ravens going, it would likely be enough for them to submit, "And then, they began to ask for favors for their support from Grazdan. Looking for any kind of payment for the support they are about to provide for the conquests."

"In the end," he sighed, "Their pride fell before their fear and greed."

Nitocris looked away. In the end, all the bluster their fellow masters had shown during their arrival had been for nothing. They had considered themselves the inheritors of a great legacy, and yet in only a few hours they were shown how unworthy of that legacy they truly were. And what place did she have to criticize. Had she not been just as willing to bow to this Tyrant herself, when threatened. Yemsaf pulled from beneath his tokar a small bag. He then opened the bag, and from it, pulled out a small purple gem, seven sided, with what looked like wings behind them.

"The first gift he gave myself and the other Masters," he explained. He handed it to her, "Notice anything strange?"
"It is very ornate," she observed, "It must have taken a fantastic jeweler to have crafted this to such a fine degree."

"Yes," Yemsaf nodded, "It is very intricate, too intricate," when Nitocris looked at him expectantly, he explained, "This was not the only version of this jewel. Every single Master from the cities was given one of these."

"But," Nitocris looked over the jewel, "That wou-"

"Have taken hundreds of exceedingly talented craftsmen months," Yemsaf's voice began to get lower, "I did some tests on it, with a few alchemic products I was able to buy from the markets," she nodded, "These are magical. They contain a strange energy within them, something I have never seen before, and I noticed that Grazdan had a larger version of his own on his throne."

"Do you think he is planning something with the Masters?" she looked them over, "Perhaps these are a way of tracking you all, and keeping an eye on you?"

"Possibly, though I doubt it," he shook his head, "With how he has acted, I doubt he is worried about our locations, No, I detected something strange with it and it tells me there is something going on with the throne itself," he handed the jewel to her, and closed it within her hand, "I will need you to hold onto this, if for no other reason than it contains magic. It might be useful if you encounter some strange spell."

Nitocris looked at the jewel in her hand, and nodded. Yemsaf pushed himself back to his feet, and turned back towards the entrance of the room. He looked back at her, and sighed, "You must be careful. You may be forced to do what he says, but do your best to stay safe. I will investigate the throne, and see if there is some key to his magic there."

Nitocris reached out, and grabbed him by the sleeve. He looked back, and his eyes met her. She reached out and embraced her brother, and squeezed desperately so she could feel her family once more. She felt tears begin to form in her eyes, and she did all she could to hold on to Yemsaf. She didn't want him to risk himself.

"I must do this if we are to find a way to get you away from that thing," Yemsaf sighed sadly, "You are my sister, and I will do whatever it takes to set your free," she coughed, and shook her head violently, "Please trust me sister. I will be back in this room by nightfall."

"...Do you promise?"

"Yes," he smiled at her, as she let go over him, and he left through the door to her chamber, "I promise.

She had been called again from her room, but instead of to the main palace, it was to one of the dungeons on a lower floor. Her descent into the darker reaches of the pyramid did nothing to soothe her nerves, as she spied around every corner. Legionnaires were stationed around, none of them outwardly acknowledging her presence even as their eyes followed her as she passed by were fewer torches than in the higher levels, all perhaps to further darken the mood of this level, and perhaps break the prisoners. Nitocris herself found this all quite effective, she already felt trapped, and she had not chains.

She could hear the sounds of whipping as she passed by the torches. She had heard the sound before, she was from Mereen, and yet somehow, this seemed harsher, darker. Perhaps she had simply never had felt as trapped before, and it was allowing her to commiserate with the tortured. It was not a feeling she was happy to have.

"I have arrived at the request of my lord," she said to the legionnaires who were stationed outside a particularly worn wooden door, their spears crossed in front of the wood. The two moved their spears away, and Nitocris pushed the door open. She heard the metal clink behind her as the spears came together once more. She closed the door.

The whipping sounds were even louder. The sound of leather striking and cutting into flesh was so loud that her own flesh tensed with each successive hit. The room she was in separated into two parts, a viewing stage where she had entered, and a lower area with stone floors, where chains were held to the wall. She could see Grazdan and his cloaked mage standing in the middle of the platform, and also a half a dozen other officials, including the head of the coming games.

"Ah," Grazdan declared, not even looking around at her, "I see my consort has arrived," he held his arm out, still not looking back, his eyes focused, "Come see the interrogation. It has been slow…but worth savoring."

"Oh yeah, yeah," she heard one voice from within the lower section of the chamber, "Really savory. I tell you, this is-" WHACK"-Really getting the kinks out of my back."

"Silence!" she heard a deep voice scream, before turning back, "Lord Grazdan. Please all-"

"He will keep his tongue," Grazdan said quickly, causing what she guessed was the head guard of the dungeon to sigh, "I want to hear him beg for mercy. It wouldn't work without a tongue."

"Why would I ask fo-"she heard another whip crack against a back as she approached, making sure to be next to Grazdan, but never taking his hand, "-r mercy. This is like a spa vacation, right Emiya."

"Are you sure you can't cut out his tongue," another voice groaned, though it was not one of pain but of undeniable exasperation, "Honestly, that's the most painful part of this experience."

"Love you too."

"Fuck off."

Nitocris came up and looked down. The lower section was only lit by the flickering flame of a small pile of coals, with several metal instruments sticking out of it. There was a fat man, who she could guess was the head torturer, light from the burning coals bouncing off the profuse sweat along his skin. In his hand was a whip, yet he was holding it beneath his waist, and she could see his shoulders heave.

Attached to the wall were the two male members of the traveling party, stripped of any clothing. Both of them were facing the wall, the blue haired man with pale skin, and the white haired man with bronze skin, and while both had long red bruises along their backs, blood had not yet been cut from them. To see two men from very different ethnicities traveling together as free men, and neither having the markings of slave…it was something she was not used to. And for them to have been in the presence of a woman from Yi Ti.

"Sireeee," she heard the fat man whine from beneath them.

"Keep whipping."

"Ruler," a new voice, "I believe you have had your fun. Allow me to take what is mine now," Nitocris turned, and finally recognized it was the voice of the cloaked figure. It was that of a young man, likely only having recently reached adulthood. She looked back immediately, managing to avoid the Cloaked man seeing her, as he was focused on the Grazdan. Something clicked within her mind, as she remembered that Grazdan himself had said something about that as his title, "I have already agreed to allow you to keep your pet. But these other Servants should be bound to me."

Silence still hung in the room. Only occasionally broken by the sound of whipping. Grazdan only continued to focus on the two men, both of whom stayed still as the whips slammed into their backs. She took the chance to glance at his eyes, and she could see…he was fascinated.

And…from the state of the torturer, she could understand why. These two had likely been whipped for hours, and yet, the ship could not cut through their skin. There were no screams, no cries of pain. Maybe a few winces, but no real breaking beneath the pain that was being thrown upon them. Nitocris couldn't imagine how strong they would have to be for such treatment to be nearly shrugged off by this treatment. She had heard that the bronze man had slain an entire squad…and merely from this, she could believe it.

"Gaoler," Grazdan said, "You may brand them if you wish."

"Thank you sire," the fat man let out a long breath of relief. The cloaked man threw up his arms in shock.

"Did you not hear what I said," he seethed, pointing down at the two men, "These are to be my servants. I didn-"

Grazdan held up a hand, and the man quieted. Nitocris turned her attention to the jailer beneath them, grabbing a long black instrument from the coals. On the other end, she could see a hot red brand of a harpy on one end. The symbol of a slave of the arena, it was meant to be recognition of a slave's duty to die for the entertainment of the state. The fat man laughed as he lifted it up, and aimed it at the blue haired man, and he began to laugh, as he slowly approached the man's bare backside. Once he was sure of his aim, he shot the brand forward.

The blue haired man's foot shot up, and caught the still black metal, with the red hot brand itself a few inches from his buttocks. Nitocris felt her jaw drop, as with his toes, the prisoner ripped the brand out of jailer's hand. He then twisted it around, and with the searing metal now facing the jailer, threw it towards him with surprising speed. So surprising, that the jailer had no time to dodge as it collided with his face.

"AAAAAAAAAGGGGGGHHHHHHH!"

The scream caused Nitocris to cover her ears. She stared at the gaoler, and felt her stomach heave as she saw that the brand had not only landed on his face, but had actually shot into his left eye. The man screamed as the molten metal likely seared into his skull, shaking and quaking as he screamed, until finally, mercifully, he stopped moving. She could barely stop her hands from fidgeting as she looked at yet another corpse. It was becoming too common to see those these days.

"Do you not see," the cloaked figure continued, "These are too powerful to be left unrestrained by command seals," Nitocris had no idea what those were, but something within her seemed to prick up, "We must bind them to me, so they may be of proper use during our conquests."

"Command seals huh," the Bronze Man spoke up. While the blue haired man had been frightening in the wild movement, this one was calmer. He looked back, and his eyes widened as he stared at them, or more specifically, her. Once again, Nitocris couldn't understand why they were so focused on her, she had no magical gifts, "Guess you have to rely on some third rate Magus to gain your victories, huh Grazdan?"

"Third rate!" the cloaked man began to point at the chained pair, "Third rate is that lit-" he shook his head, "I look forward to tying myself to you, and making you kiss my feet."

"See," the man's white hair unnaturally reflected the hot coal fire, illuminating his face as he spoke, "This prick thinks he's in charge. Do you really trust him to not run away with us as soon as he can?"

"Ruler," the Mage twisted, and held out a hand, "You must listen to me. Let me perform the ritual. Give me your blood, and I may create command seals to t-"

"My blood," Grazdan said aloud, and Nitcoris could hear a bit of shock, "Do most spells require blood."

"Most spells," the cloaked figure sighed, "No, most do not. Most command seals would not require it. Most of the time, the command seals would appear in other manners, but in our situation, I require a strong magical foundation."

The Tyrant continued to look down at his captives, his eyes moving back and forth between them, and the corpse of his jailer. For a second, she wondered what he was thinking, before he smirked.

"Not yet," Grazdan said, "I will give you my blood tomorrow," he held up his hand, "After the games of course," he smiled, "I want to see them in the arena before they become my vanguard."

"What!?" the magician waved his arms wildly. Nitocris could see a fairly strong jaw and what looked like tanned skin, "Why would you send servants into a gladiatorial arena. They are some of the strongest warriors to have ever walked any mortal plane. And to do so without a relative source of magic would mean they would not be at full power."

"Of course," Grazdan nodded, "But I still wish to see them in such a fight. If they can survive, I will allow you to bind them. If they do not," he shrugged, "Then I will not have wasted my blood on a pair of useless warriors."
"Oh man," she heard the blue haired say aloud, "I do love it when we get to go through this kind of villain monologue, hey Emiya."

"Yeah," the bronze man added, "Really fits the whole fictional villain persona this guy has," he then tried to imitate Grazdan's voice, "I do not expect you to talk Mr. Cuhulain, I expect you to die."

"Oh my god," the blue haired man laughed, and Nitocris barely managed to keep her own laugh down, if for no other reason that the bronze man had actually sounded quite like the Tyrant standing next to her. Grazdan, however, did not seem to be phased, merely crossing his arms and smirking at the pair.

"Tomorrow, you will both be sent to the arena," he then looked at the head of the dungeon, "With chains around their wrists. That will be the best test to see how they respond without their advantages," the man nodded. Unlike the now dead torturer, he was as thin as a reed, with sunken eyes and a very small nose, to match his lean yet tall appearance.

"Of course sire," he said, with his own thin voice a perfect match for his appearance.

"Then our plans have been made," Grazdan turned to Nitocris, and he smiled, "It was good of you to come. I have a task for you to do, my consort, while I shall be doing some work today."

Nitocris felt sweat begin to develop on the back of her head, before she nodded. At least she wouldn't have to be near this madman for a while.

She had quickly found herself hurrying up one of the sets of stairs, scurrying away with the chance to avoid being near the Tyrant. She was not proud of how swiftly she had made her way from the dungeon, but she had recognized that her pride was much less important than she had thought, so she was glad to take it. As she climbed to the third floor, the same floor as her own room, she turned left instead of right.

She finally came to the room she had been sent. Pouring in and out of the room were many serving girls and slaves. They were carrying food, jewels, linens, and other luxuries into the room, and leaving without them. She stood aside for a moment, waiting for a small gap in activity, before pushing her way into the room.

Inside, was actually a room quite similar to her own. Magnificent furniture, gold plated and encrusted with jewels. There was a massive mirror, and a bed covering nearly a quarter of the room. It honestly seemed as if it was a replica, though there was one major difference. On one of the walls was a massive chain that fell to the ground, and snaked across the floor of the room until it came to be attached to the wrist of the woman from the party.

The woman was from Yi Ti, as her skin was of the correct complexion and she was not so tall as to be from Leng. She was muscular, and…well-endowed. She had been dressed, as ordered by Grazdan, in an outfit more benefiting a slave than a free woman like Nitcoris herself. The cloth kept her decent, but only just, with the bright teal of the cloth obscuring her chest and crotch. Honestly, Nitocris had to wonder how much he had spent on such fine silk for a slave outfit, rather than for a normal tokar.

And yet what was strangest was what the woman was doing. She was sitting on the ground, legs crossed, with her left hand held perpendicular to the ground. Her eyes were closed, she had a small smile on her face, and she seemed to be lost to the world. It seemed strange, this woman was grown enough that her problems would not disappear if she did not see them. And even stranger, she seemed completely calm. Surely she understood exactly what this situation meant for her.

"I have an idea of what is going on," Nitocris was snapped from her inner rant by the voice of the woman. She was still sitting, and her eyes were still closed. But she could almost feel the woman's attention be directed straight at her. She trembled for a moment, before steeling herself.

"I have been asked," she got out quickly, before stopping, and looking at the woman, and starting again, "Lord Grazdan has ordered me to help you to prepare to become one of his mistresses."

"I wonder why he would ask a woman who he has not slept with yet?"

The sounds behind them stopped. Nitocris turned her head slightly, and noticed all the serving girls were staring at the two of them. Some of them looked quite shocked at the accusation the Yi Ti woman had made, and a few began to whisper. Nitocris snapped a finger, and pointed out the room. The girls, understanding the order, scurried from the room, leaving the last few jugs of wine and some fruit lying on one of the tables. Nitocris sighed, before walking over to the entrance, and making sure that the door was completely shut. She then picked up the jug of wine and the bowl of fruit, and walked over to the table next to the prisoner. She sat down, and bit into a pomegranate.

'It has been nearly three days since I have eaten,' she scarfed down the fruit, 'I can at least a little more before I have to go beneath that monster.'

"It is good you are eating, Nitocris," Nitocris's ears picked up when she heard her name come from the sitting captive, "You shall need your strength in the near future."

"Who said you had the right to call me by my name, slave," she shot back. It wasn't fair, Nitocris knew that, but it felt good to strike down at someone after the past three days of her captor's torments. This woman was still beneath her, she was, despite everything, still a free woman.

"That's unfortunate," the captive, however, seemed to allow the insult to wash over her, "When we last saw each other, you asked me to call you Nitocris."

"Last saw-" Nitocris looked at the woman strangely, "This is the first time we've ever met."

"Ah," the woman still hadn't opened her eyes, and the smile still hadn't left her face. In fact, it seemed to have gotten even bigger, "Yes, you still don't know that you are one of us," she shook her head, "That would explain why they are allowing you to move about unguarded."

"One of you," Nitocris could not keep the sneer from her voice, "A slave," she bit into the fruit again, "I am from one of the mightiest families in all of Mereen. To have you even consider yourself to be the same as me is an insult to my honor."

"Ah."

"Don't ah me," Nitocris pointed at the woman, before tossing the remnants of the fruit, what was left of the core and seeds, directly at her head. The fruit bounced off the woman's head, and it didn't move an inch, "I am a Master of Mereen. I am a woman of value and status, I am nothing like-" she felt something inside her break, rage filling her belly as she looked around the room for a moment. The opulence of the furniture, the excellent food next to her, the dozens of girls probably chittering about the rumors from this woman's assertion. They were…the exact same as her own rooms.

"I am a Master of Mereen," she felt tears begin to well up at the bottom of her eyes, and she could feel her hands shake as she felt her heart sink into her gut, "I have value…and status," she knelt over, and placed her head in her hands, "I can't be…I can't be…"

A slave.

In three days, she had been taken from the highest point in the society of Slaver's Bay to the lowest. For all gold and jewels of her room were nothing more than a gilded cage, and she was just another bird to be bought and sold on the street. She coughed out a cry, and fell back into her chair.

'Calm yourself,' her mind raced, trying to maintain what composure she still had remaining, 'Yemsaf is looking for a way to free you as you sit here crying. Are you going to be so unworthy of his risk by mewling like an infant?' she wiped the tears away before they could start to flow. She looked over at the woman, still sitting their in her strange position, not having moved an inch.

"Don't yo-cocugh-ou dare tell anyone you saw that," she said, trying to cut through the break in her voice with her most commanding tone.

"I would never do so," the woman continued to sit there, nothing changing in her movement. Then her eyes opened, and for a second, Nitocris thought she saw something familiar in the plum irises of the captive. They stared at one another for a moment, before the woman added, "I couldn't say anything, because I didn't see anything. My eyes were closed the whole time."

"...," Nitocris was about to fire back at the girl's insolence, but stopped, and looked away. It wasn't worth getting involved.

"You don't seem happy at all," the woman continued, "When I knew you, you were still a nervous sort of woman, but never so skittery as now."
"You keep saying as though this was not the first conversation we have ever had," Nitocris shot back, grabbing another fruit, a plum this time, and beginning to eat some more. She really had gone too long without getting anything in her stomach.

"I suppose it does seem that way from your perspective," Nitocris felt her ears tingle at the woman's laugh. It sounded nice for some reason, "You are like Cu was before Emiya found him them. That certainly explains the issues with getting you to join us."

"Cu…Emiya?"

"Blue hair and bronze skin," the woman said, and the names suddenly clicked for Nitocris. She nodded, before the woman sighed, "And I suppose you should know that my name is Xuanzang, though Xuan should be good enough for polite conversation."

"Xuan," Nitocris didn't have time to say the whole thing, "Why do you say that you know me?"

"Well…I don't know you well," Xuan turned her head on its side, "We were comrades, we fought to-"

"I've never fought anything," Nitocris cut in, taking another bite of the plum, "All my thirty years have been in Mereen or the seas around Mereen. Stop speaking fancies," Xuan groaned, shaking her head at Nitocris's words.

"No, you must see. When Master summoned y-"

"Master!" Nitocris laughed, nearly spitting out some of the fruit from her mouth, "I may be a pet for Grazdan now, but I can tell you I have never had a Master," she smiled, waving her hands into the sky, "I have been a master, but no chains have ever held these wrists, no chains bound these feet."

"No…that-," Xuan continued to shake her head, maintaining her stance, but for the first time a frown was on her face, "That is not the sort of Master I am talking about," she continued, "You are a Caster, a wielder of great magi-"

"And now you mistake me for my brother," Nitocris reached into the bowl and pulled another fruit from the bowl, this one a long yellow one. She stared at it for a moment, before remembering once reading about it from a traveler from the Summer Isles, grabbing the stem at one end, and peeling it low. She plopped her mouth around it, and bit down quickly, cleanly slicing away the top, and taking the top half of the pale inner fruit down her gullet.

"Perhaps you should wait to bite into that once Grazdan arrives."

"What?"

"Nothing," Xuan said, "Nitocris, I know you don't wish to listen to me, but do know, I want to help you. But to get that help, you're going to have to remember who you really are," Nitocris snorted, before the woman in the chain finally asked, "Hasn't Anubis reached out to you to try and help."

Nitocris stopped, and suddenly every hair on her body stood on end. That name…it sounded familiar. She couldn't place where, but she knew it. As a cold sweat came over her, she looked at Xuan, and asked, "Who?"

"Your god of the dead," Xuan answered quickly, "He judges the souls of the dead before they may move to the afterlife," she stopped and thought, "You only explained it to me once, but he apparently weighs your hea-"

Nitocris felt her stomach drop. Could she be talking about the demon? That thing that was preparing to eat her heart for her failures. She grabbed at her biceps, and looked away from Xuan for a moment.

"No…I have no idea what you are talking about."

Xuan stayed quiet, though Nitocris could tell that woman was still looking at her. After a moment of silence, Nitocris looked back and saw that Xuanzang had returned to closing her eyes and simply maintaining her pose. She felt a bit of relief at the end of the conversation, and then she returned her attention to the wine jug, grabbing a cup, and filing it. She offered it to the other woman, but when she did not move, Nitocris smirked, and downed the alcohol herself. As the buzz began to cut into the edges of her stress, Nitocris was glad to allow the anxiety to flow away from her.

They would both just sit in silence for a while, probably a few hours. Xuan did not move a second from her pose, and Nitocris, still sitting on her chair, had to wonder if the woman was asleep. She threw a leftover pomegranate seed at her, but the impact did not cause the woman to move at all. On some level, Nitocris was actually impressed with the other woman's stubborn resolve to maintain her position. Part of her wished she had that much self-control.

It was likely into the fourth hour since she arrived when she heard the door open. Nitocris felt her stress return, though it was tempered by the fact that her task for the day was over. As she expected, she saw Grazdan march into the room, proudly wearing his armor, without his fluttering bronze wings behind him. She could see behind him were two guards. He looked over, and gave her a toothy grin.

"Good work giving my newest consort company," he said aloud, so loud that Nitocris could tell he was trying to get Xuan, who was still sitting with her eyes closed, not having left her pose. The tall man moved past Nitocris, and hovered over the strange captive, who despite the slight flapping of the monster's wings, stayed still, "Hello there. I trust your accommodations were acceptable."

"Not particularly, no," the woman said, still not opening her eyes, "This room is far too gaudy for a monk of the Buddha, personal enlightenment is far easier to attain when one understands such things as temporal possessions are barriers."

"Who is this Buddha?" the man laughed, "Seems like a weak fool," Nitocris suddenly saw a vein pop on the head of Xuanzang, who still held the rest of herself in as serene a posture as possible, "Temporal possessions, you mean treasures and earthly delights. Those are what make life worth living," Nitocris could tell the Tyrant's eyes were specifically looking around Xuanzang's chest, "And the ones who get the most of these, who make the largest empires and take the most of these gifts of the world," Grazdan's hand slowly began to descend towards Xuanzang's breast, "He is the greatest. The one the whole world shall know the name of."

"The Buddha is a man of greatness," Xuanzang's hand, previously held in the straight pose, shot out, and grabbed Grazdan's wrist. The surprise on Grazdan's face quickly formed into anger as he tried to pull it away, "When I last left my world, over half a billion people believe his words are how one surpasses the chains of the flesh. He has guided so many to acts of kindness and decency, and led many to the path of enlightenment."

Her eyes were open, and Nitocris nearly jumped back at the sight of the rage in them. She could tell Grazdan was struggling. The two guards came forward, until Grazdan waved them off, trying on his own to pull his way free of the woman's iron grip. There wasn't hate in Xuan's eyes, no, this wasn't as selfish as hate. Rather, it was something else, something that Nitocris almost felt hope in.

It was righteous fury.

"You are a weak man," she said, her voice remaining calm, but the fire of her words burning through the whole of the room, "You hide behind your magics and your conquests and your name. But look around you. You have to come crawling back to a small city state desperately aping your civilization because of how much of a failure your empire was. No one knows great stories about you."

"Of course they do!" Grazdan shouted.

"Where were you born?"

Grazdan blinked. Nitocris blinked. She then looked over, and saw the two guards stopping, and staring at one another as well. It was such a strange question, why would she ask about where Grazdan had been born.

"That's simple," Grazdan laughed, "I was bor…" he stopped, and stared. Nitocris blinked again.

'How does he not know that,' she shook her head, 'Everyone knows that Grazdan was born in…it was the city of…Ghi-no he founded that city…wait…where was he born?'

She could tell the guards were having the same thoughts. As was the man who had been stopped dead in his tracks as his arm was held in a vice grip. And for the first time, the smile on Xuanzang's face seemed to twist into a smirk.

"You don't know that, do you?" her smile never left her face, "Who was your favorite concubine? What is the most famous battle you won? How did you choose the Code of Ghis? How did you decide to found the city there? What was the currency you established to pay for anything? How many children did you have? Wh-"

"Enough!" Grazdan screamed, veins popping all over his neck and his face, "What is your point?"

"Would a great man's accomplishments be so lost to time," Nitocris thought Grazdan's head was about to pop off his shoulders, "Would a great man merely be nothing more than a name?" she smiled, "The Buddha was from Lumbini, high in the mountains, and renounced his royalty to seek enlightenment. He returned from the mountains to assist teaching others his philosophy," her smirk grew greater, "He captured the king under a mountain."

"Wha-"

"But it is not only he Buddha," she continued, "Hammurabi had his law code and his conquest of Elam, who had to take power from his sick father. Confucius was born in Zou, and wrote a great many things. Laozi may not have existed, yet we know his story, and his words."

"Yet you are nothing more than a name, because that's all you have," she let go over his arm, and he just stood there, glaring at her, "You have arrogance because of some magic and some soldiers, but you are ultimately nothing more than a name in a story book, and an unimportant one at that."

"You bitch," Grazdan slapped Xuanzang hard across the face. Her face shot to the side, but the rest of her body remained still. Slowly, she returned her head to facing forward, a slight mark along her cheek. Her mouth returned to the same smile it had been before her confrontation.

"When I next get the chance…I'm going to break your nose."

It was a fact. Nitocris slowly began to edge away from the monster standing over the woman. She could tell he was contemplating killing Xuanzang, and she didn't want to be in the crossfire. Yet, finally, he twisted on his heel, and marched to the door. He snapped his fingers, and the guards quickly followed him. So did Nitocris, wanting to avoid possibly staying and becoming too associated with the first person to have so defied Grazdan.

After a moment, the door was shut, and Grazdan looked over at the guards, "Stay here, and let no one inside," he said, and they nodded, not saying a word, likely just glad he hadn't decided to kill them for being near his rage. He then looked at her, and moved his head to the side.

Nitocris followed him down the corridor, trying to stay just far enough behind him so that he might have to reach to grab her. She felt dread recloak itself over her shoulders as they marched towards the central room of the floor. Nitocris came into the room, as Grazdan just stood there for a moment, before turning back.

"I am sorry my lord," she finally said, and Grazdan did nothing, "I had no idea she would be so insolent."

"...tis not your fault," he sighed, "Some…some must be…domesticated before they may be of good use to me," he was still eyeing her, but Nitocris was at least glad he wasn't raging, "Like a fine horse, the spirit of a strong woman must be broken before the first ride may be taken."

'Oh gods,' Nitocris barely kept herself from looking away. She couldn't afford to let this madman have an excuse to abuse her. Though perhaps…perhaps she could focus on making sure that this monster was obsessed with the "Breaking" of that captive, rather than taking Nitocris herself to bed.

"So…do you mean to have her tonight," she finally asked.

"No, no," Grazdan barked, shaking his head, "I have a special plan for her."

"You see, I can tell she believes that her friends will save her," he continued, "She obviously values them highly, as a woman traveling with two men who are not her family," he began rub his hands together, "So…if they are the source of her strength, I will simply take it from her, and with that her wild spirit."

"...how?" Nitocris asked after a moment, realizing that he'd left a pause there for the question.

"It's quite simple," he laughed, his smile growing wider, and his features pulling back to almost give him a beak, "I will have them fight tomorrow in the games, and when they die, I will present their heads to that woman."

"...I thought you were to use them for the invasion," she said.

"Just what I had to tell that wizard," he laughed, "I will have a chain placed holding those fools together. Then, I will throw them to as many gladiators and animals as it takes, until both are nothing more than corpses. That fool will simply have to wait for any servants I will grant him."

"...So you will present her their heads after the games, and then take her as yours?"

"That is about right, but not fully," his smile seemed to grow wider still, "I will instead leave them with her for a full day, sitting in the room across from her, with no one but the heads of her deceased comrades as company. Then, once my junk is prepared, I will load her into my own room there, and have her as my concubine for the campaign."

"...," Nitocris was almost scared to ask, seeing how his eyes seemed to linger now at her waist. But she knew that any sudden movements might just make this worse, so she was going to have to try and keep calm, "What of me then? Am I to join you tonight?"

"No," he said quickly, "I would rather save you for tomorrow, after the games," the mix of relief from a night of reprieve and terror from the fact that it was only a day until…

'A day.'

"My-y lord," she could hear her voice quake as she looked down the corridor, towards where she knew her room to be, "Ma-may I retur-return to my rooms for the night. I am feeling worn down by today's events, and…and I wish to rest."

"Certainly," Grazdan's smile never wavered, as Nitocris turned on her heel, and began to march out the room. As she made her first turn in the corridor, she bolted forward, not caring as she nearly collided with a guard, marching the halls. She ignored his cry of surprise, and made another turn, before arriving at the wooden door to her room. Her horror seeping through her whole being, she slammed the door open.

And then, she vomited.

As the fruit and wine began to cover the floor, she quaked as she just stared down at the lost content of her stomach. She couldn't look up again. She couldn't confirm what Grazdan had hinted at his his speech to her. She…

She looked up again, and saw a head sitting on a platter on the table inside the room. The head had dark skin, quite like hers. The head had been shaven, though there were whispers of the hair returning. And the head had a long, burn scar up to the left eye.

Yemsaf's eyes were filled with terror, as he had likely realized that he was about to die right before his head had been cut clean from his shoulders. Nitocris couldn't allow them to continue to look at her, as she reached up, and pulled the head into an embrace, trying to feel the warmth of her brother one last time.

But it was so cold.

She let loose a wail, not caring who heard.

Her brother was gone.

And she was all alone.