There was no one left in the chamber now—no one but the serpent and the condemned.

  Myosotis took in the chaotic scene, then stepped forward slowly. Everything had remained in place—everything except the people. Only the condemned was still there.

  Alone and alive.

  Myosotis had climbed the stairs four at a time. Argon, broad and tall, barely fit through the passages; it had taken him longer to reach the top. He had gone through a maze, tried several entrances along the way.

  While the men were panicking, the two of them had advanced in secret through the hidden entrance at the back of the Tower, concealed behind moss, bushes, and ivy.

  Everything had unfolded almost exactly like the vision Myosotis had seen the night before.

  The moment he had seen Rhodo and Bernos enter and charge toward the stairs, Myosotis and Argon had slipped in behind them.

  But he still had a little time. Anyone could burst in at any second.

  He had heard almost everything, yet he couldn’t clearly distinguish the voices. He had heard a scream and knew a serpent was still present—alive—in the room. Beyond that, no one spoke anymore, and even the dead had come out.

  Everyone wanted to see who would walk out of the Tower alive.

  Myosotis had tried, cognitively, by sheer thought, to locate the room where his brother was—but he couldn’t waste precious minutes. The chamber where the two men were no longer his concern. And their actions even less.

  They entered through the secret door, which looked no different from a paneled wall: no lock, no handle. Unless one was a keen observer, it was almost impossible to perceive in the dim light and urgency.

  Argon stepped in behind the adolescent and immediately noticed the serpent on the floor.

  Myosotis paid no more attention to the snake than to the mess.

  He went straight to the victim.

  A sudden pity seized him.

  The man couldn’t have been more than twenty. Brownish strands of hair clung to his forehead. His face was thin, sharply defined at the jaw.

  The mortal suddenly opened eyes of an impossibly deep blue and parted his lips, only then realizing the situation he was in. The smell of oils and blood reached his nostrils. He took the time to breathe.One last time.He couldn’t move.

  While Rhodo and Athanasius were almost certainly fighting in the cell next door, Myosotis hurried to wrap the unknown man. He rolled the slightly bloodstained sheets around his body, quickly, and tied everything at the legs and across the chest.

  Then, suddenly, he heard nothing. It was—more or less—over.

  He turned to Argon, who was playing with the serpent, half-dead and abandoned.

  “We go. Now!”

  Myosotis grabbed Argon by the arm and had to shove him forward. Argon was far bigger and heavier than he was.

  “Carry him. We’re going back to our apartments. Hurry!”

  Argon crushed the serpent’s head to finish it off, then lifted the man like a beast freshly killed—hanging upside down.

  “Don’t hurt him,” Myosotis warned. “He has to stay safe. Unharmed.”

  Soulless couldn’t move.

  The last thing he saw before he passed out was the edge of the sheet falling over his face, smothering him again.

  He couldn’t be allowed to be seen…

  They went down through the back and found their way out.

  For better or worse, the two young men managed to return to their domain. They took a slight detour, and by sheer luck, they crossed no one—though Myosotis had an excuse prepared if they were stopped.

  Once inside, Myosotis allowed Argon to return to his post and freed Calice.

  When Soulless regained consciousness, he realized he was far too well positioned—too comfortable.

  Something splashed onto his face.

  His vision was blurred. His head ached violently. He hadn’t drunk or eaten anything in over twenty-four hours.

  It took him several minutes to understand he should not have opened his eyes.

  That was when he saw the adolescent.

  The boy couldn’t have been older than sixteen. He looked absurdly young compared to everyone Soulless thought he had encountered so far.

  Browns greenish eyes stared directly into him. Brows furrowed, expression hard, he looked ready to strike Soulless just to force him back into his senses.

  Soulless gathered as much clarity as he could and stared back.

  The boy was about to splash him again.

  “Stop,” Soulless rasped. “Who are you? A servant? What happened?”

  “I am an immortal,” the boy said, impetuous and authoritative.

  Soulless stared at him, wary—almost stupid with exhaustion.

  This boy was already starting to annoy him.

  In other circumstances, he would have laughed.

  “You’re not an immortal,” Soulless muttered. “You’re just a kid.”

  The boy stood up and slapped him.

  Hard.

  Soulless, still half anesthetized, barely felt the pain—but the physical shock still did its job.

  “My brother died for nothing. You filthy—”

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  He grabbed Soulless by the hair and forced him to look straight into his eyes.

  “Brother?” Soulless breathed. “The immortal is…”

  All the information from the last hours crashed through his mind at once.

  Impossible.

  Impossible.

  I’m not dead. But the other one is.

  “He didn’t lie,” Soulless whispered aloud. “I really am alive…”

  He knew something else. Something he couldn’t remember anymore. It was impossible. Soulless finally understood the truth.

  The other immortal must have died. The necromancer had killed him.

  Or had Soulless only imagined it?

  The shock made him realize he was still half naked—he should have been freezing.

  Instead, his blood felt like it was boiling in his veins.

  The boy, oblivious to Soulless’ mental state, waited for an answer.

  “I’m sorry,” Soulless said, forcing the apology. “I don’t understand… what happened…”

  A fraction of a second later, he realized he had never wanted to apologize.

  But it was better to pretend.

  He shifted slightly, trying to sit up. He lifted his head, thinking through his options.

  The boy was smaller, less imposing. Around one meter sixty, not too broad.

  If Soulless’ body had been responding properly—if he weren’t half paralyzed by exhaustion—he could have stood up and faced him.

  But then where would he go?

  If I play along, he’ll lower his guard. Then I can run.

  The boy’s face tightened.

  “It’s driving me insane,” he muttered. “I can’t read you.”

  “Read me?” Soulless frowned. “So you really are an immortal?”

  The boy looked down at him with contempt.

  “I’m the one asking questions.”

  “I don’t know what happened,” Soulless said carefully. “But understand this—I know nothing. I never wanted to be here.”

  Myosotis’s face softened at last.

  Something inside him looked like it was about to sink, to collapse.

  He didn’t have time to continue.

  He heard footsteps behind him.

  He didn’t dare listen to the thoughts of the person approaching. Instead, he remained fixed on the foreigner’s silence.

  No inner voice.

  Nothing.

  No turning back.

  “If I step back, death is waiting for me.” His inner voice finally spoke those words inside him, clear and brutal.

  He turned—and saw Calice standing there, gripping a handkerchief tightly.

  “What did you do, Myosotis?”

  Her eyes and cheeks were red, as if she had been running at full speed.

  Calice stepped into the room and paused to close the door behind her.

  Facing her, the man sat on the bed itself, hunched and broken like a stray dog that had just been beaten.

  “What did you do?” she repeated harshly.

  Myosotis stared at her, grave.

  “I did what had to be done.”

  “But the Frame said that—”

  He silenced her with a single look.

  “The Frame has nothing to do with me.”

  Calice looked like a little girl—around eight years old, Soulless noted.

  He disliked her instantly. He didn’t like children. Not really. Even though he had never truly been around them.

  Calice approached the newcomer quickly, as if evaluating merchandise that had caught her attention.

  “What is his name?” she asked.

  “I don’t have a name,” Soulless answered.

  But it wasn’t his answer she was waiting for.

  Calice narrowed her eyes at the man as if deciding whether he had lied, then turned her gaze to her uncle.

  Names that ended with -less were always destroyed in the birth records. Only Nameless was accepted—and even that…

  Officially, he had no name.

  But in truth, he did have one. I will return to it later…

  Calice turned to her uncle, keeping one eye on the stranger.

  “Is it true?”

  Myosotis nodded, admitting the truth.

  He couldn’t read the man’s mind. He couldn’t verify anything he said.

  His power had a distinct flaw when it came to this man in particular.

  Calice didn’t react violently. She simply went quiet.

  Now she had to act quickly.

  “If the mortal is here,” she said, “then he’s dead, isn’t he?”

  By he, she meant her father: Athanasius.

  She took a deep breath.

  “We need a new Athanasius. And it can only be him,” she admitted suddenly.

  Myosotis frowned. He wanted to say something, but Calice didn’t stop speaking.

  “If the other immortals learn my father is dead, we are no longer safe. We have to act fast.”

  She stepped closer to her uncle, urgent, almost frantic.

  “Please. I don’t want the Bad Tooth to take me. You know the way he looks at me, and there is—”

  Myosotis stopped her with a gesture.

  The Bad Tooth was not the immediate emergency, he would have liked to say.

  Rhodo would eventually realize the condemned had disappeared—and that meant a witness to his murder.

  “It can’t work,” Myosotis said at last. “He isn’t Athanasius.”

  Calice didn’t react to the flick her uncle gave her.

  “He doesn’t need to be Athanasius,” she replied. “He just needs to give the illusion.”

  She pointed at Soulless.

  “He already prepared his speech. He showed it to me earlier.”

  Myosotis didn’t want to fight with her.

  He had never considered his own life important.

  But the Frame had many plans for them. He knew it.

  He exhaled, then reconsidered.

  “Did you ask him what he wants?”

  “Most people don’t know what’s good for them,” Calice snapped. “And no one listens to me anyway. I just want things to be fixed.”

  “You didn’t answer my question, Calice.”

  She stared at her uncle. She had no answer to give. But she had a plan now.

  And a stupid idea—one that would later prove brilliant—began to form in her mind.

  She couldn’t voice it.

  She couldn’t do anything at all—

  Because Celeste burst into the room, followed by two slave girls whose duty was to care for the household staff.

  “By the Frame… we’re surrounded… There are—”

  She collapsed suddenly, as if she were about to faint.

  Myosotis and Calice rushed to catch her. The stranger flinched and watched from a distance. He had dropped to his knees, ready to stand if needed. One of the girls had a bruised cheek, as if someone had struck her hard. The slave girls retreated into a corner, eyes squeezed shut, almost sobbing.

  “What is happening?” Calice demanded urgently.

  No one answered her.

  Myosotis left the room, crossed the corridor, and stepped out through the main door. From the outer window, he could see a swarm of undead and silvery crows, their necks almost twisted out of shape. There was now an even more urgent matter to deal with.

  The comments and follows help a lot with the launch, thank you