When one hears the name Whidith, many things come to mind. The first is the image of long, ocean-colored hair, a hallmark of those who bear the name. This hair, often left untouched and uncut, is braided at the back and allowed to grow until it kisses the nape of the buttocks—an ancient tradition passed down through the generations.

  Then there is the attire, the flowing silk and wool garments worn by the people of the Southern region to keep cool under the relentless sun of the archipelago. These garments, loose and elegant, are more than just practical—they are symbols of a lifestyle that blends luxury with tradition.

  The name Whidith also conjures images of age-old customs, meticulously preserved even in a time when much of the old world is being washed away by new tides. Among these customs is the great needle, an artifact of power granted only to those who demonstrate extraordinary strength and mastery over their essence. This needle is not merely a weapon—it is a symbol of sovereignty, a bestowment of authority to those who rise above the ordinary.

  Scattered across the mountains of the archipelago, covered in vines and wrist-leaf, stand the old temples and domains, each marked by symbols of great fishes, scaled humanoids, and serpents. These sacred places represent the mystical power that the Whidith family holds—a power both revered and feared, shrouded in mystery and legend.

  When Mascious first heard that Lord Koleson Whydit, the sovereign of the Southern region, had taken an interest in Lady Varessi, he was baffled. How had she caught the attention of such a powerful and enigmatic figure? The offer of communion—an offer to join Lord Koleson in a formal bond—was not just unexpected, it was alarming. Mascious’s first instinct was to reject it outright.

  They argued about it. Mascious fought against the idea, unwilling to let Varessi fall into the orbit of the mysterious Lord of Kerrasuk. But circumstances soon forced his hand. A particularly cruel guild merchant, a fat and greedy man known for his ruthlessness, began pressing harder for Lady Varessi’s hand. The danger he posed was too great to ignore, and with little choice, Mascious found himself reluctantly agreeing to the communion with Lord Koleson.

  When word of the communion spread, the island of Serrit was set abuzz with excitement. Lord Koleson was not just a respected figure in Aquillora; in the Southern regions, he was revered as almost godlike. His influence reached far and wide, and the news of his interest in Lady Varessi was enough to send shockwaves through the region.

  The atmosphere at the Severidt household changed overnight. Where there had once been gloom and uncertainty, there was now celebration. Well-wishers flocked to the manor to greet Lady Varessi, people who had long turned their backs on the Severidts suddenly returned, offering warm smiles and congratulations.

  Gifts and presents arrived daily, sent by those eager to curry favor with Lord Koleson through the Severidts. The house was showered with attention, its fortunes seemingly reversed.

  Most importantly, the Fishing Guild and House Myrrar, which had harassed and stifled the Severidts for so long, finally pulled back their grasping hands. The threats, the fines, and the sanctions that had weighed so heavily on Mascious and the household ceased, as if Lord Koleson’s mere interest was enough to force their retreat.

  For a brief moment, it seemed like salvation had come to House Severidt.

  Three nights after receiving the news, Mascious and Lady Varessi stood on the dock, their belongings packed to the brim in suitcases woven from fine reeds. Inside those bags lay their entire lives, condensed and prepared for transport. Soon, everything they knew would be left behind, bound for one of Lord Koleson’s grand manors.

  They boarded a sailboat that would ferry them to Beacon Island, home of the Wayfinder Needle, the gateway to their new world. Around them, other sailboats, just like the one they now occupied, glided toward the base of the Needle, along with Helsuks—beast riders who soared through the air on the backs of magnificent creatures. From their vantage point on the water, the Needle itself appeared as nothing more than a thin metal rod piercing the sky.

  The sailboat picked up speed, the wind rushing past them, tugging at their hair—brown waves and black locks billowing behind them in the salty breeze. The freedom of the wind was almost invigorating, though neither could shake the weight of the moment.

  Suddenly, a loud cry rang out above them, pulling their attention to the sky.

  Mascious raised his head, searching for the source of the noise. His eyes found it—a sleek wind carrier slicing through the air like a needle, with metal wings jutting out from its sides. The craft moved with incredible speed, far outpacing their own vessel.

  As it neared the Wayfinder Needle, the wind carrier vanished—disappearing entirely as it crossed into the enclosure field that surrounded the Needle’s base. And it wasn’t just the wind carrier; every sailboat, every Helsuk, every creature or craft that drew near to the Needle disappeared in the same manner, swallowed by the enclosure.

  The Wayfinder Needle—the Empire’s gift to those who bent the knee—was a marvel of transportation. It allowed its travelers to cross vast distances in mere moments. For the Needle to work, the traveler had to be under the delegation of a sovereign, and a formal summons had to be proffered and accepted by consuls on both ends of the journey. The prioritization of the traveler’s speed depended on the consensus of others—more consensus meant faster travel.

  As the sailboat carrying Mascious and Varessi drew closer to the Needle, they braced themselves. The boat glided smoothly across the water, and the air around them seemed to shimmer as they neared the surface of the enclosure field. Both of them closed their eyes. For a brief moment, a strange sensation of weightlessness overcame them—light and fleeting, lasting only a second.

  And then, just as quickly, the moment passed. They opened their eyes to find themselves sailing across different waters, surrounded by land that hadn’t been there only seconds ago. The transition was seamless, yet disorienting—a blink, and they had arrived in a new world.

  Although they had used the Wayfinder Needle many times before, neither Mascious nor Varessi had grown accustomed to it. Mascious made the sign of the three needles, offering his blessings to the gods and the Emperor. Beside him, Lady Varessi whispered a small prayer under her breath.

  The new world that greeted them was strange, yet familiar in its strangeness. They had heard whispers and stories about it for years—rumors and gossip passed down from travelers and traders—but seeing it for the first time with their own eyes was something else entirely.

  The Beacon Island where Mascious and Lady Varessi had just materialized lay nestled between four vast archipelagos, each one stretching toward the horizon. The island’s terraced slopes were dotted with quaint alabaster buildings, their blue rooftops glistening in the sunlight, creating a picturesque, almost serene image of the core islands of the Kerrasuk region.

  The view, at first glance, was humble and charming, but beneath this idyllic surface lay the weight of history and industry. The lower levels of the island were bustling with life, tent markets crowding the streets, and ports carved meticulously into the rock. Traders, fishers, tourists, and travelers from all corners of Aquilora converged here, their sails docking against the brown-washed, tiled stones that jutted out into the sea.

  Ancient ruins, remnants of kingdoms long forgotten, loomed over the present reality. Massive marble stones, fractured with age, bore mosaics of serpents coiled around hunters, their faded images speaking of a time when these lands were ruled by other powers. And there, at the heart of the island, sat the great Sitting Home of the Custodian, an expansive structure that snaked through and swallowed an entire island, dominating the landscape.

  Each of the four islands had a port, meticulously carved and maintained, where ships came and went in a constant rhythm. The ports themselves were divided down the middle, one side for incoming sails and the other for outgoing ones, ensuring a seamless flow of traffic. Banners of House Whidith—emblazoned with the image of a coiled serpent bound to a closed fist—stood tall at the edges of the ports, the silk flags fluttering in the wind, their ocean-blue colors reflecting the waters beneath.

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  As Mascious and Varessi’s sailboat turned into the port of the Eastern Island and docked, the boat rocked gently as they disembarked onto the stone pier. The long, stony walkway stretched ahead of them, bustling with travelers from every corner of the archipelago. They walked among the crowd, strangers who, like them, had come from distant lands to this bustling hub of trade and culture.

  At the end of the pier stood two guards, their rigid stillness contrasting with the constant movement around them. Their stoic expressions gave nothing away, and for a brief moment, Mascious wondered if they would even acknowledge them at all. But as they approached, the guards moved, stepping forward with measured precision, as if waiting for the exact moment to respond.

  "Don’t wander off like you normally do," Mascious whispered to Lady Varessi, his eyes fixed on the guards' braided hair, an unmistakable mark of the Whidith family. Though these were not Whidith children themselves, all the guards wore their hair in the same fashion, a symbol of their allegiance.

  He turned to his right, expecting to hear a response from Varessi, but found her already several paces away, being offered a bolt of silk from Martrachta by a shady-looking shopkeeper.

  "Mascious, look!" she exclaimed with delight, waving the silk at him as if she had found some hidden treasure. Mascious sighed and quickly stepped over, gently pulling her away while returning the fabric to the shopkeeper. The man, clearly eager for a sale, tried offering them a discount, but Mascious politely repelled him with a knowing smile, informing him that he knew the silk was fake.

  Their walk toward the manor lodge continued in much the same fashion. Varessi, with her wide-eyed curiosity, was distracted by every little thing along the way—be it the colorful trinkets in the stalls, the scent of roasted fish from the street vendors, or the delicate pottery displayed on tables. Mascious, ever vigilant, had to reel her back in each time, guiding her back to the path.

  It had become so ridiculous that Mascious swore he saw the guards betting on how many more times she would get distracted before they reached the manor. He couldn’t help but smile at her childlike enthusiasm, even as he tried to keep them on course.

  They had walked far enough now that the manor, the place where they were to live and spend the rest of their days, began to loom above them from its perch on the terraced hill. The home appointed to Lady Varessi as part of her communion with Lord Koleson was beginning to come into view, its silhouette framed against the bright sky.

  Their first impression of the building—what little they could see of it from the distance—was that it was only modestly larger than the Severidt Manor back home. There was no grandeur, no opulence that might have been expected from a home belonging to one of the wives or concubines of a Sovereign. But that was how it was here. Every wife and concubine of Koleson was given a manor like this—just big enough to run their household but not ostentatious. It served its purpose, nothing more.

  Mascious’s gaze was still drawn toward the hills above when he felt something bump into him. Startled, he looked down and saw a small child, but not just any child—it was a Helecterran.

  His blood ran cold.

  The sight of the little girl made his stomach churn. Her appearance was a visceral reminder of the whispered tales from his island, the so-called “other races” that were never spoken of openly but existed in hushed, fearful tones.

  The girl’s skin was a strange silver, shimmering with scales that caught the light. Her eyes were large, disproportionately so, with amber irises that took up more than half the space. Little horns jutted out from her forehead, just above her brows. Her fingers were webbed, and there were three slits on each side of her neck—gills, remnants of something ancient and alien.

  An accursed thing. Those were the words that rose unbidden in Mascious’s mind, echoing the teachings of his upbringing. A blight upon Hayazaki’s empire.

  The Empire, as Mascious had always been taught, was clean, pure—separated from the corruption and contamination that lurked at the edges of the world by Emperor Hayazaki’s divine power. The Emperor’s needles, his symbols of law and order, were the very forces that divided humanity from the chaos beyond, the corruption that had devoured ages past.

  But the Emperor’s power, while vast, was not absolute. It thrived on belief, on consensus. The Imperial religion’s duty was to spread the Emperor’s word and grow that consensus, so the Emperor’s power might continue to protect the world. Yet, there were those who could not—or would not—believe. Those whose very souls could not resonate with the Emperor’s authority.

  And there were such people, like the child before him. Half-humans, remnants of a long-extinct age, their existence a reminder that the Emperor’s power would never be truly absolute. They were a crack in the divine wall, a breach through which corruption and contamination could still seep into the world of man.

  This narrative had been ingrained in Mascious from birth. It was the way of his world. And so, it was no surprise that the sight of this humanoid child—so close to human but not quite—made his face pale, his heart tighten in revulsion.

  Suddenly, everything he had opposed about coming to this island came rushing back to him. His objections to Lord Koleson’s blasphemy, his refusal to accept a place where the Emperor’s will was undermined. Koleson, who had risen from obscurity, from a place no one knew, to claim the title of Sovereign. Koleson, who had been awarded the Emperor’s Needle of Law, yet turned his archipelago into a sanctuary for non-humans—those like the girl standing before Mascious now.

  Something dark stirred within Mascious. His hands clenched into fists, and for a moment, he felt a tight, binding rage coil itself around his heart.

  “You’ve scared the girl,” a voice cut through the tension.

  It was a light voice, gentle and soothing, and it pierced through the darkness that had wrapped itself around Mascious in that instant. He hadn’t even realized the depths of those binds until they were loosened by the voice.

  He looked around and saw the girl had retreated, joining her hands with her mother, who stood quietly nearby. Her mother, too, bore the features of the Helecterran race—the silver scales, the wide amber eyes, the fish-like ridges. Both mother and child were watching him, their expressions filled with fear and worry.

  Mascious’s gut twisted again, but this time it wasn’t just disgust. It was shame. Shame at how easily he had let the teachings of his past cloud his judgment, at how quickly he had recoiled in revulsion at a child.

  “What kind of hatred closes the heart toward a child?” Varessi’s voice cut through the air with quiet strength, her gaze fixed firmly on Mascious. Her eyes bore into his, unwavering. The guards had stopped walking, their faces still pointed forward, but Mascious knew they were listening, every word hanging in the silence between them.

  “You know what they are,” Mascious responded, his voice tight with frustration. He didn’t care if anyone else heard him. “They’re barely human. They’re the reason this world still has chaos and corruption. Do you know how many people die because their souls become ravaged—all because of them?”

  Varessi didn’t flinch. She simply shrugged her shoulders, her expression serene. “And?” she said calmly. “They didn’t ask to exist. Yet they do. Imagine if the situation were reversed. How would you feel if humanity was accused of bringing corruption into the world?”

  Mascious opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. Varessi, her face now turned toward the water, continued, her voice carried gently by the wind that stirred her hair in soft waves. “I don’t know the answer. That’s one of the reasons why I came here. If Lord Koleson says these people can live here, then there must be a reason. Powerful people don’t make decisions like that without thought—especially someone like him, who always avoids conflict.”

  Her words settled between them like stones dropping into still water, rippling through the tension. Mascious watched as she gazed out toward the horizon, her body moving slightly with the breeze, calm and unshaken.

  “I want to ask him so many questions,” Varessi continued. “I want to get closer to him. I want to understand why he is the way he is, and how he came to his decisions. But there’s one thing I’m certain of: these people shouldn’t die for our comfort. If that’s what you believe, Mascious, then maybe you should leave. Go ahead, join the filthy crusaders and fight for your precious purity.”

  Her words stung, sharp and cold, cutting through Mascious’s thoughts. The quiet finality in her tone was unmistakable. And then, without waiting for a reply, Varessi turned and walked on, her steps light and sure. The guards followed her with their usual stoic demeanor, though there was a subtle sense of contentment in their measured pace. They, too, seemed to feel the weight of the conversation lifting as Varessi pressed forward.

  Mascious stood rooted to the spot, the echo of her words still ringing in his mind. In that moment, clarity struck him like a heavy blow. He understood now why Varessi had sought out communion with Lord Koleson. She had spent her whole life bound by the rigid rules and expectations of the Empire, and perhaps she had seen in Lord Koleson—the man who seemed to operate outside the constraints of those very laws—a path to the freedom she had always longed for.

  It dawned on Mascious that Varessi no longer needed him to secure her independence. He had been her protector, her shield, her strategist for so many years, but here, in this new world, with Koleson’s sanctuary offering an alternative to the strictures of the Empire, Varessi was seeking something beyond Mascious’s reach. She was reaching for a freedom he could no longer give her.

  Mascious felt a deep sense of abandonment settle in his chest. She no longer needed him in the way she once had. That realization left him hollow, and the weight of it sank deep into his bones.

  He watched as Varessi and the guards moved further ahead, their figures slowly disappearing into the distance. He trailed behind them, his steps slower, more uncertain. He would remember this day—this moment—when everything shifted. When he realized that Varessi had chosen a path that diverged from his own.