Khater stepped out beside Hasad, his eyes drawn immediately to the tray of pastries she had conjured. He reached eagerly for one, savoring its sweetness, then—feeling the need to reciprocate—spoke warmly.

  “You are welcome to stay with us as long as you wish.”

  Hasad’s grin was sharp, almost predatory, though Khater did not notice.

  The travelers packed their belongings, preparing for their audience with the mayor. As they walked toward the palace, Hasad drifted beside Sativ, her voice low and honeyed.

  “It must be difficult,” she murmured, “to watch Jalem receive aid while you suffer in silence.”

  Sativ frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “You have pain too, don’t you?” Hasad pressed.

  “Yes,” Sativ admitted, startled. “How did you know?”

  Hasad’s smile widened. “It is written in your steps, my dear. Last night you could barely walk.”

  “That’s true,” Sativ whispered. “It feels unfair.”

  “Wouldn’t you like a taste of the dragon flower as well?” Hasad’s eyes gleamed.

  Sativ hesitated, conflicted. “That would be… a dream.”

  “Then why deny yourself?” Hasad leaned closer, her gaze locking onto Sativ’s, pulling at her will.

  Before Sativ could answer, Khater’s voice rang out. “We’ve arrived!” He gestured toward the palace steps, breaking the spell, though Hasad’s stare lingered on Sativ as they ascended.

  The palace loomed before them, vast and immaculate, its twin domes gleaming white. A guard clad in shimmering blue and gold regalia stepped forward, bowing slightly as he welcomed them and guided them through the gates.

  The travelers entered a grand hall, ceilings soaring above them. White walls bore priceless paintings salvaged from Earth’s museums—the Louvre, the Met, treasures carried across worlds. The air was perfumed with roses and lavender, but for those desperate to find their children, the fragrance was hollow comfort. Mirrors lined the corridor, framed in carved wood, reflecting back their weary faces and ragged clothes.

  “Here we are,” a servant announced, opening the mayor’s chamber.

  The room was lavish, vanilla walls traced with gold. At its far end sat the mayor, poised behind a polished desk. Her dark blue suit was immaculate, her hair styled with precision. She wore a necklace laden with jewels, each stone catching the light as it draped across her neck. Though age marked her face, she bore it with grace.

  Her eyes swept over the travelers with disdain, until they landed on Hasad. Recognition flickered. A grin passed between them—silent, knowing.

  She spoke with a chill that silenced the room. “Only your leader will remain. The rest must depart.”

  The group’s gaze fell upon Khater, who had carried himself as their leader from the start. Their eyes lingered, awaiting his claim. With calm resolve, he stepped forward, embracing the role they had always known was his.

  “That would be me.”

  The mayor nodded, then gestured toward Hasad. “She may stay. The rest of you peasants must go.”

  Khater bristled. “They are not peasants.” His anger flared, but he caught himself, and reluctantly dismissed the others.

  Khater and Hasad followed the mayor into a smaller chamber. The air was heavy, the ceiling painted with grotesque figures—phantoms with fangs and red eyes, clawed hands reaching, some clutching flowers.

  Khater’s eyes lingered on the figures, tracing every line and shadow with grim focus. A sick churn rose in his throat, revulsion gnawing at him as the thought struck—could these truly be the ghostly creatures? He turned to the mayor, voice taut with unease.

  “Interesting art… what is it?”

  The mayor’s tone was matter-of-fact. “This palace predates humanity’s arrival on Caber. I’ve tried to erase those images, but they return. Magic ink, perhaps. Frightening, yes—but let us speak plainly. Why are you here?”

  Khater’s jaw tightened, unsatisfied with the mayor’s hollow reply. Time pressed against him like a weight, and so he spoke—his voice steady but edged with urgency—as he recounted the tragedy of Shinata, the children who had vanished without a trace.

  The mayor listened, her face a mask of indifference, eyes glazed with disinterest, unmoved by the sorrow woven into his words.

  Hasad remained silent, her presence sharp as a blade in the quiet. Her eyes flickered between them, studying every twitch of expression, every subtle shift in tone, as though she were deciphering a language hidden beneath the surface.

  “We have no children here,” the mayor said with sarcasm. “Nor have we seen your ghostly creatures—except in these paintings.”

  Khater’s instincts screamed otherwise. He sensed deception. Before he could press further, Hasad interjected smoothly.

  “The mayor has spoken. Should we leave?”

  Khater rose, thanked the mayor, and turned away. As he passed, his eyes caught a glimpse of a strange flower protruding from a drawer. He paused, unsettled, but forced himself onward.

  Outside, he told the travelers the truth: no answers had been found. Disappointment weighed heavily, but they knew the journey was far from over.

  On their way to the station, a ragged man staggered toward them.

  “Don’t believe anything here,” he muttered. “This place is rot.”

  The travelers ignored him, though unease lingered.

  They descended back to Caber’s surface, relieved to leave Seventh behind. Its polished streets and hostile stares had never felt like home.

  Meanwhile, Jalem bore his pain beneath the wizard’s strict regimen, the Ram ever faithful at his side. Hasad observed in silence, her sharp eyes following his struggle before drifting toward Sativ. She trailed behind the crowd, her steps uneven, a faint limp betraying the weight of her own suffering.

  Hasad slowed her pace, circling back until she was beside Sativ. Leaning close, her voice slipped into a whisper, soft yet insidious:

  “Why not turn to the dragon flower? It would ease your pain.

  Sativ shook her head. “It isn’t meant for me. I shouldn’t.”

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  “But you are in pain,” Hasad pressed, her voice velvet and steel.

  Sativ’s eyes filled with doubt. “Do you truly think I should? I feel ashamed even considering it.”

  After a long pause, she whispered, “No. Forget it.”

  Hasad’s brow furrowed, but before she could speak, Khater’s voice rang out, declaring the campsite and calling an end to the day’s march. The travelers scattered, each busying themselves with the familiar ritual of raising tents beneath the fading light.

  Hasad, ever efficient, had hers pitched in moments. The swiftness left her with time to wander, and her steps carried her toward Sativ. She approached with deliberate ease, striking up a conversation. Sativ welcomed it without hesitation—her heart already leaning toward Hasad, her growing infatuation softening any trace of resistance.

  Hasad’s hand closed gently around Sativ’s. The touch sent a shiver through her, awakening something she could not resist. She felt herself drawn, helpless, eager to please.

  “Come with me,” Hasad urged.

  Sativ followed, powerless under her spell.

  Together they crept toward Jalem’s tent. Inside, Jalem slept peacefully, the Ram seated nearby, absorbed in a thick book of Caber script.

  Hasad’s smile twisted into something cruel as she leaned close, her breath brushing Sativ’s ear.

  “We must kill the Ram,” she whispered.

  Sativ recoiled, horror flashing in her eyes. Her voice shook as she stammered,

  “I do not want to kill anyone.”

  Hasad’s gaze held her fast, unwavering and intent. She stepped nearer, her hand settling lightly on Sativ’s shoulder—a gesture of false comfort. Into Sativ’s palm, she pressed a glass of water, her grin sly, her tone silken.

  “I never meant harm,” she murmured. “Kill her with kindness. Offer this—she’ll welcome the gesture.”

  Sativ, calmed by the warmth in Hasad’s tone, nodded and carried the glass into the tent. Hasad remained behind, her eyes narrowing as she watched Sativ approach the Ram. Their voices mingled in hushed conversation, but Hasad’s attention was elsewhere. She scanned the shadows until her gaze caught on a box—its surface etched with curling ram’s horns, gleaming faintly in the dim light.

  Hasad slipped into the tent with the silence of a serpent, her presence unnoticed. The Ram sat facing Sativ, unaware of the shadow moving behind her. Jalem lay in deep sleep, blind to the quiet betrayal unfolding.

  Hasad advanced with deliberate care, each step swallowed by the dark. The box containing the dragon flower lay unlocked—an accident, or perhaps fate conspiring in her favor. The Ram, distracted by Sativ’s presence, had left it exposed.

  Fluid and soundless, Hasad tucked the box into her bag. Then her eyes found Sativ’s. In that brief, wordless exchange, a signal passed between them—an understanding as sharp as flame. It was time to go.

  Sativ excused herself from the Ram, who now sagged into drowsiness, the sedative in her drink pulling her into heavy slumber. Together, the two women departed, the night swallowing their footsteps. On the path back to Sativ’s tent, Hasad pressed the box into her companion’s hands. She did not follow. Her work here was finished, and darker schemes awaited her elsewhere.

  Inside her tent, Sativ’s trembling fingers clutched the box. Pain had been her constant shadow, gnawing at her spirit for as long as she could remember. Could this be the moment it finally loosened its grip? She tore the lid open.

  Inside lay a book, its pages marked with a language Sativ could not decipher. Upon its cover bloomed the image of the dragon flower, vivid and unsettling. Beside it rested a flask, the liquid within shimmering in shades of deep purple.

  Her pulse quickened. How was it meant to be used? Injected? She had no needle. Drunk? That was not how Jalem had taken it… Yet desperation pressed hard against her reason, leaving her with no choice at all.

  She uncorked the flask, tilted it, and let two drops fall onto her tongue. They fizzed like fire against her flesh. She waited—one heartbeat, then another. Nothing.

  And then—everything.

  The tent erupted in a kaleidoscope of rainbow hues, colors bleeding into motion, the air alive with music and laughter. A warmth surged from her chest, climbing to her head, flooding her with joy. She felt radiant, adored, in love with life itself. Pain dissolved into nothingness. She spun like a child, giggling, blowing kisses at her reflection in the mirror.

  But as the brilliance began to fade, dread crept in. The sweetness was slipping away. She could not allow it. She must preserve it, guard it, keep it hidden. With frantic care, she tucked the box deep beneath her clothes, burying it where no one could find it.

  It was hers now. Hers alone.

  Exhaustion claimed her, heavy and irresistible. She collapsed onto her bed, clutching the memory of ecstasy, and drifted into sleep.

  Morning crept into the tent like a thief, pale light spilling across the Ram’s face. She stirred, heavy-limbed and disoriented, her mind fogged with a grogginess she had never known before. What had been in that water Sativ offered her last night? The thought flickered, uneasy, but she pushed it aside. There was no time for suspicion.

  The box—her most guarded possession—remained missing, its absence unnoticed for now. She would not require it until evening, when Jalem’s next dose was due. For the moment, her hands were occupied with him, steadying his steps, helping him prepare for the day.

  But when she finally stepped outside, a jolt of realization struck—she had overslept. The travelers were already ready, their packs secured, their faces turned toward the road. And Hasad—Hasad was nowhere to be seen. Her belongings had vanished too, as if she had never been among them.

  The Ram’s brow furrowed. Oversleeping was alien to her, and Hasad’s disappearance pressed against her chest with a weight of unease, whispering that something was terribly wrong.