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  15 Years Ago

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  The cold air brisked past his skin, cold to the bone. The crickets sang in the distance, the empire visible from the window.

  A man paced up and down the room, his head sweating profoundly as he wiped his temple with his hands. In the room along with him were his wife, two nurses, and a newborn baby crying profoundly.

  Tears rolled down his wife's eyes as she wailed in distress whilst hugging her baby tightly.

  "O emperor, forgive us—forgive us, O emperor!" she cried out while cradling her newborn child.

  "Oh, shut up, Nyra. There are already enough problems as it is. I don't need your whimsical crying now," commanded the man.

  He was in his mid-30s, with long white hair, blue eyes, and dressed in a long white robe decorated with golden lining.

  "We have sinned, Lucan. We will get burned—burned!" screamed Nyra.

  The two nurses looked in distress, eyeing each other in fear whilst their hands shook relentlessly.

  Lucan didn't answer. He continued to pace the room, his eyes fixed towards the ground as he bit his nails.

  Nyra got up from her bed, handing the baby gently to one of the nurses, and walked towards Lucan. She was dressed in the same white outfit as her husband, but instead her hair covered the robe.

  "Look—look at me!" she screamed, placing her hands on Lucan's shoulders.

  "I don't know. Why are you asking me? You are the one that brought this chaos into our lives."

  "Me? So it was me that was always stressed? It was me that was always talking down on themselves and others, and cursing the world?"

  "No—now's not the time, Nyra."

  "So it was me, huh! It was you that brought this upon us!" she cried out, glaring at her husband in the eye.

  "Yes, yes. Can't you see it? I have sinned. It is me, and the emperor will punish us for it. We are both dead," he said as he gritted his teeth, his body shaking and his muscles tensed. He huffed rigorously, as if his lungs were running out of oxygen. And in an instant, he opened his palms and began slapping himself in the face—the skin turning red.

  "No, no—what are you doing? Don't hurt yourself," mumbled Nyra, tears continuing to flood her face, her outfit drenched in sweat.

  She forcefully hugged her husband, embracing him tightly.

  "It's not your fault. I know it's not your fault," she repeated silently under her breath.

  "We have given birth to a demon—a demon! We should drown ourselves with it!"

  "No—you're not thinking straight. He is still our child."

  One of the nurses grabbed the child tightly, looking at it with horror in her eyes, as if she possessed a curse in her hands. She squirmed, her vision blurry as she tried to make sense of her surroundings.

  She turned the child on his back and looked at the mark imprinted on its skin. The mandala—the mark of the demon. It sat on his skin like a living wound: an intricate mandala of repeating geometry, etched so deep it looked embedded in the muscle itself. The pattern was beautiful in the way sharp things are beautiful—precise, merciless, and cold. But it was broken. Segments misaligned, rings split apart, petals warped into jagged shapes. The fractures pulsed faintly, as if the mark was trying to heal… or trying to open.

  The mark eyed the nurse, as if calling to her, to surrender. In that instant, the nurse grabbed the knife sitting on the desk beside her—her body moving on its own—and she pointed it towards the baby.

  "No—I won't let you get me," she whispered, looking intensely at the child's throat, her knife held tightly, as if she was lost in a nightmare.

  With one large grunt, she swung the knife towards the child's neck.

  …..

  "What do you think you are doing!" screamed the other nurse, a young woman with long black hair, as she grabbed the hand holding the knife. They both glared at each other.

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  "It is not up to us, Wesper. We decide who lives and who dies," she explained, grunting while holding Wesper's hands, preventing the child from dying.

  "Fool! You dare defy us?" said Nyra, her face pale as she rushed over to grab her child.

  "It's a demon. It will kill us all, Selene. Please, this needs to be done."

  "Who are we to decide its future? It's just a child!" explained Selene, gently letting go of Wesper's hands as Wesper laid down the knife.

  The hallway outside felt silent.

  Not the peaceful type of silence, but the kind that came right before a door was kicked in. Even the crickets seemed to quiet, as if the night itself was listening.

  Nyra clutched her chest, cradling the infant in her arms as his cries flooded the room—sharp and relentless, each wail feeling louder than the last.

  "They'll hear him," Wesper whispered, her body trembling, her skin cold. Her eyes darted to the door, then to the baby, and again to the door, as if she was expecting someone. "They'll hear him, and they will come. They will come to kill us all."

  Selene didn't answer. She stared at the infant in the mother's arms—the way the body moved left and right gently, the way the blanket swayed with the quiet wind, the way its tears ran down its soft skin.

  Lucan dragged his hand down his face, sweat shining on his palms. "There's no time. We can't hide here, we can't run. We're already dead—"

  Nyra clutched her husband's clothes, her nails digging deep.

  "No—no, don't say that."

  In that moment, as if the whole world stopped, they heard large thuds from the hallway, repeatedly getting louder each moment. Footsteps.

  The entire room spiralled into panic, forcing their mouths shut, Nyra putting her palms over the baby's mouth.

  A small cloth doll sat on the shelves beside the linens, stitched with simple eyes and a crooked smile—the kind used to calm crying infants. For a heartbeat, Selene just stared at it, then her expression changed, as if something inside her had clicked.

  "A decoy?" she whispered.

  Wesper blinked. "What?"

  Selene crossed the room in two steps and picked up the doll, eyeing it carefully. "They won't search for anything they think they have already found," she said. "They want a demon. They want proof. We give them proof."

  The others looked at her bewildered, their faces trying to make sense of what she said.

  Nyra's face drained of colour. "No, you don't mean—"

  Selene shoved the doll into Wesper's hands. "Draw it. Now!" she commanded.

  Wesper's fingers shook so violently, the doll almost slipped from her hands. "I can't."

  "You can," commanded Selene again, her eyes wide, her voice deep.

  Wesper swallowed, grabbed the charcoal stick from the desk, and pressed it onto the doll's cloth belly. Her hand moved in frantic strokes, carving circles, petals, patterns that kept repeating—rings, everything she saw when she stared at the child.

  Lucan hustled over and eyed the baby. Something in his expression broke cleanly as he saw it.

  "I'll take it," he declared.

  Nyra nudged over. "Lucan."

  "If this is what they want, they will have to chase me for it," he said as he grabbed the doll in his hands, holding it like a real infant.

  Selene turned to the real child. "Wrap him," she said, already moving. She tore a strip of cloth from the spare linens, the kind stitched with repeating patterns for ceremonial birth. Her hands were fast and precise as she wound the cloth around the infant's torso and back, covering the mandala completely.

  The baby's crying faltered for a second.

  A pause.

  As if he could sense what was happening.

  Nyra cried as she looked at the infant, kissing her son softly on his forehead.

  Selene looked towards Lucan. "Run. Run as fast as you can when you see them."

  Nyra stumbled forward, reaching for her husband, but Selene caught her wrists.

  "You stay. If you go, they will know it's fake."

  Nyra's lips trembled. "Then what do I do?"

  Selene looked at her, and for the first time her voice softened.

  "You live long enough to make sure they believe the baby's gone."

  A heavy knock slammed the door.

  Once.Twice.

  The wood shuddered.

  Outside, a man's voice barked.

  "Open up!"

  "Quick, run!" screamed Nyra under her breath.

  Selene instantly grabbed the baby, Nyra refusing to let it go.

  "I'll take the real child. I'm a nurse—they won't suspect me."

  "Where will you go?"

  "To the orphanage. They won't suspect anything there."

  "Open the door!" shouted the man, knocking on the wood harshly.

  "We know what you have. Open, otherwise we will break in."

  "Now, run!" screamed Selene, her voice distorted, signalling Lucan to sprint out of the back door of the room into the streets.

  Lucan ran through the streets of the empire, his boots striking the stone ground as rain thundered down. He breathed heavily, adrenaline pumping through his body. Behind him, he heard the shouts of the guards who rushed after him.

  "Stop! Halt and kneel before the emperor."

  There was no escaping. He was going to get caught anyway; he just had to give them enough time. He ran through the narrow corridors, past the stone houses, the lamps flickering dim yellow light. He huffed rigorously, the doll wobbling in his hands.

  In the distance, he saw a river, its waters rushing violently. So, this is the end of the line.

  "Stop right there. Stay where you are."

  Lucan stopped in his tracks beside the river, the guards surrounding him—there was no escape.

  "Sinner, don't you see what you have done!"

  Lucan didn't answer, but instead gazed at them with wide eyes, his mouth open, gasping for air.

  "Hand over the child now. They will burn you for this."

  Lucan gripped the doll tightly. "Go to hell, scu—"

  Lucan's stomach dropped as if the ground had tilted. His boots scraped uselessly across the stone, his body sliding sideways without his muscles moving, pulled by a sudden invisible "down" toward the woman's knife—then the blade caught him, and he realised she hadn't stabbed him at all. She'd made the world do it."Wh—what?"

  A large splash was heard, blood seeping down the floor, as Lucan's body was propelled directly into a knife being held by the woman. She was dark-skinned, with long black hair, and appeared to be higher-ranked than the guards.

  "He doesn't have it."