Iris Morwen had always been confident in the Union. Protecting those who lived lower in the plateau’s had been her goal for as long as she could remember. But recently, she had begun to doubt both herself and the people she grew up with.

Ever since her last visit to the House of Thorne, she didn’t know what to think. Although Astrophel had already clarified the contract to her, explaining that the Union had never sold kids, she didn’t think it made much of a difference. If they were capable of selling criminals, they could change for the worse.

All lives were equal. It was how she was raised, how her mother felt, and what she believed to be the truth. For the Union to be selling people, albeit criminals, was barbaric. It wasn’t right. Seeing Monty and Astrophel casually smile while signing off people’s lives made her sick. Criminals should be punished, yes, but not in such a way.

She didn’t get it. Iris sighed to herself while reclining back into her sofa. Many different emotions engulfed her. Standing at the peak, however, was helplessness. What could she do?

The Union was ruled by an insurmountable oligarchy. Her mother was powerful, but she couldn’t make decisions involving the Union alone. Iris herself had next to no impact. The only reason she could do anything was her incredible potential.

But the potential was just that, potential. She was eighteen, barely leaving the age of being treated like a kid. In a world where the average life expectance was a 150 years, she would have to be at least 30 even with her talent to change anything.

A knock on the door to her room brought her out of her scattered thoughts. Her head pointed towards the door instinctively. Another knock came from the door, this out louder, more urgent, desperately vying for Iris’s attention.

The knocker won, as Iris methodically rose from her seat by the window to open the door. A polite man in his 30’s stood within the doorway. He smiled, seeing Iris, before frowning.

“Is something bothering you, Miss Iris?” he asked, worried. Iris appeared distressed, her usually bubbly aura was overthrown by a deeper shade of melancholy.

Iris shook her head. “It’s nothing,” she mumbled. A speculative frown formed upon her face. Something major must have happened for Albert, her butler, to be here instead of a maid.

“Did mother accept my request to meet her?” Iris questioned. She had asked for a meeting to discuss the House of Thorne situation almost two days ago.

“That’s correct, Miss Iris. Madam Morwen wants to meet with you to discuss something very important. That’s why she told me to bring you to her.

“Do you know why she wants to speak to me?”

“I do not.”

…

The duo walked in silence. The Morwen Manor, unlike the House of Thorne, was composed of humble materials. The building itself was akin to a castle, built of grey brick with thin slits for windows. In it lay various oak furnishings and a teak floor. The manor lacked the imperialism or arrogance that one would expect from a noble, there was no gold in sight.

After walking for some time, Albert stopped in front of a door. It was no different from any of the others in the hallway, but Iris knew; knew it was the door to her mother’s study.

She was nervous. Make no mistake, Iris loved her mother and vice versa, but there was this divide, this chasm between them that she didn’t know how to bridge. Her mother scared her, if just a little. Perhaps it was the intimidation of a matured genius, one who flew up from poverty using her wit and talent. It was a story that’s still being told, decades later. Iris couldn’t fathom the difficulties her mother went through.

Albert knocked on the door and hearing a grunt of acknowledgment, opened it for Iris. She entered and Albert tactfully closed the door, staying outside the room.

The study hadn’t changed much since Iris last visited, ages ago. It was the darkest room in the manor. Hickory flooring and cast iron chairs, the room was colder than a dungeon. Iris’s gaze drifted to the walls. Lines of swords, well over thirty, were neatly arranged in cases and glowed duly under the light of the orange lamps.

“There are a few new ones,” Iris thought as her mind wandered for a moment.

“Come, sit,” a woman’s voice penetrated the air, lowering the temperature further.

Rather dazed, Iris scurried towards the seat the woman was pointing to, the one opposing her side of the desk. The heavy chair scraped against the floor as Iris pulled it before sitting stiffly. She raised her head, finally meeting her mother’s eyes.

Blue like water, blue like fire, blue like a lone star standing in the endless cosmos. Her eyes mirrored a peerless brilliance that no one could hope to replicate. Compared to Monty’s black-hole-like eyes, Iris felt her mothers were much nicer, more majestic.

In fact, Iris's eyes were the only difference between her and her mother. Inheriting her father's swampy green eyes, she would've passed for her mother's younger sister if not for the age gap.

“It’s been a long time, mother,” Iris said, breaking the thin ice that encased the atmosphere. “Why have you called me here; is it about the House of Thorne?”

Her mother, Venera Morwen spoke for the first time in reply. Her voice wasn't unlike Iris’s, yet the two couldn’t be compared.

“Iris, you will be leaving the Greyson plateau in a week. The Saintess sent out a letter to all candidates that she will be holding her selection in one month, a full year earlier than planned. I trust that you will be prepared by that deadline.”

She spoke directly, not mincing her words nor justifying the Saintess’s decision. There was no debate over her commands.

The blood drained from Iris’s face. Seeing this, Verena didn’t stop speaking, but her tone became softer.

“You don’t have to worry about the House of Thorne,” Verena reassured her daughter. Such a big issue had to be settled, and soon at that. Truth be told, she never did like Monty Thorne. There always had been something off about him, ever since he was a kid. A sort of eeriness that ran through his very bones. The boy himself was always politely mannered, never openly angered nor displeased, yet she didn’t like him. It wasn’t natural. She found it hard to believe that a child could differ so much from his parents.

Verena smiled, revealing her white teeth.

“Before you head to the capital for the Saintes’s trials, you will be spending a few days in the Glacier Plateau, where the headquarters of the Union is located.”

She brought out a letter. Iris’s face regained its vigor, no longer a ghostly white but a healthy pink. Nothing excited her more than travel.

“I’ll give this to you. Along with your words, this letter will resolve the conflict within the House of Thorne. Make sure to support Adam Rowen, don’t try to take the House away for the Union alone.”

Iris nodded her head in understanding. Her mother knew best. She finally had the chance to leave the Greyson plateau and explore the world by herself. Iris felt giddy just thinking about her future travels.

“One last thing,” Venera spoke, smiling at Iris’s innocent expression. “Astrophel will be going with you, or did you think you would be leaving the plateau alone?”

“Of course not!” Iris cried, secretly heartbroken. "I never had such thoughts!"

“Very well then, stay safe and always listen to Astrophel, he is even more experienced than I am in most cases. I won’t be seeing you for a long time,” Venera spoke the last sentence silently. Only she knew what it really meant.

Wishing her mother farewell, Iris exited the room, leaving Verena alone at her desk.

“Do you have any questions, Astrophel?” she asked while rubbing her sore cheeks. She couldn’t remember the last time she smiled for so long. A figure emerged from the wall to Venera’s left. His grey hair and a sage-like temperament gave off the impression that he would remain unfazed even if the plateau itself collapsed.

Astrophel spoke calmly, “I would like to know the current situation of the Greyson plateau before I leave. How dangerous will it be?”

Venera sighed in frustration. “Very, the situation is atrocious. The Greyson’s have been demanding more and more in preparation for the cult’s attack. They even tried to scam Monty Thorne a few days ago despite their decent relationship with him. Sundry cases have happened as well. Once Iris safely leaves, I can prepare myself for the upcoming war.”

“So the cult is guaranteed to attack.” Astrophel said grimly.

Venera nodded. The Silver Tooth Cult had always been a scourge to the Kingdom of Murate, steadily creeping around its oceanic borders. Although she didn’t like Monty, he was incomparable in both influence and depravity. As someone who represented the people, there weren’t any forces she despised as much as the Cult.

“Take care of Iris.”

“I will,” Astrophel replied and merged back into the wall, leaving the study for the last time.

The iron chair screeched as Venera got up from her desk. She placed her hands behind her back and turned her head towards the various swords that lined the walls. They weren’t new by any means, many being chipped or stained, but each had been used by an influential figure.

Venera would know, she took them from their wielders herself.

And soon there will be many, many more.

* * *

A crashing resonance echoed in the blanketed sky just outside the House of Thorne. Water pattered against the garden's tiles and trees livened as the force of the assault increased. A trident of gold split the sky, causing Monty Thorne to look out of his window. He soon lost interest; the current storm wasn’t deserving of his attention.

Monty turned back to the book at hand, but his peripheral vision picked up a cloaked man at the gate. They stood ignorant of the downpour, waiting as a servant carrying an umbrella led them in. Monty closed his eyes, expectant of the soon-to-be delivered news.

He opened his eyes, Mira knocked on the door.

“Enter.”

Mira entered; her eyes darting around the room before resting on Monty. He stared back. Clutching an envelope, she hesitated before handing it to Monty. He thanked her and she excused herself from the room. “It seems the letter has already had some effects,” Monty thought, causing him to smile.

The envelope was thick, its height about the same as the book he was reading. Monty picked up a silver letter cutter and cleanly ran it through the opening. A stack of reports rested soundly in it.

Monty grabbed the papers and shuffled through them, his eyes like Damascus pendulums, swinging back and forth as he processed the latest events.

He remained impassive throughout most of the reading. Flipping to the last page, his eyes faintly dilated.

“So the Saintess decided to hold her succession early and Iris left the Greyson plateau.” Monty hissed. He felt like he just lost his queen piece right at the beginning of a deadly game of chess. Such loss was truly painful.

But being who he was, Monty calmed himself. He wouldn’t get anywhere by being discouraged. All the other information was positive, he could still salvage this mess. He just had to mold a new plan from the pieces of his old one. Thinking further, the situation wasn't as irredeemable as he first believed. There was always a way.

Monty spent the entire night enclosed in his room. Many servants, including Mira, knocked on his door but he refused to leave and imprudently dismissed them.

The morning arrived uneventfully besides the obtuse rumors that sprouted up from Monty’s all-nighter. Servants discussed amongst themselves in hushed whispers. The ones who personally glimpsed Monty this morning spoke with exaggerated tones of the deep bags under his eyes and emphasized the manic smile plastered across his face.

The target of the rumors, however, was unaware of them, but even if he knew, he wouldn’t care. His mind was occupied on the successful night. He had done it. A messy plan that, albeit risky, was flexible and adaptable. His previous ploy was too rigid, having to scrap it after a change was unacceptable. Monty preferred flexibility and bending rather than certitude but breaking.

He grinned as he ate breakfast under the questioning gaze of his chef. By this point, Monty naturally had realized his atypical appearance but decided against resting. Today was the day, after all. The only part of his old plans that hadn’t changed.

Today he would hunt down his missing test subjects.