“That’s as far as I can take you.” Ezekiel shot a glance at the door at the end of the corridor and shook his head with a sigh. “Wish you luck,” he said, before turning around and leaving.

Lirael watched her uncle leave until his back disappeared around the next corner. Then, turning around, she slapped her cheeks lightly with her hands to psych herself up before making her way to her father’s chambers.

Smoothing out her dress as best as she could and running a hand through her hair, she raised her hand to the clapper… only for the door to swing open on its own. Taking a deep breath, she passed through it.

The room she found herself in was quite compact and minimalist in contrast to the large, ornate mahogany door she had passed through. The floor was made of granite polished until it resembled a black mirror, casting darkened, hazy reflections of all that stood upon it. The walls and ceilings were a pristine white. The only piece of furniture was a broad mahogany desk that took up most of the room at the end further from the door. And the only decoration was a monochrome banner that hung on the wall behind the desk that bore the insignia of the Enzeal family – a circle with an inverted triangle inscribed within it – marked in white upon black.

Sunlight streamed in through wide windows on one side of the room, illuminating the surface of the desk, the neat stacks of paperwork taking up most of the space on it, and the man sitting behind it.

Lirael got down on one knee and lowered her head. “Greetings, father.”

Nathaniel Enzeal didn’t seem to have heard her as he continued his work unabated. Silence settled over the room for a moment, alleviated only by the scratching of pen on paper. Only after finishing whatever missive he had been working on did he put the implement down with a clack. Folding the letter, he filled it into an envelope. Lighting the candle of sealing wax beside him, he dripped a blob of the red substance on the flap before pressing his signet ring on it, sealing it and imprinting his sign. Taking up his pen, he wrote an address on the back of the envelope and tossed it into a small basket beside him.

Finally, putting everything away, he leaned forward, placed his forearms on the desk and interlaced his fingers in front of him. Looking down his aquiline nose at his kneeling daughter, he said, “Rise.”

Lirael, who hadn’t dared to disturb him while he was working, hastily got to her feet and raised her eyes to meet his gaze.

Nathaniel Enzeal closely resembled his brother in build and facial features. But unlike Ezekiel, his face was clean shaven, and his jet-black hair cropped close to his skull. His nose was more prominent and his skin possessed the pallor of someone who actively avoided the sun in sharp contrast to Ezekiel’s weathered complexion. The biggest distinction though, were his eyes. At some point in time his gaze could be the chilling stare of a serpent, and at another, the regal glance of a lion. His eyes were in a state of flux, constantly transforming from one beastly pupil to another.

“How was your little excursion north?” he asked.

“Successful, father. I managed to fuse my Undead Marrow shard with my Embryonic Dungeon. I’m confident I’ll be able to upgrade it to a full-fledged Dungeon soon.”

Nathaniel simply nodded, neither accepting nor denying her optimistic claims. “Show me,” he said as he extended his Domain to cover her.

Lirael hastily erected her defences and pushed back with her own Domain, staggering back under the immense weight of her father’s inner world. Her father was one of the four Lords of the Enzeal family as well as the leader of the Transformation Lineage that specialized in using their magic to morph into beasts or take on their characteristics. Comparing his Dungeon to hers was akin to likening the light of the moon to a mere firefly.

Her Domain popped like a soap bubble, but before his Domain could crash down upon her, her father retracted it. The pressure disappeared like a bad dream, leaving her soaked in cold sweat and gasping for breath.

“Good,” Nathaniel commended, “your world is stronger than before… and denser, more tightly knit.”

Despite the praise, Lirael couldn't find it in herself to be happy. Because she knew that the accolades weren’t for her accomplishments but for the rise in her value as a commodity to barter for political capital. She was sure that even now, the cogs in her father’s mind were spinning, calculating how much more she was worth now with this development and how much more he could squeeze out of the Sangre clan for her. Or, she could only hope, considering whether she was more valuable to the clan and to him unmarried.

After a short lull where Lirael regained her composure and her father stared at his interlaced fingers, deep in thought, he looked up and spoke:

“The Sangre prince has been petitioning me for a meeting with his future bride for quite a while now. He has been very… insistent.”

‘… free with his money,’ translated Lirael automatically. With rising certainty and dread, she listened to his following words.

“I feel the two of you should meet.” He looked right into her eyes. “Keep your schedule free this weekend.”

‘Sure enough.’ Even though she had known what to expect, prepared her heart for it, but still, hearing her father sell her out so blatantly made her clench her fists and struggle to keep her expression neutral.

She probably failed. But her father kept his eyes on her anyway, waiting for her response.

Lirael nearly told him about the spice trade she would soon be part of on impulse. Surely that’d be enough to change his mind. Surely, he’d approve of her then. Find her worthy of the same favour he showered on her brothers… But she forcefully bore the urge, taking a deep, shuddering breath to compose herself and ensure that her voice wouldn't crack.

“Y-es, father.”

It cracked anyway. Turning on her heel, she fled outwards in hasty strides. If she stayed a moment longer, she couldn't guarantee that she wouldn't break down and cry.

“Wait.” She halted her footsteps at the threshold of the room at his call. “Pay your mother a visit after this.”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, then exited the room, shutting the door none to gently behind her.

As she made her way along the winding passageways of her family mansion, she rubbed her eyes with her forearm and gritted her teeth, holding back the tears of frustration.

Of the four main Lineages of the Enzeal family – Storm, Transformation, Eon, and Transmutation – the Storm lineage was primarily focused on attack, the Transformation lineage defense and versatility, the Eon lineage handled the support and logistics and the Transmutation lineage was known for crafting the famed living weapons of the Enzeal clan which could fuse with shards, gaining magical effects of their own.

The latter three lineages ruled a third of the Enzeal Kingdom’s territory each; their Lords sharing the highest authority amongst themselves in the absence of a High Lord. The Storm Lineage on the other hand had gone down the unconventional route of eschewing political power in favour of establishing a religious organization: The Church of Storm and Sea. Ezekiel had said that it wasn’t the national religion, but in effect, it was. The leader of the Storm Lineage concurrently held the post of Pope.

Without a single authoritative figure to unify them, the main lineages as well as the minor noble lineages had fallen prey to their selfishness. The political atmosphere was rife with internal discord and nepotism. Corruption had eaten the nation away from the inside.

Growing up and thriving in such an atmosphere had dyed Nathaniel in the colours of materialism and practicality. The moment Lirael, unlike her siblings, had stepped off the beaten track and chosen to develop a Dungeon of her own in defiance of his directive, he had given up on her. It also didn’t hurt that she was on extremely good terms with her uncle. Lirael didn’t know what exactly had transpired between the two brothers, but there was bad blood there.

Ezekiel was childless. Not for the lack of trying, though. He and his wife had been blessed with two brilliant children; both top-ranked talents who had showed no dearth of promise growing up. But the dark hounds of misfortune had dogged the footsteps of the boys and they hadn’t lived long enough to fulfil their potential. Lirael hadn’t been born when it happened and understandably neither her uncle nor her aunt wanted to talk about it. All she had gathered from hearsay and oblique references was that her father might have been partially responsible for their demise.

Unable to withstand the loss of two children, her aunt had thrown herself into her business, not even considering the possibility of conceiving again. Until, that is, Lirael had come along and become the daughter she never had.

Lirael had spent more time growing up with her aunt and uncle than her actual parents. Her father had been too busy climbing the ranks and her mother… otherwise incapacitated. It was from the frequent trips her uncle took her on to see the world that she had developed her love of travel and exploration – her free spirit. Even her Shrinking Space shard, her very first shard, had been a gift from him after a successful ‘joint’ expedition to track down and capture a Void Hummingbird. As a Red Mage without a shard, she knew exactly how useful she had been on that occasion and just how much she had deserved ‘her portion of the spoils’ as her uncle had put it.

So, yes, she knew why she had become so estranged from her father. But that didn’t make it easier to accept the fact that he was willing to sell her off to the highest bidder like so much chattel.

Turning a corner, she reached the entrance to her mother’s quarters – another large and ornate door; this time crafted from a pale, nearly white willow.

She didn’t bother knocking. Her mother wasn’t in a state to appreciate a concept like privacy and her father’s wards ensured that none without his authorization could encroach upon this section of the mansion. The doors swung open smoothly at her slightest touch, revealing the scene within.

Unlike her father’s office, her mother’s quarters were broad and dominated by light colours and open spaces. The floor was laid with beautifully veined pink-tinged marble and rather than walls, the domed white ceiling was held up by patterned pillars of stone. Beyond the pillars, surrounded by high walls was a garden full of roses in full bloom. Female attendants in diaphanous white gowns watered and trimmed the hedges laden with an even mixture of red and white flowers.

And in the centre of it all, her mother reclined lazily upon a bed with white sheets, indolently trailing her hand across the surface of the artificial pond that took up most of the room.

The pond was perfectly circular in shape with a Taiji symbol painted upon its bottom. The interplay of black and white visible through the clear water. Two large carps, one black with a white, diamond-shaped mark on its forehead and the other a pristine white with a black mark, circled each other in a delicate dance, sending ripples across the water whenever they came close to the surface.

Her mother was dressed in clothes similar to her attendants, with the exception that instead of white, the fabric of her dress was a rich crimson. Just like her flowing hair that draped over her form like a blood-soaked blanket.

She looked up at the sound of Lirael’s deliberately loud approach; her eyes crinkling at the corners as her face lit up with a childish smile of recognition. And in those eyes, devoid of an iris or a pupil with black and white fog swirling within, Lirael saw a psyche shattered by the weight of the future. She saw her mother – Ellimere Sangre. The Prophet.