"Oho, you're looking better, little prince," the elf drawled, voice thick with amusement.

His eyes flicked past Keiser toward the temple's interior, where the congregation sat bowed in their silent prayer. A sharp grimace twisted his face. "Ugh. Do they even know what they're humming? Elven nursery rhymes, of all things. About pixies gnawing on human flesh." He clicked his tongue. "Foolish humans."

The words cut through Keiser's guarded stillness, forcing him to turn his head. Only then did he truly listen. Beneath the hush of the mass, the sound rose faintly, an old melody, soft and unbroken, drifting through the temple like the low murmur of a lullaby.

It didn't sound as grim as the elf described. No shrillness, no horror. Instead, it pulled at him in a way he couldn't name, strange, lulling, heavy. His stomach clenched before his mind caught up, and then the truth hit him like ice water down his spine.

Hunger.

Not the ordinary ache of a skipped meal, but something deeper, older, gnawing its way out from within.

Oh. Shit.

Keiser forced the grimace onto his face, masking the flicker of panic. His voice came out low, almost a rumble. "Don't distract me."

The elf's grin widened as he leaned closer, his expression no longer the harmless mask of an old man but something sharper. His teeth gleamed, too white, too perfect, unmistakably elven, betraying the lie of his human guise no matter how well-kept his clothes or how neatly trimmed his beard now appeared.

"You seem to have struck a bargain already," he said, voice smooth as silk but edged with mockery. His gaze flicked deliberately to Keiser's wrist, where the princess's lingering mark still burned beneath the bandages. "With another elf, no less. Clever little prince, you do have a talent for putting yourself in chains."

The grin darkened as his eyes began to glow faintly, an unnatural gleam, pale and hungry. "Tell me… are you so desperate to keep stacking them? One curse upon another? Not satisfied with blood scripting alone, you're out to collect elven curses now too?"

For a moment, silence hung between them, the weight of the elf's words pressing down on him.

Keiser didn't flinch. Instead, he smiled, slowly, deliberately, a smile that wasn't forced this time, one that touched his eyes, making them glint with something reckless.

He flexed his scarred hand at his side, feeling the etched sigils burn faintly across his skin, reminders of every mark, every choice, every chain he unknowingly but chose to put himself into.

"…Sure," he said at last, voice calm, almost casual, though the defiance in it was sharp enough to cut.

He lifted his other hand, the one untouched by the princess, the one that did not already burn with her mark. The seconds were slipping away, he could feel the hush inside the chapel beginning to stir, the breath of silence almost spent. The elf extended his own hand, the glow in his eyes narrowing with satisfaction, and their palms met in a firm clasp.

The chill of it bit into Keiser's skin. In that instant, he knew.

This deal was not his alone, it wound itself around Muzio, around Lenko, around Sir Keiser. Their fates tangled, tightened, sealed.

And then, just as quickly, the moment passed. The minute of silence ended, the low hum of voices returned, and Keiser slipped back into place.

Hours later, sunlight spilled across the capital, turning rooftops to gold and filling the streets with life.

Outside the chapel, the noise rose into a lively din, the morning mass concluded. To any onlooker, nothing had changed. Keiser stood once more at his station by the temple doors, cloak drawn tight.

The knights stationed nearby did cast him a glance, suspicion flickering in their eyes. Perhaps they had noticed his absence during the silence. Perhaps they had wondered why no hum had risen from where he stood. But none said a word.

So Keiser only watched as the worshippers streamed out into the sunlit streets, families clasping hands, children darting between legs, merchants shouting in bright voices as they tried to lure customers to their stalls.

Some bore the marks of travel from distant villages, dust still clinging to their boots. Others carried themselves with a sharper air, cloaked nobles and foreign born, come to test their mettle in the Gambit and seize a chance at the crown.

And then there were those who had come only to watch, to gamble, to drink, to bask in the rare spectacle of commonfolk and nobles thrown into trials like gladiators in the arena.

None of them knew. None of them could guess that the day's bustle and laughter would end before the day was done. This day would be remembered, not as a celebration, not as a trial, but as a wound the kingdom itself would try to bury.

From his post, Keiser let his gaze drift. The princess stood in the temple's sunlit hall, framed by polished stone and gilded icons, speaking softly to her devotees. A mother cradled her newborn in trembling arms, the infant bundled in white cloth. Althea bent low, her golden hair glinting, her smile gentle as she brushed her fingers along the child's cheek.

Beside her loomed Olga, tall and grim, the bow of her shoulders like a drawn weapon. She did not smile. Her hulking presence alone was enough to drive the father back a step, hands fidgeting nervously at his sides. Yet the mother hardly noticed. Her eyes were fixed on her child, her faith resting wholly in the princess's touch.

Keiser exhaled and lifted one hand to rake through his hair, as if to clear his sight.

Both his eyes were clear now, no longer clouded by fever or pain. Yet he still wore a strip of cloth tied across the left side of his face. It wasn't to protect what had healed, but to hide what remained.

The scars of blood scripting crawled across his skin like branded veins, marks he didn't even remember etching that far, reaching into the flesh of his cheek. They should not have been there, yet they were, burned permanent, a memory his body carried even if his mind refused it.

His vision sharpened, narrowing, and with it came the dull, phantom ache in his wrists. Both pulsed with a strange numbness, as though it had been severed and no blood flowed through them anymore. He knew better. It wasn't absence but weight, two bindings, two deals, two burdens pressed into his flesh. Both from elves. Both inescapable.

He began to move. Slowly, deliberately, each step echoing the decision already made. Out of the corner of his eye he caught Lenko and Tyron shifting as well, slipping from their places at the side of the hall. They wove through the gathering, heading toward the princess with their cloaks drawn close.

Keiser's gaze slid upward, and there he found Olga's eyes watching him. She gave a single nod, silent, sharp, heavy with understanding.

And then, as if on cue, the princess lifted her head. Their eyes met across the distance. Her smile lingered, but it had changed. No longer the soft sweetness she had shown the child, but something tempered, harder, an iron edge beneath the gold. Her ruby irises caught the light, unwavering, unafraid.

The signal was clear.

So begins the long descent to hell.

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