The marble halls of Palace Zarynth stretched like a maze. Servants moved like shadows, whispering, bowing, disappearing. But one servant walked slowly, silently—Mirror, the silver-eyed slave.
It had been hours since his last task. No orders. No summons. Just... waiting.
He walked the inner corridor, fingers brushing the stone walls. His mind was calm, but calculating."If I do too much, I stand out. If I do too little, I vanish.""Which one keeps me alive long enough to destroy her?"
Suddenly, he heard fast footsteps.
From the side passage, Empress Myreiya stormed into the hall, her silks flying, two maidens trailing behind.
She was late for the Grand Flame Ritual.
And Mirror—without thinking—stepped into her path.
She didn't see him in time.
She collided with him, tripping slightly, her body falling against his chest.
For a moment, silence.
Her eyes widened—then narrowed.
"How dare you block my path?" she hissed, pushing away. Her cheeks burned—not from pain, but from the embarrassment of falling… onto a slave.
Mirror simply bowed.
"My apologies, Your Radiance," he said calmly. "I didn't hear your steps."
Her eyes burned. "You dare answer back?"
Later that day, the punishment was declared.
No food. No water. Locked alone in the Black Quarters.
Seven days.
The Black Quarters were deep beneath the palace—a stone chamber cold as a tomb. No light, no sound. Only darkness and the echo of your own breath.
Mirror sat in silence.
Hours passed.
Then days.
But something strange happened.
On the third night, Empress Myreiya came down herself.
She had dreamt of him—again. His calm eyes. His silence. His strength.
Why didn't he scream?
Why didn't he beg?
And why, in the dream, was she the one kneeling?
She opened the chamber door.
He was sitting, arms limp, but eyes still open.
Tired.
Still calm.
"Get up," she said sharply. "Your punishment is over."
He didn't move at first.
She stepped closer. "Don't test me."
Finally, he rose.
No anger.
No fear.
She hated it.
The next morning, she made him scrub the stables.
Then the kitchens.
Then carry spellbooks across the mage towers of High Saryel.
He did it all.
No complaint. No expression.
Her handmaiden, Elza, whispered, "Why do you keep him, Your Radiance? He's not even interesting."
But Myreiya didn't answer.
Something in her had begun to shift.