SYZYGY:The raise of the Monarch

Chapter I

          In a vast chamber, two figures loomed around an extended table—two men. Neither took a seat. One, with long white hair reflecting the light, possessed a tall, bulky figure and sturdy, toned arms. His hands lay on a map. The other man, red-haired with a scar over his right eye, stood motionless, his gaze fixed on the eyes of his counterpart.

"What are your thoughts, your majesty?" inquired the scarred man.

"Will they arrive today?" replied the white-haired man with disdain.

"The spy is expected tomorrow morning in a cart led by oil vendors. Rumor has it they have royal blood, albeit tainted," stated the scarred man.

"That despicable piece of filth may have lost his teeth, but his childish tactics endure," remarked the lord, the red-haired man, shrugging his shoulders, he sighed, contemplating how a visage like his companion's could harbor such a vulgar tongue.

"Should I go and target the spy before they breach the borders, your majesty?" he asked.

"You mentioned the spy has royal blood, Grayton?" inquired the white-haired man.

"Yes, my lord."

"We have reliable sources confirming that the old bag of dirt has an illegitimate child, cursed, correct?"

"Yes, your highness."

Seating himself, the white-haired man took caution not to tuck his long hair beneath him. The dim candlelight failed to mask his otherworldly appearance. Even a beautiful person would feel ugly in his presence—black, straight, thick eyebrows, long mink lashes that stirred storms when he blinked, a pointed well-sculpted nose, and full pinkish lips. His skin, too pale, revealed veins on his muscular arms. Yet, what captivated onlookers were his blue diamond-like eyes, shining brighter than the azure ocean of an island.

"Well then, my dear Grayton, he's sending a spy, and this time, we know when they'll enter the country. Strange, don't you think?" he said, smirking, as he took the map and ignited it slowly with the candle flame.

"He wants to rid himself of the cursed child, and he knows how much I despise spies. Does he expect a favor from me? Since when do I engage in charity work?" The map was now fully ablaze, but as the flames reached his fingers, they turned black. His eyes, Celera, mirrored the same color, and dark veins surfaced on his cheeks. He smiled, a smile tinged with blood, sending shivers down Grayton's spine. Trembling, Grayton stood before his lord.

"W-what should I do, your majesty?" Grayton asked, gathering all the courage he had left. The figure seated before him was not human—the Tsar of the great empire of Ruvia. Ascending the throne as a child, he led the country to its current wealth. With the face of an angel but the core of a devil, he was known as "L'ange diablique" on battlefields. The mere mention of "Ogen Ravass" induced fear and terror, capable of causing death.

"For now, we do nothing. I've been waiting to stretch my legs. I'll retrieve his lost dog and return it, collecting my payment," said Ogen, laughing evilly. His laughter was bloody and perilous, causing Grayton's throat to tighten, his legs unable to support him. Despite being a formidable warrior, standing before Ogen was too much for him to endure.

"Well then, shall we go meet our guest tomorrow morning?" Ogen asked, rising with a smile devoid of emotion. Murder was the only thing on his mind.

"As you wish, my lord," replied Grayton, bowing his head to the king.

           It was another cold night, the moon hanging full and colossal in the sky. The forest, shrouded in darkness yet illuminated by its silvery glow, witnessed the silent procession of carts laden with oil supplies. An elderly man, puffing on a lengthy pipe held in one hand while gripping the reins of his horse-drawn cart with the other, stole a sidelong glance at the figure seated behind him. A cough preceded his inquiry."We will enter Ruvia once the sun rises. Where do you plan on staying?"Silence lingered before he continued, "Well... If you have nowhere to go, um, you can come to my place."Before he could finish his sentence, a dagger swiftly sliced through the air, narrowly missing his cheek and embedding itself in his cigarette. The resulting explosion of the flame elicited a swallow of saliva, and he returned his attention to the road without uttering another word.As they neared the borders, the wind intensified, revealing the face of the passenger at the back—a woman with a unique hair color, a blend of pink and purple. Despite her beauty and the softness in her gaze, she exuded an unfriendly aura. With yellow eyes and vertically slitted pupils, she resembled a feline, yet the soft feminine appearance failed to conceal her ominous presence. She seemed like a siren, capable of seducing and ensnaring even the mightiest fishermen, yet now she found herself in a perilous situation with no means of escape, willingly stepping towards her own demise.

"I didn't live a good life,"

 Eva stated with an emotionless smile, her gaze shifting to the black veil she wore. 

"I'm a princess who never wore a gown for all her life." She then rested her head against the carriage's wooden frame. 

"The Tsar will kill me the moment he catches me, and running away from him is impossible."

Aware of her impending doom, Eva hugged herself as if bidding farewell to her own body.

 However, her eyes suddenly widened.

"I'm dying anyway. I'm pretty sure there are many nobles crossing the borders as well. I've always been a good person; stealing once won't hurt."

Eva acknowledged her imminent demise, yet her thoughts fixated on a seemingly trivial desire—wearing a gown before facing her inevitable end.