The Eighth Gate

The Golden City

Her city had gone silent, and Valeria had never before encountered such an unbearable sound. It was the kind of silence one felt rather than heard–a palpable stillness that settled in the heavy air, the entire world seeming to hold its breath as she stood under the open sky that evening.

It wasn't as though she were unaccustomed to the quiet; for eighteen summers she had been raised in a palace that could easily be mistaken for a mausoleum with its bare, sandstone walls and only faint echoes of distant conversation for company. The eternal silence that encompassed her home was suffocating most days, and often the reason why she escaped to her private balcony at sundown nearly every night.

Valeria had always been fond watching the breathtaking sunsets that bathed the city of Kuru in a warm, amber glow. She looked forward to the exact moment when the evening breeze brought forth some relief from the day's sweltering heat–the moment when the idle, undisturbed energy of her city seemed to shift.

Kuru­–crown jewel of the Daivat Kingdom–was a land known for its harsh, unforgiving climate and even harsher, even more unforgiving people. Though the sunsets were beautiful and revered by many, the setting sun was more than just a pretty picture of golden hues across the sky–it was the very metamorphosis of her city. The streets, once quiet and sheltered from the relentless sun, buzzed with life. The air usually hummed with the sounds of laughter, the delicious aromas of the street vendors cooking, and all the lively conversation that echoed through the winding alleyways.

Valeria always adored witnessing this transformation–the way the lights flickered across the city, illuminating all the colorful spice markets below, casting a vibrant glow that mingled with the quickly fading sunlight. Despite the scorching heat that curled the baby-fine strands of hair around her face, it was only in these moments staring out over the sprawling city that she felt content in her quiet life.

It had been a rather unwelcome surprise earlier that evening, when the sun had dipped beyond the horizon and Valeria had stepped outside only to discover the unsettling, eerie stillness that draped over her beloved city like a heavy funeral shroud.

She tapped her fingers against the red sandstone railing of the palace balcony, deep in thought as she stared out past the palace walls. Her heart sank even further at the sight of the shuttered windows and deserted streets below. Not a single soul could be seen at the usually crowded market square, and no cheery music spilled out from the small pubs and restaurants that dotted the main road. Even the glow of the street lanterns had dimmed, casting a tapestry of gloomy shadows over the ancient stone walls.

Her city, once teeming with raw, carefree energy, now lay dormant, its heartbeat silenced.

A soft breeze swept through the air, blowing loose strands of her hair over her sun-kissed skin, and causing a knot of worry to form in her chest. What could have caused this unearthly silence?

Valeria couldn't help but wonder if the Gods had something to do with it. She had heard the stories, just like any other child that had grown up within the heart of the Daivat Kingdom. Stories of the universal Gods–ancient, otherworldly beings that no one had ever seen, but all seemed to bow down to, nevertheless. The Gods were eternal, they were righteous, and above all else, they were fickle.

There was very little proof of their existence, but Valeria knew better than to deny the possibility, outright. The last thing she needed was to be cursed by a particularly moody God that had nothing better to do than turn her into a wilted shrub or misshapen rock for their own personal amusement.

Because that was what they did, according to the hushed whispers heard across the continent, according to all her lessons from the palace tutors.