Arika: The legend of the lost jewel

chapter 4

Inside, the carriage was just as luxurious as the palace. Plush velvet seats awaited them, and the ceiling was adorned with a mural depicting the history of Eris, painted by the finest artists in the kingdom. The king settled into his seat, his brow furrowing slightly, while the queen sat across from him, her expression calm and composed.
As the carriage began to move, the sound of the horses’ hooves echoed through the cobbled streets of Eris. Outside, the people of the city watched in awe as their rulers passed by. They lined the streets, bowing deeply as the carriage rolled through, their faces filled with admiration—and for some, a hint of fear.
The procession would lead them to the grand event that had been carefully prepared, a celebration of Eris’ unparalleled might and prosperity. Yet, despite the outward display of power and grandeur, the king’s mind was elsewhere, his thoughts darkened by something that no one else in the kingdom could perceive. He gazed out of the window as the city passed by, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the armrest of the carriage.
The queen, ever perceptive, noticed his distraction. “Is something troubling you?” she asked, her voice gentle but firm.
The king remained silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the walls of Eris met the distant sea. Finally, he spoke, his voice low. “There are whispers… whispers of unrest beyond our borders.”
The queen’s eyes narrowed slightly, but her expression remained calm. “Whispers have always existed,” she replied. “But they have never breached our walls.”
The king turned to face her, his eyes sharp. “Walls can only hold so long. And even the sea cannot shield us forever.”
The queen said nothing, her gaze following his out toward the distant horizon. As the carriage continued its journey through the city, the weight of their conversation hung heavy in the air, though neither spoke again.
“Without us finding that stone, its glory shall not last. As it is, the wall is barely holding on,” the king muttered, his voice low as the carriage rocked gently down the cobbled streets. He leaned back in his seat, his brow furrowed with concern. The queen, ever observant, turned her gaze from her husband to the passing streets outside the window.
She watched as the people of Eris filled the streets, their faces full of admiration for their rulers. Children waved excitedly as the royal carriage passed by, while the adults bowed in reverence, their smiles fixed in place. Yet, behind those smiles, the queen sensed something—something deeper than mere awe. A longing, perhaps. A yearning for freedom from the pristine walls that kept them safe, but also trapped.
“Would it be that bad if the walls collapsed?” she asked suddenly, her voice quiet but steady. “Frankly, it would be good for our people.”
The king sighed, his fingers drumming lightly on the armrest. “It’s not that simple,” he replied, glancing at her. “I’ve worked too hard, sacrificed too much, to be where I am today. You know that. My heart and mind won’t rest until I get what I desire.”
The queen didn’t respond, simply turning her gaze back to the window. She had heard those words countless times before. The king’s obsession with power, with control, had grown stronger over the years. It was no longer about protecting the kingdom; it was about securing his legacy, and it troubled her deeply. She wondered, not for the first time, what the cost would be—both for him and for their people.
As the carriage rolled to a stop in front of a grand building, its façade gleaming with intricate carvings and gold embellishments, the queen pushed her thoughts aside. The building stood tall, its marble columns rising high into the sky, and other equally ornate carriages lined the street. Men and women, dressed in their finest attire, mingled outside, their laughter and conversation filling the air.
The moment the king and queen stepped out of the carriage, the crowd parted for them, bowing deeply and greeting them with grace and respect. The queen’s elegant gown trailed behind her as they made their way to the entrance, their presence commanding attention. Yet, even as they were showered with admiration, the queen couldn’t shake the sense of unease that clung to her.
Inside, the building was even more magnificent. The grand foyer was decorated with chandeliers that sparkled like stars, casting a warm, golden glow over the polished marble floors. Rich tapestries lined the walls, telling the stories of Eris’ history—its rise to power, its triumphs, and the invincible strength of its people.
They were led to the upper seats of the grand hall, a theater of immense size with a stage that stretched across the front. Their seats, placed at the highest and most prestigious point in the room, offered a perfect view of the stage below. As the king settled into his seat, his eyes scanned the audience below—nobles and dignitaries, all eager to witness the performance that was about to unfold.
But even as the room buzzed with anticipation, the king’s mind was elsewhere. His thoughts kept returning to the stone, the one artifact that could secure his legacy and reinforce the walls of Eris. Without it, he knew, everything he had built would eventually crumble.
The queen, sensing his distraction, remained silent. She too was lost in thought, her mind drifting back to the conversation they had just had. She wondered what her people truly thought—whether they longed for more than the gilded cage that was Eris.
As the lights dimmed and the performance began, a subtle movement caught the queen’s attention. A figure, cloaked in shadow, slipped through the side door of the theater, moving swiftly and unnoticed by the crowd. Something about the figure’s hurried steps and the way they hugged the walls set off a quiet alarm in her mind.
Leaning slightly toward the king, she whispered, “Did you see that?”
The king, his focus still on the stage, barely registered her words. “See what?” he muttered, his thoughts far from the present moment.
But the queen’s sharp instincts had been stirred. She watched the cloaked figure disappear into the depths of the building,
The atmosphere in the grand hall of Eris was lively, filled with the buzz of excited whispers and the clinking of fine glassware as the auction continued. The bidding had begun with beautiful art, rare treasures, and luxurious items. The people of Eris, accustomed to displays of wealth and grandeur, showed no hesitation in competing for the most coveted pieces. The king and queen sat comfortably in their high seats, observing the proceedings with regal calm, their glasses of wine never far from hand.
As the auctioneer, a young man with a charming smile and an air of confidence, kept the crowd entertained, the evening unfolded with elegance. Every bid was met with murmurs of approval, every sale with applause. The people were enjoying themselves, indulging in the finest wine and relishing the thrill of outbidding one another.
Then, about halfway through the auction, the nature of the items up for bid began to change. A pale, frail boy was led onto the stage, his wrists bound in heavy chains. His head hung low, his body weak from whatever hardships he had endured. But despite his pitiful state, the crowd’s reaction remained unchanged.

This was not an unexpected turn for the people of Eris. Human auctions, particularly of captives or those deemed lesser by society, were a common occurrence at such gatherings. The people regarded it as just another part of the evening’s entertainment. There were no gasps of horror, no protests—only curiosity as to how much the boy would sell for.
At first, no one seemed particularly interested in him. His frailty made him less desirable, and the bids were slow to start. Eventually, a low offer was made, and the boy was sold without much fanfare. The king watched the transaction with a passive gaze, his fingers lightly tapping the arm of his chair. For him, and for most in the room, it was business as usual.
The queen, however, felt a knot tighten in her chest. Though her face remained composed, a flicker of concern crossed her eyes. She had never been entirely comfortable with the practice of auctioning human beings, but in a land where power and wealth dictated the rules, she had learned to keep her opinions to herself. Her discomfort, though subtle, was present—an unspoken tension that she carried in moments like this.
As the auction proceeded, two more captives were presented, their fates sealed by the highest bidders. The people in the audience showed no more hesitation in bidding for them than they had for the artwork or jewelry. To them, this was just another form of wealth—a resource to be bought and traded.
But as the fourth captive was brought forward, something unusual happened. A young man in a dark suit emerged from backstage, walking swiftly toward the auctioneer. He leaned in, whispering something into the auctioneer’s ear. The confident smile on the auctioneer’s face faltered, his expression shifting to one of concern. He glanced briefly toward the king and queen before quickly composing himself.
“My apologies, ladies and gentlemen,” the auctioneer said, his voice steady but lacking its earlier charm. “It appears there is a slight problem.”
The crowd, still unfazed by the sale of human lives, murmured quietly. The king, his focus still sharp, raised an eyebrow but remained silent. He seemed more annoyed by the interruption than anything else. The queen, however, leaned forward slightly, her attention fully captured. There was something different about this moment, something unsettling in the air.