RAVENNA

Part 24

Vote target 7.
Author's POV

A woman stood with her back turned, her long black hair damp, clinging to her shoulders. Her face was hidden, but her trembling form betrayed her—crying, begging, desperate. Somewhere in the distance, the shrill cry of a child pierced the night.

The woman's head jerked toward the sound, and she stumbled forward, running. Footsteps thundered behind her—pursuers closing in. She reached the end of a road that vanished into nothing, no land beyond, nowhere left to run.

She turned, facing the dark figures advancing upon her. Terror and defiance warred in her eyes.

Then came the sudden bloom of red. Blood seeped from her abdomen, staining her gown. Her stomach was swollen, heavy—pregnant. She whispered something faint, words drowned in the wind, and with trembling hands drew a knife.

A single, terrible motion. Steel plunged into her own belly.

Nieve gasped awake with a scream, breath ragged, her forehead slick with sweat. She turned sharply to her left—and found Esme hovering near, visibly shaken.

"W–what the hell, Nieve? You scared me half to death!"

The room fell into silence, both of them catching their breath.

Then the alarm clock blared, shrill and merciless. Both girls shrieked at the sound before Nieve slammed it off.

She rubbed her face with both hands, groaning. "Bad dream," she muttered, voice hoarse. "Go back to sleep."

Esme muttered something unintelligible in return, already sinking back into the quiet of the room.

~

Moana, Ace, and the soldiers stood rigid, yet their trembling betrayed them. They knew the man before them. He had no patience for weakness, no concept of failure. Victory was the only language he spoke—and they had failed to speak it.

He lingered by the tall window, watching the horizon beyond. That horizon belonged to him. He had shaped this world—brick by brick, bone by bone—gathering followers of strength, talent, loyalty. And yet, even in his perfect order, there were cracks. Some tools dulled too quickly. Some soldiers could not carry the weight of their birthright.

With a slow, deliberate motion, he set down his cup. The click of porcelain on wood reverberated like a death knell. When he turned, his crimson gaze seared into the men, stripping away any last vestige of courage.

A dagger appeared in his hand, gleaming under the light. His voice carried, smooth and merciless.

"I demand but a single thing of you—destruction. It is the purpose inscribed in your blood, the very reason you were begotten, the destiny that shaped your marrow. To falter, to hesitate, to fail—it is sacrilege against the design of your existence. If you cannot fulfil that which you were fashioned for, then tell me, why should breath remain in your lungs? What place has life for instruments that refuse their function? Answer me, if you dare."

He let the question hang, his smile cold, daring them to deny him. The silence stretched thin, the soldiers' hearts hammering, each man caught between the terror of answering and the greater terror of keeping quiet.

He moved with unnerving grace, pacing before the line of trembling soldiers. Pausing at one, he inclined his head, voice deceptively calm.

"What am I to do with you?"

The soldier quivered, his tongue stilled by terror. No answer came.

His blade flashed without pause. A clean stroke across the throat. Blood spattered upon his own garments as the man collapsed, lifeless, to the ground with a muted thud.

He stepped past the body as though it were nothing. His gaze fixed upon the next man. "You. Tell me—what fate should befall you?"

The soldier trembled, lips parting soundlessly. Before the silence could condemn him, Ace, Moana's second, forced his words into the air.

"Your Sovereign," he said with care, "the explosion proved devastating. Many perished at once."

He turned his crimson gaze upon him, and for a heartbeat the hall was utterly still.

Then his voice, smooth as ice, cut the air. "I do not recall granting you leave to speak."

Steel carved flesh; his dagger sliced into Ace's arm. Blood welled freely, dripping to the floor. Ace hissed despite himself.

His eyes narrowed, his tone laced with scorn.
"Did you hiss? I forged you into strength. I fed you, trained you, honed you to the finest edge. And yet you mewl at a mere scratch? If you are so feeble, you are unworthy of breath."

He raised his blade, ready to end him.

"Orion!" . Moana's voice cut through the hall as she stepped forward, shoulders squared in an imitation of confidence. Her tone soft, though beneath it trembled the weight of desperation.

"There are survivors," she declared firmly, "from the east, after the blast."

Orion's dagger stilled. His eyes, burning red, fixed upon her. Moana did not flinch, though her heart thundered. She could not—would not—lose Ace.

He dismissed the others with a languid wave of his hand, leaving only Ace and Moana before him.

"Survivors, you say?" His laughter rang low, curling with mockery. "Survivors—from the east? My dreamland. The land I myself wrought into being. And why, pray, was I not informed of this sooner?"

The amusement vanished from his face in an instant, replaced by a cold severity. He drew in a slow breath, his crimson gaze lingering on Ace before Moana spoke, filling him in on the attacks that had befallen the seven survivors.

"Remarkable," Orion murmured at last, the word thick with a twisted delight. "It is not every day one finds such specimens—untainted by mutation, yet strong enough to endure the darkness." His smile sharpened as he stepped nearer to Moana. "See that they are found. Every last one. None are to be left behind."

Moana and Ace exchanged the briefest of glances, relief stirring beneath their rigid composure. Both bowed their heads in assent, silently vowing the order would be fulfilled.

Moana had nearly reached the gate when his voice, smooth and resonant, called her back.

"Today shall be a day of celebration. And for celebration, I require... entertainment." He lifted his glass of wine in a slow, deliberate toast.

Moana inclined her head, her voice steady. "Your women shall be arranged."

"No," he interrupted, the word slicing the air. A smirk curved his lips as he closed the distance between them. "I desire only one tonight." His eyes glittered, predatory. "You, Muna. You shall entertain me."

Her breath caught, her brow furrowed, and Ace turned his gaze aside. Never had Orion demanded such a thing of her. She opened her mouth to protest, but his voice silenced her, taunting, cruel.

"Let me remind you—your choices are but two: a bed of pleasure... or a bed of death. Which shall it be?" He tilted his head, mocking, savouring her hesitation.

Moana's jaw tightened, the answer dragged from her lips by necessity rather than will. She inclined her head in assent.

Orion's smirk widened. "Since it is a celebration, I would not have my loyal Ace excluded. He too shall partake." He cast a glance at the wounded man, savouring the discomfort. "You will watch, Ace. You will join us as audience."

The weight of the command hung heavy, the cruelty in his words colder than the steel of his blade.