The

  day had arrived, and the family set off for the capital. The journey by

  horse drawn carriage took a little over an hour. Living in the rural

  countryside was peaceful, but it was also isolating. Ester rarely saw

  kids her own age. She barely had friends, except for one boy her mother

  had forbidden her from seeing.

  Staring

  out the carriage window as her father controlled the reins, she watched

  fields of green pasture and grazing wild animals slide by. When was the

  last time she’d

  been this far from home? The wind felt refreshing on her face, her hair

  whipping in the breeze and the sun beating down. She wished this moment

  would last, a fleeting peace before she had to leave the carriage and

  face her uncle again.

  She

  should have been completely afraid, but a new feeling surged within

  her, a desire to confront him. She was with her dad. She wanted him to

  see her; to see he hadn’t won.

  Her

  ears began buzzing again. The ringing had never truly left since that

  night, often growing louder with her emotions. Usually a quiet hum, it

  now sharpened into high pitched whispers. She couldn’t help but stick a finger in her ear. Immediately, her mother yanked her hand away.

  “Act dignified.” she hissed. “Don’t disgrace our family.”

  Rolling

  her eyes, Ester decided to pass the time with a book from her father’s

  study- The Church of the Arc by a non-Synch man named Siris. It

  theorised about the Arc’s origin, the purpose of Synchrites, and whether they were threats. Though advanced for her age, Ester was an intelligent, inquisitive girl, fascinated by Synchrites. She read: “The

  spread of the Church’s agenda has sparked a chain reaction with the

  speed of a wildfire, raising the question, what is its true mission? To

  spread the word of a higher power, or something else?”

  Her father, seeing her from the corner of his eye, quickly took the book.

  “Ester..”he tried. “You shouldn’t be reading this.”

  “Why?”

  “Because”

  he tried again, a failed attempt, “you are still a child.” His words

  only made her more sceptical of everything she had been taught.

  “Never mind that, "he said, “we’re almost there.”

  Peering into the distance, she saw it, the capital of Geneeva.

  Arriving

  at the city’s outskirts, Ester saw farmers, shepherds, and peddlers

  being stopped by officials. She saw beggars being harassed. Something

  inside her said it was wrong, but her father told her not to get

  involved. Stopping before the guards, her father waved a sigil proving they were summoned. The Gate immediately opened.

  Bustling

  sounds filled the air, bickering, clattering hooves, music. But past

  the gate, the sounds seemed farther away. Directly in front of her were

  the impoverished. One man stood out, old and frail with the frame of

  skin and bones. Her heart faltered. She wanted to look away, but his

  eyes met hers as the carriage trotted past. Sunken and hollow, they held

  no malice, no anger, no emotion. Just emptiness.

  “They are the Sick, Ester,” her dad said, almost reading her thoughts. “People the Church deemed non-contributing.”

  She thought it inhumane.

  “What about the heretics?” her mother grumbled. “Serves the rejectors right.”

  Her father said nothing.

  They followed the city’s sounds until they arrived at the marketplace.

  The

  heart of the capital buzzed with a life Ester had never seen. Banners

  floated above the stalls, the air was rich with roasted food, spices

  and sweet candied fruits. Musicians played as dancers marvelled the

  crowd. Merchants held infant Flo beasts in cages, and children watched

  in awe. A little wyvern occasionally sneezed fire, making the crowd

  laugh. The beast would be sold to the highest bidders. Ester’s eyes

  darted everywhere, she saw a man in shiny red armour and a white cloak

  brush past the less fortunate, oblivious. She was in awe of the

  commotion, yet something was off. Within all this, why were some

  excluded?

  She wanted to stop for some candied food, but her father insisted they continue to her uncle’s estate.

  They

  arrived in the afternoon. His estate dwarfed her family’s home. It was

  too big for one person. A servant took their horses; another escorted

  them inside to await him.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Then

  he appeared, strutting into the room shirtless with his fake smile. Her

  mother embraced him first, oozing reverence. He let her linger longer

  than usual, making her father break the tension with a cough.

  “Little brother,” her father said, reaching for an embrace. A twitch of annoyance flashed in her uncle’s eye, but he maintained his persona and accepted it.

  “Surely you must show more respect to an Arcon in training, brother?” Her uncle retorted.

  “Do you even respect yourself?” Pointing at his potbelly. “Did they also teach you how to let yourself go?”

  Ester let out a quiet snicker, and he turned to her, immediately she wiped it off her face.

  Her father let out a cough, “My apologies. The trip left me ...more exhausted than I thought.”

  “Ah, well, why don’t you all join me for a feast this evening?” He turned back to Ester.

  “I’m sure you’re all hungry.”

  Ester stared, then forced a smile. “I am, Uncle.”

  This

  threw him off. He guided them to the guest rooms, each larger than

  their living quarters back home. This was the Church’s influence.

  Sitting on the bed, the necklace felt heavier, colder. She wore it as a

  reminder, twisting the cold steel, pondering how to expose him. It wasn’t

  until later a dark-skinned servant escorted her to dinner. As she was

  following her, Ester’s eyes caught the faint, yellowing shadow of a

  bruise peeking out from the maid’s high collar. Another, fresher one was

  visible on her wrists.

  “ Does he hurt you?” Ester asked quietly, her steps slowing.

  The woman flinched; she pursued her lips before bowing her head. “I just happen to fall my lady.”

  It was a lie and Ester knew it. “Does he treat all his servants this way?”

  The

  woman stopped in her tracks and turned to her. Almost crying, she let

  out painful smile. “We are not servants. We are slaves.”

  She

  held Ester’s gaze for a second longer before turning away. “The dining

  quarter is just ahead,” she said, “You should not keep him waiting.”

  The

  feast, to Ester’s distaste, was delicious. She stuffed her face, her

  decorum vanishing as the adults talked and sipped wine as they laughed.

  “So, are you excited?” her father said. “Being seen as an Arcon Candidate?”

  Her Uncle snorted, ripping a chicken leg apart. “I have been working for this for twenty years. How could i not be?”

  “Well, I hope you do become the Arcon,” her mother chimed in. He choked on his chicken. Ester saw her father’s exasperated look.

  “What about you, Ester?” her uncle said. “Are you happy for me?”

  She wanted to tell him to drop dead and die. Instead, she gave him the answer he wanted. “If uncle becomes Arcon, will he give me more gifts?”

  His laugh boomed, promising he would.

  When

  the feast ended, Ester retired to her room. She had seen her parents

  drink more, but still be fine, but this time, it was as if they couldn’t keep their eyes open. She watched them silently stumbled to their room as a maid escorted them. It wasn’t long until Ester was in her bed. But she couldn’t sleep, not with him nearby.

  Sure enough, the door crept open and he was there, still smiling and panting.

  “Ester, Uncle needs you to do something for him.”

  As

  he stepped closer, she was ready for this time. She slashed out with a

  small knife she had stolen from the kitchen, catching his forearm. It

  was a wild, panicked attempt only drew out a thin line of blood. His

  smile vanished, replaced with cold anger. He gritted his teeth as a mad

  expression appeared on his face. “You bitch,” he snarled, and then he

  lunged at her, grabbing her wrist and crushing it until the knife

  clattered to the floor. His other hand finding her throat. Her kicks did

  not damage, only exciting him more. Slipping in and out of

  consciousness, she could hear his laughter. Was this it? Was she always

  destined to be weak? How could this monster go unpunished?

  She rejected it. She rejected everything.

  Her

  ears began to blare and a pain in her ears forced her eyes open. She

  saw the look of confusion take over her uncle's face. Summoning every

  ounce of strength she had, she delivered a kick to his side, launching

  him across the room. She felt a crack as she had connected with him, and

  he struggled to get up. Clutching his side, he was wheezing, seemingly unable to breathe. He tried to leave, to call for help, but Ester wasn’t done. Moving faster than he could open the door, she tackled him to the ground. He tried to block his face, but it didn’t

  matter. Ester’s first blew past his hands, striking his face. Then the

  next strike on the other side of his face, the again, and again, and

  again until she was in a pool of blood, is face unrecognizable.

  Servants slammed the door open, and their screams filled the entire estate.

  Her

  parents appeared stumbling, she thought they were drunk but they showed

  a side she had never seen before. Pure fear. Her father said nothing as

  officials took her away, her mother's last words echoing in her mind. Monster. She saw the look of the maid who she had talked with, not a look of fear, but worry.

  She was declared a Synch before being thrown into a dungeon.

  She

  was later informed her father was executed for speaking up for her, for

  trying to expose the Church. And her mother... Her mother committed

  suicide to escape the shame.

  **************************************************************************

  My

  throat closed up. A cold, quiet fury settled in my chest, and the Flo

  around me, the ever present mist of this hell, shivered in response,

  warping the faint blue light of the cave. She noticed, and offered a

  dry, brittle smile.

  “Tis

  already writ,” she whispered. “Thy anger is a kindness I had

  forgotten.”

  I

  swallowed hard. “What happened next?”

  She

  paused, as if reliving a memory. “Mine life...was spared. By

  decree”

  I frowned, “By who?”

  “By the hero of Leria,” she

  said, the title ash in her mouth. “Lucius