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ZARETH

I stand near the ornate window of my private suite, looking out over Orthani’s spired skyline.

The moon hovers behind banks of slate-gray clouds, casting the city in a dim, foreboding sheen.

My reflection stares back at me in the glass, eyes still bright with the fury I’ve nursed ever since that spectacle at the gala.

Selene—mocking me with her disguise, rattling the entire court with the suggestion that centuries-old ghosts walk among us.

She dares to flaunt her cunning, humiliating me in front of the highest nobles.

The memory of her boldness clings to my thoughts.

She strode into the grand hall in that spectral form, mesmerizing everyone with rumor after rumor.

My House’s reputation, my own command of psionic mastery—she spat on them with a single smirk.

I feel my fingers tighten at my side, a tremor of resentment and something darker.

The embarrassment still chafes. Yet beneath my anger, an unwanted current of fascination brews.

She’s the only creature in Orthani to ever defy me, to slip past my mental shackles.

That’s why I loathe her. And it’s why I crave her downfall even more.

Enough. I refuse to let her triumph remain unchallenged.

Snatching my cloak from a nearby chair, I slip out of my suite, ignoring the questioning glance of a servant in the corridor.

The night’s hush cradles Orthani, most nobles dozing after the gala’s theatrics.

But I won’t rest. My mind hums with a plan: corner Selene, yank her into my psionic grip, and finally tear down her defenses until she pleads at my feet.

The notion of her on her knees, mind undone, lances me with twisted pleasure.

She humiliated me—I will repay in kind, with interest.

I descend a spiral staircase leading to a lesser courtyard.

Torchlight illuminates the mosaic floor, and my footsteps echo beneath the stone arches.

Guards stand at the far edges, drowsy and inattentive.

That suits me. I push through a discreet gate into Orthani’s labyrinthine streets, stepping carefully to avoid the city wards.

I prefer my own mental wards, honed from childhood torture that shaped me into a psionic predator.

Let them sense a flicker of my presence if they like.

By the time they realize what’s happening, I’ll have Selene on her knees.

I recall her new quarters in Vaelith’s estate—no simple dungeon for her anymore, oh no.

She’s playing a dangerous game, wrapped in the Commander’s tolerance, perhaps even his bed.

The jealousy that sparks in me isn’t the same brand as Eryx or Vaelith feels.

I don’t yearn to keep her for sentimental reasons.

No, I yearn to see her mind subjugated, her will bent.

Her talent infuriates me, but it also tempts me.

If I possessed her mental strength, shaped it to my own ends, I could become unstoppable.

She’d be my greatest weapon, a living psionic blade.

The city’s gloom thickens. I slip along back alleys until Vaelith’s estate walls loom overhead, wards shimmering faintly at the upper edges.

My psionic sense pulses, searching for gaps.

Carefully, I slide my consciousness into the wards’ threads, altering them just enough to let me pass.

It takes precise control —my House trained me from youth to handle such feats.

Soon, I feel the wards yield under my subtle mental intrusion.

A smirk curves my lips. The attempt leaves a faint tingle behind my eyes, but the cost is worth the infiltration.

A servant’s entrance stands half-guarded by a single soldier who yawns near a brazier.

I exhale, summoning the quiet swirl of psionic energy that can push a weak mind toward sleep.

With one directed glance, the soldier’s eyelids droop.

He slumps, lulled by a gentle mental hush.

Perfect. I slip through the door, the corridor beyond dimly lit by a single lantern.

My heart thrums with anticipation. Each step that brings me closer to Selene intensifies the swirl of anger and desire in my veins.

I navigate the estate’s corridors, mindful of watch rotations.

The hush feels too calm, as though the gloom itself quivers in fear.

She is here, likely resting after her spectacle at the gala.

Good. I want her unguarded, lulled into complacency.

Let her think she got the better of me in front of Orthani’s elite.

She won’t see my strike coming until it’s too late.

At last, I reach a hallway with a heavy door at its end, guarded by a single figure.

That must be her new suite. I clench my fists, scanning the surroundings.

Another soldier posted outside, like Vaelith sees her as a treasure or a hostage.

No matter. I can handle one guard. I press a hand to the wall, channeling a subtle psychic pulse.

The soldier stiffens, confusion flickering in his eyes.

I tilt my head, weaving mental whispers.

Sleep. Forget. Step away. He obeys, wandering off down the corridor in a daze. My mouth curls in satisfaction.

I approach the door, hearing no movement inside.

Perfect. I test the latch—locked. With a twitch of psionic effort, I manipulate the mechanism, feeling the metal yield under my will.

The door clicks open. My pulse pounds as I slip in, carefully shutting it behind me.

The suite is lit by a single dying lamp, casting shadows along plush furniture and a large bed draped in dark fabric.

My eyes adjust. There, in the bed’s center, is Selene, slumbering or at least feigning sleep.

She lies on her side, curves outlined under a thin blanket.

My breath hitches with twisted excitement.

Stepping closer, I let my gaze roam her features.

Even at rest, her presence emanates defiance.

A part of me almost admires how fearless she is.

But I’ve come to break that fearlessness.

I lift my palm, conjuring a psionic snare, delicate threads shimmering in the air around me.

One carefully woven pulse should trap her mind, paralyze her physically while I invade her mental plane.

Then I can toy with every secret, show her who truly controls the mind arts in Orthani.

I inch near the bed, raising my hand in silent focus.

My power gathers, the snare forming in a swirl of violet sparks.

But as I prepare to cast it, she stirs, rolling onto her back, eyes snapping open.

She meets my gaze with a flash of awareness, and I see a wry, half-awake smile.

“Zareth,” she murmurs, voice laced with mocking welcome. “Took you long enough.”

A jolt of rage hits me. She expected me?

Damn her audacity. My snare ignites, swirling outward in intangible arcs, enveloping her.

“Don’t move,” I command, voice pitched low with sadistic relish.

She stiffens, the blanket falling away, revealing her lightly dressed form.

My heart thuds at the sight of smooth skin and a faint flush across her chest. “You’re trapped,” I add, letting the snare clamp around her mind. “No wry escape this time.”

She attempts to shift an arm but finds it pinned by invisible force. A flicker of alarm crosses her face, though she masks it with a smirk. “Finally decide to finish what you started with that collar attempt?” she taunts, breath coming quick.

I exhale in dark satisfaction, stepping closer so the bed’s edge grazes my leg. “Yes, little purna. This time, I’ll ensure you beg.” With a thought, I reinforce the snare, feeling her mental presence recoil beneath the intangible net. She tenses, eyes narrowing.

Yet something about her calm rouses my caution.

She’s not panicked. My power might be strong, but she’s cunning.

I push harder, forging a direct psionic link.

Our minds brush. She gasps at the sudden mental contact, but I sense her gathering defenses.

I muster more power, pressing deeper until the room fades and the mental plane forms around us—a swirling darkness lit by violet arcs of psionic energy.

In this shared psychic space, our bodies are mere constructs of thought.

I stand as a looming shape, arcs of gold flickering across my limbs.

She’s crouched a few paces away, dark energy rippling around her figure.

No illusions—no meltdown—just raw mental might.

I grin viciously. “We have no prying eyes here, little witch. Surrender now and spare yourself the agony.”

She laughs, the sound echoing in the swirling darkness. “You forget how we parted last time. I drove you to your knees. Do you truly want a repeat?”

My fury ignites. “You caught me off guard. Tonight, I’m prepared.” I lash out, sending a bolt of psionic force slamming into her mental form. She staggers, a ragged gasp ripping through the void. My lips pull in a triumphant snarl. “Submit, and perhaps I’ll make this painless.”

Her eyes flare with anger. “Never.” She lurches upright, forging a twisting barrier of black and violet arcs.

The next time I fling a mental bolt, she deflects it.

Sparks fly, lighting up the psychic plane in flashes of harsh brilliance.

I grunt, forced to brace as her counterstrike hammers my defenses.

We circle each other, crackles of energy dancing around our conjured shapes.

My heart thuds with adrenaline. This is the purest expression of my House’s legacy—psionic combat waged in the mind’s realm.

I’ve never lost, yet she stands defiant.

My jaw clenches. I lunge, sending a barrage of slicing mental shards, each designed to shred her consciousness.