Just like that five days has passed,
With soleil just completing her task while gathering information and trying to figure out a way to get into the sanctum.
The linen basket was heavier than it looked.
Soleil gripped it tight against her chest, the coarse edge pressing into her arms as she navigated a quiet hallway veined with ivy-shaped carvings. Soft morning light spilled across the palace floor in long strokes, catching the dust her footsteps stirred. She hadn't meant to end up this far she was only supposed to deliver clean sheets to the eastern wing.
But she'd gotten turned around again. The palace twisted in ways she hadn't yet mapped in her mind. The farther she wandered, the more ornate the walls became, each turn whispering of sanctity and secrets.
Then she saw it.
An arched corridor, narrower than the rest, tucked behind a row of half-closed shutters. It led downward into a space dim with shadow and warmth. And at its end only for a moment she glimpsed the faint glint of silver-painted wood.
The Sanctum.
Her heart caught in her throat.
She could feel it feel it, in the strange way her chest sometimes ached when the divine brush whispered in her bones. She stepped toward it, eyes fixed, breaths slow.
Then a voice cut the stillness.
"Servants aren't allowed past that arch," a voice said from behind her. Calm, but edged with authority.
Soleil froze, linen basket balanced awkwardly in her arms. The scent of sun-warmed fabric and lavender sachets filled her nose. She hadn't even realized she'd stepped too far, her eyes scanning the end of the hall where the door to the Sanctum loomed like a forgotten shrine.
"I didn't mean to," she said quickly, tightening her grip on the heavy basket. "I was just… delivering laundry to the east wing."
There was a pause. She could feel the silence stretch across the marble like a drawn string.
"Turn around," the man said.
She shifted, careful not to tilt the basket too far as she half-pivoted, revealing only a sliver of her face over the piled sheets. Her heart thudded uncomfortably in her chest. She didn't know what kind of authority this man held, but she could tell from the way his voice carried measured, unhurried that he wasn't just another steward.
His boots stopped just short of the archway.
"You're new," he said. "What's your name?"
"Soleil."
He studied her, but she could tell he hadn't seen her properly not with the basket hiding most of her face and her head dipped low in the way maids were expected to carry themselves.
"Soleil," he repeated, as if trying it on. "And who assigned you to the east wing?"
"Kessa," she lied smoothly. The first name that came to mind.
Another pause.
"You're on the wrong side of the wing, Soleil."
She nodded. "Sorry, sir. The corridors… this place is like a maze."
That seemed to soften something in his tone, if only slightly.
"Try not to lose yourself in it," he said at last. "There are parts of this palace where even the light forgets how to return."
The words caught her off guard , less of a warning and more of a strange kind of poetry. She dared a glance up, just in time to see the tail of his dark coat disappear down a side hall, footsteps silent despite the polished floors.
Only after he vanished did her breath leave her.
She hadn't seen his face properly, and he hadn't seen hers. But something about him lingered. The air had felt heavier when he spoke, Controlled. Sharp.
Not cruel, but not warm either.
She whispered his words under her breath.
"Where even the light forgets how to return…"
She didn't know it yet, but she'd just met Auren, the lead steward of the Inner Sanctum.
And despite his calm exterior, he hadn't dismissed her entirely. His mind was already circling the feeling that something wasn't right.
The day blurred slowly and the sky had hues of orange in it . Soleil found herself scrubbing the marble trim along a silent corridor in the west wing one rarely walked, dustier than the others. She hadn't spoken much since the encounter with the steward, Auren. His words still lingered in her mind, too observant, too calm. As if he had known every lie she hadn't yet spoken.
She rinsed the rag in the pail at her side and wrung it out slowly. The water turned faintly gray.
"Next corridor," a passing steward muttered, not even sparing her a glance.
She gathered her things and turned the corner… and paused.
The air shifted.
A tall, blackwood door stood slightly ajar at the end of the hall. Flickering light spilled through the crack. Green , cold, and alive. It licked the stone like shadowed fire.
No guards. No markings. But something in her chest thrummed. A warning… or a pull?
She wasn't supposed to stop. She wasn't supposed to stray.
And yet—
Soleil moved without meaning to. Just a glance, she told herself. One step, then another. She pushed the door open the slightest bit more.
Inside was a circular chamber with obsidian walls. The light came from a ring of hollow flame dancing silently around the room, casting no heat but shifting like liquid fire. At the center, standing still as a statue, was a man.
Her breath caught in her throat.
He stood with his back to her, cloaked in black robes edged in green thread. His long, dark hair was damp around the edges, as if he'd just come from rain or battle. His posture was rigid, every breath taut and measured.
Then, slowly, he turned.
Their eyes met across the room. Green, dark and gleaming, met hers. No words were spoken, but something twisted inside her. Recognition.
He didn't look surprised to see her. Nor did he speak.
And yet, Soleil knew.
This was the Emperor.
Saya.
She could feel it in her bones. In the way the flames around him recoiled slightly as if bowing. In the loneliness in his gaze , veiled but not masked. And the way he stared intently at her , like he could see her soul.
Then she saw it.
A flicker of something across his right eye. A scar faint, then gone again as if a trick of the flame. But she had seen it. No spell could hide it from her eyes.
His face was unreadable, but the air between them grew heavier.
She didn't curtsy. She couldn't move.
Neither did he.
Then, a soft pulse of power emanated from the circle of flame, and she was suddenly, undeniably aware she was not supposed to be here.
He made no move to stop her.
So she stepped back. One step. Two.
She pulled the door gently shut.
It clicked into place.
The weight of his gaze remained long after the flames disappeared from view.
Back in the corridor, her hands trembled as she picked up the rag. Her chores awaited, but her thoughts spun.
She had looked into the eyes of a man others only whispered about.
And he had looked back.
He had seen her.
Her Soleil.