“You’re sure they’ll be okay?” Sato pestered Grin yet again as the Vroque trio and their temporary ally followed behind the chatting nobles. The Crimson Castle, according to snippets they’d heard here and there, was almost in sight.

  “For the last time, yes. Plagueroot bolases can’t kill anyone outright unless they have a heart condition or somethin’. They’ll be in a coma-like state for a while, but they’ll wake up eventually.”

  “Eventually? You better not be lying again.”

  “I ain’t! I bet they’ll wake up dazed and confused, then follow our tracks northward. We’ll probably see ‘em later.” Grin shuddered at the realization. He hoped their maid, if she hadn’t betrayed her master and was still alive and well, wouldn’t be any real threat to him. “Besides, if I was lying, Ma’at would’ve killed me by now.”

  “Hm. You learn fast,” she said, nodding approvingly. “So… Tien, I’m guessing by this point that this isn’t any normal ball, isn’t that right? Or are we still in classified territory?” She said the last part with an exhausted yet understanding tone.

  “Yes and no, to both of your questions.” She walked on her tiptoes for a while in order to try and see beyond the extravagantly-dressed crowd, but was unable to. “I have some bad news for you, Ma’at. It will take a lot of willpower, but I’m sure you can handle it.”

  Ma’at made a curious expression. “What are you talking about?”

  Tien smirked as if she had just pulled a prank on her. It shot a horrible pang of anxiety through the Sirithisian’s body. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. It’ll have to wait until we reach the castle, anyway.”

  “Haah… I really don’t like where this is going. Don’t tell me-”

  All of a sudden, Grin cracked up laughing. It was far less forced this time, born from pure schadenfreude. “Hahaha! No way! It can’t be that, can it?” He leaned forward to get a better look at Tien’s face. “It is! Pwahaha!”

  It was a horrible racket. Like an out-of-tune piano, it gave Ma’at a horrible, uncomfortable feeling most vile. “Shut up, reht’ka. Whatever it is, I’m sure it pertains to you, too…”

  Tien simply smiled and walked along as if she were on a pleasant walk through a park. Though it was part of her job, she certainly found a bit of pleasure in knowing things that the others didn’t, even if they would soon be elucidated on the matter.

  The noblemen and noblewomen warily making their way across the muddy path were almost excessively gaudy. Great rippling dresses of various shades hung in vibrant, wide circles around the classy ladies and the men wore immaculate suits lined with special stitching that could barely be seen. Ma’at recognized the stitching as being similar to the make of the Gunblades’ suits as well as many other enemies she’d fought in the past.

  This particular stitching pattern known as the Spiras Loop, or Spiral Lining, made use of expensive enchanted thread infused with the concept of unwavering will. As unwavering will and faith rarely give in to enticing or destructive outside forces, so too does strong metal such as noctite not bend or break easily. Thus, the Spiral Lining, if of pure magical thread and stitched correctly, can grant whatever it is stitched onto the properties of an immovable bulwark, an iron bastion impossible to breach with conventional and even some unconventional means.

  Why did this matter? The regal men and women, dressed in beautiful attire, were not stupid. They knew the risks of travelling. Those who walked unattended by trained servants were prepared all the more. Though their clothing seemed flimsy, thin, and useless in battle, the reality was that all of them wore the equivalent of heavy armor, just without the weight and the look of true battle armor.

  A thought crossed Ma’at’s mind. To be rich was to have the power to surpass the limits of the world. To be wealthy meant that any debilitating factor, no matter how big or how small, could be ignored and even taken advantage of. Money moves mountains, as they say.

  And to a Masquerade the rich folk were going, that was very clear. Already, they had donned a wide variety of different masks and other exotic facial obstructions. Some of them looked like plague doctors, their avian faces grim and expressionless when compared to their other garments. Others wore regular, angular masks that were no bigger than the palm of a hand. Some were connected to a pole that the wearer held up to their face manually. Some were sprinkled with shimmering glitter. Some glowed in the dark, splattered with luminescent paint. Some were simply black facemasks like those the Frostlanders, Beatrice’s companions, wore. On and on the spectacular masks appeared from their bags and concealed their faces. An elaborate display of wealth and anonymity was beheld.

  What Tien had been getting at became clearer and clearer now. The Scarlet Masquerade was for those with invitations, yes, but it was also for those dressed in fancy clothes and extravagant masks. The beautiful dresses and suits were just as much a key to enter the castle as the actual invitations themselves were.

  “Heh. I think she gets it now, bookworm. Ain’t any point in beating around the bush,” Grin said with an obnoxious smirk.

  “This ‘bookworm’ nearly knocked you unconscious with nothing but her suitcase, jerk.” Tien retorted, speaking in the third-person, then looked at Ma’at with pity. “In my case, well… I’ve got some outfits. We’ll all have to wear them to get in. Sorry, Ma’at.”

  Ma’at’s stomach plummeted into an endless abyss. She dreaded what lay in store for her. Her eyes sunk in despair. “Please tell me they aren’t too fancy. Something that wouldn’t look ridiculous on me?”

  Tien’s face contorted into a jumbled mix of expressions. She looked up in thought, as if grasping for some golden words of consolation that would put the Swordstress’s mind at ease, but none came to her. “I’m sure you’ll look great, don’t worry about it.”

  Her legs suddenly felt extremely heavy as they lumbered out of the woods.

  “Yeah! Whatever Tien’s got in her case should be perfect. And you only have to put up with it for a few hours.” Sato winked at Ma’at with a cheerful smile.

  “Right… a few hours…” Her legs felt like lead. The road ahead seemed unfathomable now. The future was a path leading to her worst personal hell.

  As the trees grew apart and diverted into an ever-growing clearing, vermilion light seemed to seep and soak into the world around them like a red plague. The sky and fog cleared, and an ocean of sanguine color drenched their surroundings. And, as if it had materialized out of thin air, a towering monolith stood before them. A castle of hundreds, perhaps thousands of needle-sharp turrets and towers stretched up to the heavens. A stairway of a hundred steps ascended up to the construct’s maw, the doorway a triangular void that seemed to ebb and flow as its creator dictated.

  The Crimson Castle dominated the landscape. Its eerie shadow cast across the wicked Aaskiminuvien forest like a billowing cloak. Pink, red, sanguine and other enchanting hues ran up its mighty walls and fixtures like water running in reverse.

  “Wow…!” Sato gasped, slowing her walk and staring in awe.

  “What the hell…? This is what you were talking about, eh?” Grin asked, though he already had his answer.

  Tien nodded, her eyes also locked onto the sinister yet miraculous structure.

  “And the fog… it cleared up. It’s…” Grin paused, flabbergasted. “Seems impossible,” he continued, shaking his head in true disbelief. “Really. I don’t think my buddy mentioned anything about this.”

  Tien shrugged, her overcoat making a light yet calming ruffling sound. “I’d assume it’s mostly only known to the rich.”

  “But… how the hell didn’t we see it coming in? Something so tall… so imposing couldn’t have hid behind some pine trees.”

  “Magic? I don’t know. I don’t know everything, alright? I only know what the Writer permits me to know as the navigator.” She sighed. “No use in overthinking now. Things might get more and more complicated as we go on.”

  “Complicated? I don’t like the sound of that,” Ma’at cut in.

  Tien held her tongue. It would be better that way, she assured herself.

  The trio, Grin, and the rest of the noble folk and their mercenaries made their way further down the path toward the waiting abode. A rustic stench began to assault their nostrils, dulling their sense of smell. As mercenaries, they all knew it instinctually. It was very much the nauseating stench of fresh blood. And as that thought weighed heavily on their minds, the crowd and them were stopped by the sudden appearance of a man at the foot of a bridge. The bridge connected to the castle grounds and was the only way forward.

  Its guardian showed no malicious intent, however, merely there as a sort of chauffeur. He was a youthful man with black, slicked-back hair and a pale face. He wore a colorfully loud suit with long, winding coattails at the back. On his hands were white gloves inlaid with yet another special stitching pattern. Unfortunately, neither Ma’at nor the others recognized it. It seemed very old, ancient perhaps.

  As everyone quieted down and came to a standstill, he spoke in a gentlemanly, prideful, and meaningful way as a butler does when speaking to his masters. “Greetings, honored guests. It is an honor to see so many here today, new and old. My name, if you are not already aware, is Silas. I am a butler and servant of the Lothaire family. I welcome you in my master’s stead. He is very busy with all the arrangements, you see. I hope you do not see his absence as rude and unsatisfactory.” He bowed apologetically.

  “Hmhm. Not at all, not at all! I think I speak on behalf of all of us when I say that we are simply happy to be here.” A nobleman had spoken up at the front, nearest to the butler.

  “Thank you for understanding,” Silas replied with another deep bow. “Now, to get to the matter at hand. Please present your invitations, and if you have them, I will let you pass. Show me nothing, and I cannot allow you to continue.” He stood perfectly straight, then extended his gloved hands as if there was a flat sheet of paper on top of them.

  One by one, the airship passengers placed their individual invitations on his open hands and waited while he inspected them.

  Halfway through the crowd, however, an incident occurred. A merc carrying a strange, makeshift hammer-like weapon took a step forward and presented his invitation as all the others did.

  Silas’s nostrils flared. It seemed as if he were smelling them as well as inspecting them visually to discern which were the genuine articles and which were fake. His face scrunched into a disgusted, furious look suddenly. After a moment, he calmed himself and gazed up from the false invitation and into the eyes of the fraudulent mercenary.

  “Wh-What’s the problem? I got an invitation, same as everybody else. Here on a job!” He puffed out his chest in feigned bravery.

  “This… is a forgery. You insult my lord and lady with such a childish ploy. This is made out of paper.”

  “Yeah, so what? Aren’t they all? They’re just snippets of paper.”

  A terrifying chuckle escaped Silas’s throat. “Imbecile. True invitations to my lord’s home are made from condensed blood. His own blood, in fact. Your invitation, as it were, smells nothing like his blood. It only smells of bark and squirrel piss.”

  “Huh? Now hold on a minute-”

  The sudden sound of squelching innards and dripping blood rang out from the man’s position. Silas had gripped the false invitation with his thumbs and thrust his forward-facing fingers straight into the mercenary’s chest, breaking through his ribcage and plunging into his organs.

  “Kagh! Grglrr…” He stumbled, his legs giving way, but he was kept upright by Silas’s intrusion.

  “I ask that you return with a genuine invitation next time, sir. I can’t let you continue on otherwise, I’m afraid. Please, take this back and take my warning to heart.”

  The irony of the remark was lost to the man as he finally slid off of Silas’s hands and fell to the ground, dead, his paper invitation still lodged in his chest cavity.

  “Oh, bloody hell!” a blond man in a striped suit, fedora, and devil mask cried out at the fool’s demise. “Micky, you goddamned buffoon…” He shook his head, though it was clearly not out of grief, but rather annoyance that his job was just made a tenth harder. “Right scrub, he was. Lying cockatiel. Trippy bastard. Fuck…” He tapped his foot loudly in anger, veins in his hands and neck bulging. His polished leather shoes sounded nice against the stone bridge.

  Silas did not even take the time to peer down at the man he’d executed. He stared blankly at the crowd as he had before the incident. “If anyone else comes forth bearing forgeries, you will meet the same fate. I hope this is a clear enough omen for anyone else who dares enter my lord and lady’s castle uninvited. Now, please, would the rest of you present your invitations so we can get started?”

  The knees of the Vroque trio and the scythe-bearer grew weak at the sight. They watched as Silas wiped his bloodied hands on his clothes, the red fluid evaporating as it touched the silky fabric.

  The remaining soon-to-be guests came forth and laid their respective invitations on the servant’s unwavering phalanges with some more reluctance than before. Though, they had nothing to fear as long as theirs were real. And they were, for all who remained passed with their souls unsevered from their mortal shells. The worst malady gained from the test was a rapidly beating heart accompanied by nervous sweating.

  Beatrice Blackthorn came forward as part of the gathering. It was the first time Ma’at had spotted her since they’d landed. Not once had she seen her amongst the bustling masses while they’d traversed the spooky forest.

  “Ah…!” Silas exclaimed, a wave of relief rushing over him. “Thank our lucky stars, the Masquerade is to be blessed by the Black Blade of Woe. It is, without a doubt, truly an honor most grand to have you here tonight, Lady Blackthorn. My master will be most pleased with this news, yes, oh yes.”

  “Hehe. I trust it will be most entertaining, indeed. A feast and festival for the mind, was it? I hope your lord’s preparations are proceeding as planned, Silas.”

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Ma’at couldn’t see her face, only her back, but she sensed another wide, ineffable smile had crept onto it following those words. A shudder ran up her body, a chill gripping her spine.

  “Of course, your ladyship. All is going according to plan. My lord will be down to greet you as soon as possible.”

  Beatrice nodded politely, then walked past the butler and waited for her allies to follow.

  Next were the last of the Cloudstriker’s passengers: the Swordstress of Ironside, the Maiden of the Rain, a woman holding a large matte black suitcase, and a scruffy fellow with a scythe hanging from his back.

  Tien came forward and procured Vroque’s invitation from her coat pocket. Holding its short end with her thumb and forefinger, she extended it deftly and placed it for Silas to inspect.

  “Vroque Company and Firm, yes? An interesting bouquet of flowers. Master has been giddy at the thought of your arrival, let it be known. There was a certain excitement in his tone whenever he spoke of you three.” Without moving an inch of his body or neck, he looked at Grin from the side of his eyes. They burned a beautiful sanguine color, not unlike the exterior of the Crimson Castle hiding the horizon behind him. “You were not in his plans, but it’s no matter. Every invitation specifically states that any number of friends and family members are allowed to accompany the invitee. I’m sure you will do much to pique his interest even more.”

  Grin scoffed, turning his gaze to the monstrous mansion. A terrible thought entered his mind, but he quickly snuffed it out. Uneasiness would only doom him. He began thinking up a new plan of escape.

  “Right, then. This seems to be in order. The scent is correct, the material of crystallized blood. The handwriting is of my lord and lady’s unique cursive scripture. Yes, welcome dear guests. Welcome to the annual Scarlet Masquerade. I hope you enjoy your time here.” He smiled, fangs amongst his normal teeth showing and glistening in the light of the hazy moon.

  I was right… he really is… a vampire. Ma’at suppressed her surprise, as did the others. It would be impolite to call out another’s race, and to be impolite to a man who had just murdered another with nothing but a simple push would be suicidal at best.

  “Please, this way. Follow me. You can get dressed in the servants’ quarters. That is, the quaint building at the side of the stairs leading up to the main entrance. Invitation or not, I cannot allow you to enter looking the way you do. I’m sure you understand.” He bowed deeply and walked across the rest of the bridge and down the path leading to the grand display.

  As the four ill-dressed guests entered the building Silas had led them to, they were practically pushed into various fitting rooms, poked, and prodded. Dazzling women of baffling beauty wearing frilly dresses surgically stripped them of their boring, dirty, bloody clothes and re-wrapped them in what they could get their hands on. Tien, of course, had offered them the outfits from her case. While they accepted them, they made some adjustments here and there. Some of the adjustments consisted of sewing and fitting, but some others were the addition and erasure of certain elements of the original designs. Sleeves were cut, flower petals and shimmering feathers were added, material was reordered and scrutinized, and stitching was redone or tightened.

  “Ah, there you are! They are all done now, sisters! Who shall we reveal first!?” One of the women, likely the head seamstress, smiled with deadly fangs as she called out to the others.

  “The man!!! Show us the young one!”

  A red curtain rose to reveal Grin in his fresh attire. He was in a fine black suit paired with a black raven’s beak for a mask and matching black gloves.

  “How beautiful! How handsome…! I could just, I could just…” One of the ladies couldn’t finish her sentence. She was practically frothing at the mouth, her eyes trained on him.

  “Now… show us the stern one! Yes, the one that wore the oversized coat! Show her new form to us, Vivian!”

  The next curtain rose to reveal Tien’s new garb. It was a tasteful bluish-gray dress with ribbons flowing from it and a blue rose accompanying her shiny brown hair. Her hair, too, had been rearranged. It was tied near the bottom. Her mask was a classic masquerade mask dyed blue as well.

  “Ooooh, how strikingly demure. A classy lady, she is. Stunning!”

  “Next,” the head seamstress Vivian said, “is the one known as the Maiden of the Rain. That shabby raincoat, however, did not give her title any credit. We have truly made a maiden out of her yet.”

  Another curtain rose to show Sato in a white maiden’s dress. Zig-zagged lines, curved and wavy, washed around its skirt. A white cat mask hid her face, though her mesmerizing violet eyes still shone through its holes.

  “Wonderful! So… cute! Adorable, no less. And now we must see the next and last! Reveal to us the boyish one… the dark-skinned human one could mistake for a savage beast!”

  “The hell did you s-” a voice from behind the curtain sounded, but it was quickly silenced.

  “Show us the Swordstress!” Vivian ordered.

  The last curtain rose for the dress-up’s finale. The normally masculine and scary Ma’at had been stripped of her mercenary gear and dirty appearance. Now, she wore a gaudy, flowing dress. The skirt came down like a miniature parachute from her waist and her chest area was left in an otherwise provocative state… at least, more so than anything she would have ever chosen of her own accord. Dark feathers lined the outside and the dress itself matched her hazel eyes in its color and sheen. A lovely black and orange bow sat in her hair, and a two-pronged, horned mask covered the top half of her face perfectly as it rested atop her nose. Her nails were painted a festive orange that seemed to glow in the dark whenever a shadow was cast upon them.

  “Grandiose!”

  “Truly inspired! Oh, how utterly captivating!”

  “Her glare! It’s too much…! I’m going to faint at this rate!”

  “The juxtaposition of her normal appearance when compared to this new look… it is an emotion higher than the realms of adoration. Her tomboyish nature is obliterated in a moment’s notice, allowing us to peer into an alternate dimension, let us say, a world in which her darling features are allowed to breathe anew. It is vexing that we are not more accompanied with her normal temperament. However, right now she is giving us looks that could kill! The fierceness combined with her natural beauty… it is too complicated a mixture to describe with the common lexicon!” A nerdy and poetic one of the bunch of cosmetic artists spoke with uncontested passion for Ma’at’s new look, but it went unappreciated amidst the chaotic cries and lustful intonations.

  “Silence, all! Silence!” Vivian declared, and thus, the lady seamstresses went dead silent as if they had never spoken a word at all. “Let us hear their takes on the new clothes. What do you think, dear?” She waved a hand toward Grin.

  “Whatever gets us into the mansion, yeah? Who cares?”

  “And you?” She moved her hand toward Tien.

  “Well, I picked them out. Of course I like them.”

  She pointed at Sato.

  “It’s cute, I guess. I don’t mind wearing such a thing, even if it’s not exactly my style…”

  “Hm? You look great, Sato.” Ma’at went wide-eyed and blushed slightly. The words had come out of her mouth so naturally that she hadn’t thought about the implication at all. “Erm… I mean, well… it suits you. Unlike this horrible monstrosity…” She looked down at herself in abhorrence.

  “That’s not true!” Sato cried. “...You’re beautiful.”

  The two women suddenly fell silent and looked away from one another.

  Vivian cackled like a predatory crow. “Hahahehe! How apropos! Yes, we are all quite stunning, aren’t we? Now, fine guests, you are ready to enter our lord’s castle. You are finally ready for the Masquerade, at long last! Come with me.”

  Everyone, Ma’at especially, followed her reluctantly. They passed back through the servants’ quarters and back out to the yard wherein they took an immediate left turn and started the arduous climb up the hundred stairs to the tower’s maw.

  “You put us in these hot, stuffy clothes… haah… haah… and then make us trek up a mountain!?” Ma’at’s fury was unbarred now. She spoke through pants as she ran up the seemingly endless stairway.

  “Enjoy the feast, new blood!” Vivian waved them off at the bottom, ignoring Ma’at’s whining. “Let it be a glamorous dance.”

  Ma’at squinted as she looked up and around her. The others ran up the stairs as she did, blood-red twilight eclipsing the sky. As they climbed up higher and higher, the world almost seemed as though it were filtered through a fish-eye lens. What was close seemed even closer, and what laid far out seemed even farther. She pulled up her dress slightly to free her legs. Though she was used to long, uncomfortable hikes such as these, she had never done any of them in clothes she found so utterly repugnant and annoying. Be that as it may, Sato seemed to disagree, and she wasn’t about to make her sad and disappointed in her, no. And she definitely wasn’t going to lose to her in a ‘race’ to the top. See, Ma’at was a natural competitor at heart. There was no race discussed beforehand, but to her, it was a race. She needed to reach the top first. Not for bolstering her ego, however, but to prove to herself and Sato that whatever horrid outfit she wore wouldn’t affect her physical abilities in the slightest.

  Grin and Sato came close to beating her, but in the end, Ma’at came to a sweaty yet triumphant victory.

  “Yes…! “ she exclaimed in a muted, exasperated voice. The others looked at her in confusion. She had won at a competition known only to herself, after all.

  The world curved and warped at the precipice. Or, more accurately, the top of the stairs. The castle’s true peak was much, much higher up, but even at its entrance they seemed to be at a great height. They could see the multitude of trees shrouding the area, the great stone bridge that now looked like a child’s toy, and the servants’ quarters that could fit in the palm of their hands respectively.

  They gathered at the Crimson Castle’s gateway. There wasn’t a normal door. Instead, there was a shimmering veil dotted with wispy lights swirling in darkness. Its wavy rim was coated in the same sanguine colors as the spires that towered over them.

  “Uh… is that safe?” Grin asked, apprehension heavy in his words.

  Tien opened her mouth to speak, to reassure him, but someone else beat her to it. The man who had introduced himself as Silas suddenly appeared from behind a nearby pillar. “Do not fear, guests. Simply walk forward and you will enter. This is the last of our precautions. A form of… security, if you will.” He motioned for them to continue.

  Grin mumbled something to himself, took a look at Tien, then shrugged and charged into the veil. It almost looked as though he had been absorbed by it, like he’d been disintegrated and atomized, but any doubt in their minds was quickly dissuaded when they heard his voice from behind the starry wall. “Hurry up, already. It’s safe!”

  Heeding his call, the trio followed. A tickling sensation akin to static electricity danced across their skin as they passed through. A slightly nauseating dizziness, too, racked their minds for a moment, but it passed instantaneously when they reached the other side. The stars subsided, the veil loosened its grasp, and the innards of the Count’s domain was finally laid bare for all to see.

  A tremendously grand hall unfurled before them, coated in crimson, onyx, and golden splendor. There seemed to be countless doors and stairways, but some were locked, and the ones that weren’t seemed to be off the beaten path.

  As though he were a personification of their need for guidance, Silas followed behind them, strode past, and directed them again, this time straight forward down the impressive hallway. “This way, sir and ladies. The atrium awaits. There, we can begin the reception.”

  Nodding their heads, they followed along. The butler’s swirling coattails bounced up and down as he walked purposefully.

  “Your master… I don’t think we’ve heard his name yet. What is it?” Ma’at inquired, blunt as ever.

  Silas forgave her for her discourteousness and chuckled dryly. “Hmhm. My lord and master, yes. His name, in full, is Count Julius von Lothaire. Remember it and know it well, for he is legendary in these lands. There have been many like you, those who have received his invitation without knowing who at all he is. It is common for guests to learn of his great achievements on the spot, from the man himself. For you see, he attracts those he is interested in. And, at the same time, seeks out those who would be interested in him as well. Just like that Writer fellow, my lord loves to hear fantastical tales. He delights in meeting important people from around the continent. He grows bored quite easily, so this is his annual pastime, one he looks forward to very much.” A warm smile graced his pallid face.

  “You know about the Writer?”

  “Of course, Swordstress. How could we not know? Count Julius von Lothaire is not drawn to common folk nor one’s surface level accomplishments. He finds those that spark a flame of inspiration within him, then he delves into all he can, learns all there is to know of them. Once he reaches the point where he must hear about the person from the person themselves, he sends them an invitation to the Scarlet Masquerade. Thus, you were all invited, and here you are now. I trust you will not disappoint him.” Despite his youthful appearance, it was clear that he was quite old and wise. A vampire truly shows no age so long as it feasts often.

  “I see,” Ma’at replied, a complicated feeling rising in her chest. Were they really here to quell a vampire lord’s eternal boredom? Surely not. The Writer was interested in a certain item, and Beatrice was their true client. Ma’at couldn’t even begin to fathom what strange and ineffable trials the noble lady would put them through in the coming hours. For now, she set her worries aside and decided to simply move forward, hoping for the best. She imagined herself and the others as nothing more than leaves being thrown from side to side by powerful winds, unable to change their course even the slightest bit. What happens, happens… I suppose. The saying did not set her at ease. If anything, it stained her aching heart with a turbid concoction. No matter how she felt, the events to come would transpire, and only then could she act with enlightenment.

  “Here we are,” Silas chimed, pushing open a tall set of doors at the end of the hall.

  The atrium, wide and all-encompassing, came into view in a moment. Countless chattering groups dotted the room like ants across a mound of dirt. The cacophony of voices rushed in and were very nearly torturous at first, but after a minute or two they began to fade into the background as the Vroque women and Grin grew more accustomed to it. A huge rectangular table draped in gold-stitched, white cloth caught their attention. It was in the center of the room, and had the most guests surrounding it. Plates upon plates upon plates of steaming food lined its top, all emitting wondrous smells that threatened to possess them all at once. They hadn’t eaten since leaving the Cloudstriker, after all, and were more than ready to give in to such a heavenly feast.

  Silas chuckled heartily upon seeing their gluttonous expressions. “Eat, dear guests. Help yourselves. My lord will show himself shortly. Feel free to chat and converse with the others, if you’d like.” And with that, the Count’s servant gave them a light wave and left them alone, completely out of their element.

  “Hm? What’s up with her?” Grin asked, truly perplexed and pointing at Ma’at.

  Sato nodded solemnly. “Mm. Yep. Seems like all of these people in the same room broke her brain. Ma’at…? Ma’at? You okay…?” She shook her by the shoulders. The feathers hanging from her dress waved and shimmered in the red-tinged light.

  Ma’at’s pupils sharpened and she returned to her senses, the stupor leaving her body slightly. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Just not too fond-”

  “Of crowds? Mhm. You told us,” Tien interrupted. She groped at her hair and let her vision wander across the ocean of bodies.

  Grin laughed bitterly, placing his hands in his pockets. “So this what they’re doing, huh?”

  “What do you mean?” Tien raised an eyebrow.

  “This is how they’d rather spend their time. Chatting, eating, complimenting each other all day. Do you know how many bodies fill the canals in Indigo every day? I sure as hell don’t. Can’t count high enough.”

  “I’m sure you have good reason to hate them, but they’re not all lazy aristocrats, you know. There have to be others that are fighting just as hard. It’s just… I’ve heard there isn’t much you can do to sway the popular opinion in Reville.”

  Grin wrestled with his tongue again, trying to come up with something witty to say, but fell short. “Yeah… ain’t much anyone can do. But that doesn’t mean they should stop trying.”

  Tien looked at him with a small smile. Her amber hair wrapped around her head like a pillow. “That’s the spirit. You should take your own advice.”

  He did not return the smile. Instead, he simply narrowed his eyes in annoyance. “I never stopped trying. Working for Inkorpt? I had to, to survive. You bourgeoisie with your cushy jobs could never understand.”

  Her smile faded instantly at the remark. “Take that back.”

  “...Why?”

  “Because it isn’t true. I do understand.” Memories of the far past… and even of the Lord of Cogs and his acolytes sprung to mind. The Cog from Kohru, the owner of the clockwork eye safely in her suitcase, would never let her forget such a tragedy.

  Grin stared into her adamant, sky blue eyes. After a while, he turned away and scoffed. “Whatever, lady. Pointless thing to argue about, anyway…”

  There was a coldness to him that would be impossible to melt away, Tien decided. Grin, he seemed to her, donned a perfectly amicable and even jovial personality most of the time, but it was usually an act, nothing more. In truth, the tall, lengthy, scruffy man was anything but jovial at heart. In his soul, a deep seriousness had been embedded into him, accompanied too by a sputtering flame; the fire of an ancient rage that had been boiling within since his early years of life. Perhaps he hated those parts of himself and dared not show them to anyone for any length of time for fear of being misunderstood and treated poorly.

  “There’s Beatrice,” Ma’at observed. The petite woman in a black, frilly dress and winged mask stood near the buffet table talking to other nobles and her Frostlander allies. “Think we better talk to her? We don’t even know what she wants us to do yet.”

  Tien deliberated, lost in thought, pensively pinching her chin, then looked at Ma’at with flashing eyes and nodded readily. “The sooner the better, I think. If we’re to kill two birds with one stone, that is,” she stated enigmatically.

  Withholding her brimming questions, Ma’at agreed and the group walked across the atrium with a goal in mind. They didn’t exactly walk nor talk like noble folk, but to all who didn’t look upon them too carefully, they blended in seamlessly.

  And so began the Scarlet Masquerade anew, brilliant fireworks and spires of blood crowning the Crimson Castle in all its monolithic, vampiric imperiousness.