The Echo of the Sovereigns

  Night had finally fallen over the palace. Amarantha lay in bed after a bath that had barely managed to scrub away the feeling of filth that place had left on her skin. Her hair was still damp, and her eyes were fixed on the shadows crawling across the ceiling as her mind began to replay the day’s images—like fragments of a lucid nightmare.

  In the darkness of her room, the visions came one after another with a painful clarity:

  She saw Fusuro again, crossing the hall with those women in chains, treated like high-end livestock. Then the image shifted to Ganza, gorging himself at the table with a voracity that made him look more beast than man.

  She remembered Eliotas’ raised hand, silencing the presenter and erasing the existence of the lesser Houses with a single gesture of contempt. After that came Angelos’ face—wearing that cheerful smile that now, knowing the sadism it concealed, felt more terrifying than any scream.

  Finally, she recalled that moment of absolute tension: a distant exchange of glances with Furher. Even behind her mask of servitude and the anonymity of her uniform, she had felt those tactical eyes trying to pierce her disguise.

  And as a closing image, the table of House Pertrabish—Lederas’ chair empty, like a black hole in the structure of power.

  Over all of it, Victor’s voice layered itself in with a melancholic weight:

  “Not all Sovereigns are inherently evil, Amarantha. Many of them are simply indifferent. There are even some who must secretly hate the leaders of the Conglomerate… but they’re forced to endure their customs and cruelties in order to survive.”

  In Amarantha’s mind, Victor’s voice explained the kingdom’s brutal reality:

  “In Rousth, every House works only for its own interests. Some were once great and ended in ruin because they didn’t know how to navigate the political tides of the most powerful. While some desperately chase more status and influence, others only try to go unnoticed. It all comes down to survival.”

  In that moment, Amarantha remembered the Sovereign who had knelt to clean Fusuro’s footwear.

  “Smaller Houses become the ‘lapdogs’ of the great ones if it means they can rise,” Victor continued. “Others prefer to hide behind indifference so they don’t inconvenience the major Houses.”

  The vision shifted to a moment from the banquet: Eliotas moved toward a table to take a goblet, and a lesser Sovereign, noticing his presence, withdrew at once in a submissive gesture—avoiding even eye contact so as not to disturb the giant.

  Amarantha closed her eyes in the dark.

  The map of Rousth wasn’t only made of walls and corridors. It was made of fears, humiliations, and silences bought with blood.

  She was there to break that balance.

  But that night, the weight of everything she had seen wrapped around her like a shroud.

  Amarantha returned to the present, staring at the ceiling with dull, lifeless eyes. The silence of the room seemed to press down on her chest.

  “Did I choose my own fate?” she whispered, the doubt burning inside her.

  In her mind, the memories repeated like an open wound: the times she had been humiliated, struck, and inspected like merchandise in the maids’ Stable. That dehumanizing treatment blended with Zeldrin’s voice, reminding her of the pact she herself had accepted: she had to be willing to do anything, no matter how low she had to sink, in order to obtain the information.

  Feeling the weight of the loneliness and sacrifice ahead of her, she closed her eyes and finally let sleep take her.

  The Palace Reconnaissance

  Amarantha walked through the interior of the Sovereigns’ Grand Palace, an immense place of endless corridors and architecture that seemed to have no end. Her gaze was not that of a distracted maid; as she moved, she methodically memorized every corner: the doors she passed through, the walls that flanked her, even the acoustics of the place—distinguishing where the stone was solid and where the sound suggested hollow spaces.

  Along the way, she identified storerooms packed with luxury goods, banquet halls, vast art galleries, and meeting rooms that always seemed occupied. She knew the Direcrim was concentrated here, so the uncertainty of finding someone behind a door was constant. The corridors were traveled by every kind of person: from high-ranking dignitaries and foreign delegates to security guards patrolling with steady strides.

  Amarantha analyzed the possible routes for movement, evaluating which areas were most crowded during the day and which were left deserted once night fell, always searching for the most effective escape paths.

  As she carried out her domestic duties, she used the opportunity to dissect the palace’s human board. She observed the conventional employees—cleaning and maintenance workers who, unlike her, were only allowed to circulate through common spaces.

  She noted the variety of roles that kept the complex alive. She saw tasters assigned to supervise the liquors in the bar areas, scribes drafting documents in the administrative offices, and librarians moving among information archives. She also identified messengers, supply handlers, and attendants who rotated by shift, forming a network of workers she needed to understand thoroughly in order to know who she shared the space with.

  Despite her freedom of movement as a Cloth Maid, she was aware of her limits. Her main role was to enter the private chambers and halls where the Sovereigns met—places where conventional staff were forbidden to set foot. She knew she could not enter other restricted areas without a valid reason, so she understood that any incursion outside her assigned zone would depend on necessity and on whatever circumstances time would determine.

  Her greatest advantage remained her invisibility. The fact that she was present there granted her the privilege of hearing the Sovereigns’ direct conversations, catching plans and decisions no one else could ever hear.

  Although so far she had not found herself in critical situations, nor witnessed the horrors Victor had warned her about, Amarantha kept her guard high. She knew the palace’s calm was only a surface—and that sooner or later, her mission would force her to witness Rousth’s true nature.

  The Anatomy of Silence

  Amarantha began to witness the first meetings of the Sovereigns. She noticed the topics of conversation varied depending on the profile of the hosts: from strategic plans and economic agreements, to discussions about luxuries and private pleasures. In these gatherings, her presence was treated with absolute indifference; to those present, she was just another object in the room, which allowed them to speak of confidential matters without hesitation, as if she were nothing more than another table.

  Just as the supervisor had told her, in certain sectors of the palace no other kind of employee was allowed to enter unless they were a cloth maid. They were required to carry out domestic duties in those areas precisely while the Sovereigns were gathered; the rest of the staff could only enter once the sessions had ended. Cloth maids were, essentially, direct assistants—but under the condition of being treated as material objects. In some way, her training in the Stable had conditioned her to behave with the “normality” the masters expected, a conduct she understood operationally in her mind, but which only confirmed how rotten the system truly was.

  Thanks to that invisibility, she began collecting fragments of information that, on their own, seemed irrelevant, but were starting to outline something far larger. She devoted herself to studying the members of the different Houses she interacted with, identifying the most influential leaders and those who depended on others to maintain their status. She analyzed every link and hierarchy, comparing her observations with the intelligence Sapphire Division already possessed about them. Even though everything was limited to what she heard indirectly, in some cases it was enough to assemble a schematic of political relationships and power quotas.

  In the privacy of her quarters, Amarantha wrote down records of the most relevant things she had caught. For now, the information came mostly from minor Houses, and there were no decisive details that justified an emergency report. However, based on what she learned, she analyzed every clue and detail, noticing that certain enemies were already beginning to mobilize. According to her assessment, Reydem was listed among Rousth’s external threats, but it was no longer a priority for Direcrim. After decades of having been a massive army, the organization had declined until it was seen as a minor threat—an echo of the past. Still, the order to exterminate any remnant of Reydem remained in effect, even if it was not an urgent matter for the high command.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  The main interest that still persisted among some Sovereigns—though it had faded over time—was the Violet Gold mines. It was theorized that Reydem still possessed this resource, though many believed it had already been seized or destroyed. No one knew the exact whereabouts of the mines, but Amarantha knew the Erthus base was the center of that wealth. Violet Gold was one of the most valuable commodities in the world, used as a high-value currency, impossible to counterfeit due to its unique material nature. Very little was distributed across the regions, and Reydem managed its reserves carefully so as not to leave traces that they still held large quantities.

  Amarantha understood her task was harder than expected. At present, Sapphire Division was not fighting the full force of Direcrim, but rather the troops and private armies of Sovereigns with their own interests. That represented a momentary tactical advantage, but she knew that if the conflict escalated, the risk would rise drastically. For now, Sapphire Division’s mission was to act as a decoy: to divert the attention of the Sovereigns’ troops and expansions away from the areas where Violet Division and the remnants of Gold Division carried out their research and object-hunting operations. The ultimate objective was to locate the artifacts needed to sever the External Entities from Earth, while keeping the organization’s secret bases off Rousth’s radar.

  The Erthus Protocol

  A contingent of men and women advanced in a blind procession, their eyes sealed beneath dark blindfolds under a strict security protocol. Among them was Thomas.

  Suddenly, the march stopped.

  An operative without a blindfold—his face hidden behind a balaclava—announced in a deep voice:

  “We’ve arrived.”

  Thomas removed his blindfold, blinking at the intensity of the light before turning back to the group.

  “Remove your blindfolds,” he ordered firmly.

  Sixty people stripped the cloth from their faces, revealing a mix of expectation and restrained nerves.

  “Follow me,” Thomas instructed. “Welcome to Erthus.”

  After a long walk, the group entered the base and was led into a conference room of austere architecture.

  Waiting for them was Uther, the General.

  With a brief speech, sharp with martial discipline, he gave them their official welcome, informing them that after the initial phase they would be distributed among Reydem’s different operational divisions.

  Once Uther withdrew, Thomas remained alone with the thirty new members assigned under his supervision.

  “After interviewing each of you individually,” Thomas began calmly, “I’m certain you all share Reydem’s ideals. From this moment on, your technical training will begin before you’re distributed.”

  He explained that Erthus functioned as the central intelligence base, responsible for strategic coordination between all divisions in order to ensure both military efficiency and the success of discovery missions.

  Thomas began walking slowly as he broke down the units:

  Rock Division: Led by Commander Haralf, the Defender. This is our internal police—solid in combat and focused on protecting hidden bases, logistical operations, and economic security.

  Violet Division: Under the command of Neteros, the Philosopher. They dedicate themselves to pure research: deciphering ancient symbology and interpreting hidden hieroglyphs or cryptographies that bind the Aspects to Earth. They are our mind.

  Sapphire Division: Thomas paused to emphasize the name. This is our active combat division and the first line of defense against the mercenaries and military forces kingdoms like Rousth send to attack us. It is led by Commander Zeldrin, the Pragmatist.

  “This is the structure that composes Reydem. You will receive specific details later,” Thomas concluded before calling the oath. “For Reydem!”

  “For Reydem!” the thirty recruits responded in unison.

  Thomas left the room and headed to the office of Director Hedo Murem.

  When he entered, he found him focused on two tasks at once: drafting coded manuscripts while moving pieces on a chessboard, playing a match against himself.

  “Director, thirty new recruits have joined the organization,” Thomas reported after greeting him.

  “That’s good,” Hedo replied, without lifting his eyes from his writing.

  “I’ve instructed them on Reydem’s purpose and its main divisions,” Thomas added. “However, I omitted any reference to the Gold Division for obvious operational reasons.”

  “I understand. That was best for now,” Hedo nodded.

  Thomas continued with the logistical report:

  “For the moment, they will remain in Erthus supporting the base’s logistical operations. In addition, an operation is being coordinated to integrate them into Rock Division. We need to strengthen the defenses in the bases that guard and monitor our commercial and expansion activities.”

  Hedo Murem slid a bishop across the board.

  “Haralf will give them a strict reception, but he is a commander who protects his people,” Thomas assured. “They will be very necessary resources. Also, Fernando has managed to establish new economic channels with foreign influences during his deployment in Rock Division, securing the resources needed to create new bases in other regions.”

  As Thomas spoke, Hedo continued recording data in his manuscripts at a steady rhythm.

  Thomas paused, then lowered his voice to deliver the most critical information:

  “One more thing, Director. Sapphire Division reports they’ve established the infiltration method for the Rousth palace. Amarantha will do it... however, she’ll do it as a cloth maid.”

  At the term, Hedo Murem’s pen stopped dead.

  His hand froze over the chessboard for a moment of tense stillness.

  “I understand,” he said at last, resuming his writing.

  Thomas withdrew after requesting permission.

  Once alone, Hedo Murem gripped the bishop between his fingers, squeezing it with a force that betrayed his internal conflict. A shadow of deep concern crossed his face.

  “Amarantha...” he whispered to himself,

  while she was already moving through the palace corridors under her cloth maid cover.

  Thomas, Recruiter and Logistics Leader of Reydem’s Erthus Base (27 years old)

  The Value of Indifference

  Amarantha entered one of the private chambers of the Grand Palace at the exact moment a Sovereign was waking beside a woman. Noticing the intrusion, the companion visibly tensed, but the man calmed her with a gesture of utter contempt:

  —Don’t worry. She’s no one; just a cloth maid.

  Under that label of nonexistence, Amarantha carried out her duties mechanically. She gathered objects and tidied the room with the efficiency of an automaton, processing her surroundings as though her presence were nothing more than a shadow cast on the walls.

  Later, as she moved through the complex’s intricate corridors, she encountered the same man again. He approached, beginning to circle her with a predatory attitude.

  —Hello, pretty thing. You must be new. I don’t remember seeing someone like you before, he remarked, stopping directly in front of her.

  Amarantha maintained a sepulchral silence, strictly following the protocol that forbade them from speaking to a superior unless they were questioned directly. The Sovereign pressed on:

  —What do they call you, maid?

  —My name is L9, she replied, her voice stripped of any inflection.

  —L9… I need you to help me with something, he ordered, demanding that she accompany him.

  With no room to refuse, bound by the code of absolute obedience, she followed. They entered a secluded corridor, far from the flow of staff, where he suddenly shoved her back against the wall.

  —I like cloth maids, he whispered, invading her personal space with a suffocating closeness. They say you’re excellent in every sense. I enjoy coming to the palace because you have something other women don’t.

  Ronti

  Amarantha remained motionless, her gaze lost in the void. The man began to grip her by the waist, pressing her body against the stone as his hand slid slowly down her hip.

  —I’d like to welcome you, he continued, his breath brushing the maid’s neck. As you know, you’re supposed to do whatever we ask of you.

  Just as his hand slid toward Amarantha’s thighs, the sharp sound of a door being thrown open shattered the scene. A man entered slowly, his gaze carrying an icy seriousness. It was Furher.

  Furher, Sovereign of House Freide (51 years old)

  The moment he recognized the Magno Sovereign, the aggressor stepped away from Amarantha at once. His posture changed drastically—predator turned into a servile subordinate, snapping to attention before his superior like a lapdog.

  —Lord Furher… he stammered, visibly nervous.

  Furher stopped in front of him, completely ignoring the compromising situation in which he had found him.

  —Ronti, you did not carry out what I ordered, Furher stated, his voice cold enough to freeze the air.

  Ronti began to babble desperate excuses:

  —I was reviewing it with the other Sovereigns, sir… but we ran into issues. The mercenaries couldn’t carry out the operation. The other Sovereigns didn’t ensure it properly…

  Without a word, Furher drew his sword in a lightning-fast motion, placing the steel’s tip directly against Ronti’s throat. The man raised his hands, trembling with terror. Amarantha, though she maintained her submissive posture, couldn’t help a faint flash of surprise at the Magno Sovereign’s sudden, precise violence.

  —I gave that task to you, Ronti, Furher said without flinching. The fact that you couldn’t handle it because of third parties only proves you’re incapable of keeping control of the situation. Twice you’ve failed me.

  —Forgive me, Lord Furher… things didn’t go as planned, Ronti pleaded, on the verge of panic.

  —Silence, Furher cut him off.

  In that instant, Furher briefly shifted his gaze toward Amarantha, assessing her for a fraction of a second before focusing back on his subordinate.

  —If you fail me a third time, I will personally see to it that you and your House are destroyed completely.

  —Yes, my lord… I understand, Ronti replied, his voice breaking.

  Furher lowered the sword and started to leave, but after a few steps he stopped, adding one final directive:

  —And one more thing: you will not return to this part of the palace unless I explicitly request your presence.

  Ronti fled down the corridor quickly, repeating gestures of submission as he disappeared. Furher, for his part, walked past Amarantha without giving her a single word or gesture of acknowledgment. To Rousth’s strategist, she simply did not exist; she was, as the system dictated, just another object in the palace’s inventory.

  The Residue of Silence

  Later, water ran over Amarantha’s body in the solitude of the bath. She washed herself with mechanical gestures, dried off with unhurried calm, and finally lay down in bed. There, as every night, she fixed her gaze on the ceiling, holding that dull, lightless stare that had become her only constant in the dark.

  But the silence of the room was not enough to contain memory. Motionless, her mind replayed the encounter in the corridor: she felt the trace of Sovereign Ronti’s hands at her waist, and the sensation of his fingers sliding lower, slowly. The recollection brought back the weight of his presence—his mouth pressed to her neck, the sound of his breathing invading her space, and the brush of his lips against her skin, her cheek, her shoulder.

  Back in the reality of her chamber, Amarantha blinked slowly, without looking away from the ceiling.

  “This can’t affect me,” she whispered to herself. “After all, I knew what I was exposing myself to.”

  In that instant, the memory of the supervisor in the Stable surfaced—holding out that blister pack of contraceptive pills with a blunt instruction: “You’ll need these.” That gesture was the technical confirmation of her new reality; proof that her body no longer belonged to her, and that the organization had prepared her to be violated as part of her operational role.

  Then Furher’s image returned. She remembered that brief crossing of gazes, and the way the Magno Sovereign had walked away with absolute indifference, treating her like an irrelevant piece of décor, even after interrupting Ronti’s assault.

  Amarantha remained still, reaffirming her resolve in the dimness.

  “I have to be ready for the worst,” she said, her voice flat. “Until all of this… is over.”

  With that final thought, her eyes slowly drifted shut until, at last, she fell asleep.