Chapter 10: A First Mystery of the Orimvess Empire.
Rayvaris stared at the letter again, fingers trembling despite her effort to still them.
The Twelfth Princess’s challenge hung over her like a gathering storm, heavy and inescapable, pressing against her chest until each breath felt measured.
A month of training.
A month of pain, collapse, recovery.
And still—nothing ahead of her looked survivable.
“Master… she is not qualified to enter that place,” Sylvaris said flatly.
Her arms were crossed, posture unyielding. Her gaze remained fixed on Rayvaris—not accusatory, but sharp, as though attempting to strip away every uncertainty hiding beneath her silence.
“You never know until you allow the test to judge,” Elara Nightshade replied.
His voice was calm. Too calm.
His eyes, however, were not—piercing and unreadable, studying Rayvaris as though her body were only a surface, and her soul the true subject of interest.
Rayvaris frowned. Her pulse quickened.
“What… what are you talking about?”
Sylvaris’s lips pressed into a thin line before she answered. “The First King’s Tabu. Entry is restricted. Those who step within are confronted with three questions.”
She paused—deliberately.
“Answer all three correctly, and the First King himself may grant you the sword techniques of legend. Even a single correct answer allows one year of training within the Tabu.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
“Only the worthy may pass.”
Rayvaris stiffened. “Wait—are you saying I could avoid the duel entirely… and be judged directly by the First King?”
“No,” Elara said at once, his tone steady but weighted. “It is not that simple. Child.”
Rayvaris bristled. “Who are you calling ‘child’?”
A faint, almost amused tilt touched Sylvaris’s expression. “You will understand soon enough.”
She turned her gaze outward, toward the distant forest. “Time behaves differently there. One year inside the Tabu passes as a single day beyond its boundary.”
Rayvaris froze.
“…Time bends?”
Her mouth fell open. “You’re saying that place twists time—and you expect me to enter it?”
“Yes,” Elara said quietly—almost with reverence. “And the First King is no ordinary ruler. Few have ever seen him. Some claim he exists as much in spirit as in flesh.”
His gaze did not leave Rayvaris.
“His judgments are absolute. His mysteries… without end.”
Rayvaris’s hands curled into fists.
“And if I answer all three questions,” she said, voice tight, “the sword techniques are mine? Three years to train?”
“You are correct,” Sylvaris replied without hesitation. Her tone hardened. “But entry is denied to the unworthy.”
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Rayvaris’s breath caught. “Why?”
“Only those of Elowen blood may pass the threshold,” Sylvaris said. “And even then, the Tabu does not test strength alone. It examines the mind. The heart. The soul.”
Something surged in Rayvaris’s chest—hot, reckless.
“Then I have the blood,” she said. “Maybe I’m meant to be the next king.”
Elara’s lips twitched, barely perceptible. The amusement never reached his eyes.
“Is that so?” he asked calmly.
“Hey! Old man—don’t laugh!” Rayvaris snapped. “I just said I’ll be king!”
A low chuckle escaped him.
“Bold words,” Elara said, his eyes softening for no more than a breath. “But words alone will never be enough.”
Sylvaris allowed herself a faint smirk. “Did you intend to say ‘queen’?”
Rayvaris exhaled slowly.
Right. This body.
Fine. Let them laugh. It doesn’t matter.
A short, unguarded sound escaped Elara—a quiet chuckle, quickly joined by Sylvaris’s restrained amusement.
“Hah,” Elara said. “Confidence is not lacking, at least.”
Rayvaris stopped walking.
She turned back.
“Fine,” she said, voice calm, almost resigned. “Then I won’t be king.”
The laughter lingered—just for a moment longer.
Rayvaris lifted her chin.
“I’ll be the one who rules everything,” she continued evenly. “The king of the whole world.”
She paused, correcting herself without hesitation.
“…Queen of the world.”
The forest seemed to still.
Sylvaris’s smirk froze, caught halfway between amusement and disbelief.
Elara’s smile faded—not into anger, but into something sharper. His eyes narrowed, measuring, searching, as though the weight of her words had reached him a heartbeat late.
For the first time, neither of them laughed.
Elara’s expression sobered.
“Sylvaris,” he said quietly, the levity gone from his voice, “speak plainly. The Tabu is not merely a trial of skill. It is… unstable. Unpredictable.”
His gaze returned to Rayvaris—no humor remaining now.
Only scrutiny.
“Only those who can face the unknown—and endure what lies beyond it—will survive. And beyond it waits the First King.”
Rayvaris’s heart slammed against her ribs.
The First King.
Even the name carried weight, as though the air itself responded—subtle, oppressive, as if the forest beyond the walls were listening.
“The Tabu lies behind the Queen’s villa,” Sylvaris said. “Deep within the forest.”
Her tone sharpened.
“Find the two bird statues. Walk between them, and you may enter. Attempt to force your way through…”
She paused.
“…and you will not return.”
Rayvaris swallowed. Her throat felt tight, uncooperative.
“Why are we rushing this?” she asked, turning to Sylvaris. “I don’t know anything about the questions. What if I fail because I’m not ready?”
Sylvaris’s eyes narrowed, steel-hard.
“There is no preparation for what cannot be known,” she said. “You enter. You endure. You learn.”
Her voice did not soften.
“That is the only path.”
Rayvaris pressed her lips together. Fear churned beneath her ribs, tangled with frustration.
Fine. I’ll do it myself.
“Layra,” Sylvaris called.
“Yes, Your Highness,” Layra answered at once, bowing deeply.
“Take Rayvaris to the First King’s Tabu,” Sylvaris ordered. “If she does not pass, commence her hard training there for five days.”
The command left no room for refusal.
-----
[The Forest and the First King’s Tabu]
The trees rose immediately—tall, oppressive, their twisted branches stretching overhead like grasping fingers. Light thinned beneath the canopy, breaking into fragments that never quite reached the ground. The air grew dense, unnaturally still, as though the forest itself had drawn a slow, deliberate breath and refused to release it.
A whisper moved through the leaves.
Not a voice.
Not quite.
A suggestion.
A warning.
Rayvaris’s steps slowed.
“…Layra,” she said quietly.
“Yes, Your Highness?”
“This forest,” Rayvaris murmured, eyes flicking toward the shadows between the trunks, “it feels like something is going to appear at any moment.”
Layra glanced around once—measured, professional. “There are no ghosts here.”
Rayvaris frowned. “That wasn’t comforting.”
“The forest is old,” Layra replied evenly. “Age often feels like presence. It does not mean something is watching you.”
Rayvaris was not convinced.
Her heart had already begun to race.
Each step grew heavier than the last. Roots broke the ground at irregular angles, shadows blurring together until distance lost meaning. Every rustle carried weight. Every shift of air reminded her how little she understood about what waited ahead.
“The First King,” Rayvaris said suddenly.
Layra’s pace did not change. “Yes?”
“Do you think he’s really still alive?” Rayvaris asked. “Or is he… something else?”
Layra was silent for a moment. Then, “That question has never had a single answer.”
Rayvaris swallowed.
The First King.
Unseen.
Unreachable.
Almost unreal.
And yet his presence pressed against her thoughts—vast, indistinct—like something watching from far beyond her vision.
They walked on.
Behind them, far from the forest’s edge, Sylvaris and Elara remained at the villa, unmoving. Their figures did not follow. Their eyes did—until the trees closed around Rayvaris and she vanished from sight.
No farewell.
No reassurance.
Only anticipation.
Rayvaris drew in a slow breath.
The path ahead was uncertain. Dangerous. Whatever awaited her within the Tabu carried the power to strip away everything she believed she was.
Still—
Beneath the fear, something steady burned on.
Resolve.
The First King’s Tabu awaits.
And I will not turn back.
