On the night Captain Neyoundo died, a violent, unnatural thunder cracked the sky over Vala.
High in the tallest spire of the palace, a man stood by a window of enchanted glass. King Lumino did not need lanterns; his own presence cast a soft, blinding radiance. He stared into the darkness of the western horizon. For a fleeting second, an illusion appeared in the clouds—a pair of massive, celestial eyes, ancient and closed, as if a great creature was sleeping just behind the veil of the world. Only the King saw it. As the eyes faded, the sound of breaking glass echoed through every hall of the city, though not a single window was shattered. It was the sound of a destiny cracking.
The following morning, the Great Hall of Vala stood in stark contrast to the brilliance outside. The room was a pocket of absolute, curated darkness.
Eight ornate chairs were arranged in a semi-circle before a towering throne. Seated there were the eight elites—princes and princesses of the blood, their faces hidden in the gloom, their silks shimmering like oil on water. Behind the King’s throne stood a massive mirror, but it offered no reflection. It was a pale, black void that seemed to swallow the light.
“Your Highness,” one of the elites spoke, his voice silk and venom. “Chaos is stirring in our paradise.”
“Yes, my King,” another added, leaning forward. “They have murdered one of our High Rank Sentinels. Neyoundo is gone.”
A third elite, idly stroking a long-haired cat, smirked. “A shadowless boy and a wandering witch are said to be behind it. A freak and a fugitive.”
The youngest of the women tilted her head. “What is your command, my Lord? Shall we level the forest?”
Silence reclaimed the room. Shadows began to crawl across the floor, circling the throne like loyal hounds. King Lumino sat with his chin resting on his hand. A stray beam of light caught the lower half of his face, revealing a jagged scar that ran from his chin to his mouth—a mark of a past he had outgrown.
“Do nothing,” the King said, his voice a calm, resonant hum. “What matters is that there are no civilian witnesses. Replace the fallen Captain quietly. Select a candidate who knows how to stay in the shadows.”
He picked up a wanted poster from a side table. Sugat and Hiraya’s faces stared back at him.
“Make sure the story holds,” the King added, his tone sharpening. “No allied kingdoms, no merchants, not even the common folk must sense a scandal.”
He smiled, a cold, predatory expression. “As for those involved... do not hunt them with armies. Let the people blame them. Frame them for the famine, for the storms, for every misfortune. Let the kingdom hunt its own monsters.”
The elites knelt as the King’s dark aura flared, swallowing the room in a cold, golden heat.
Miles away, in the dense undergrowth of the western border, the world felt much less divine.
Sugat gasped, his breath coming in ragged, shallow heaves. He slammed his palm against the trunk of a tree to keep from falling. His skin was the color of ash, and his lips were so dry they had begun to crack. Beside him, Hiraya was leaning against her knees, her silver hair tangled with thorns.
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“S-Sugat,” she wheezed, her hand trembling as she reached for him.
Sugat slid down the bark and sat heavily on the dirt. “HAAH! Can we... can we just rest? I think I’m going to die of thirst before the Sentinels even find us.”
Hiraya reached into her satchel and pulled out a small, half-empty water pouch and a single, hard crust of bread. “Okay. We share this. It’s the last of it.”
She tore the bread in half. Sugat ate his portion with a desperate speed, barely chewing before swallowing the dry crumbs. Hiraya watched him with a weak, tired smile before eating her own piece and taking a small sip of the water. As the meager nutrients hit their systems, a fraction of their strength returned.
“Thanks, Hiraya,” Sugat said, offering a small smile. He stood up and reached out a hand to help her to her feet.
“You’re welcome,” she teased, dusting off her robe. “For someone who only ate a thumb’s worth of bread, you have the energy of a man who just finished a feast.”
They began to walk again, but the forest was changing. The vibrant greens were fading into a sickly, jaundiced brown. The grass beneath their feet was brittle, snapping like old bone. The air grew heavy with the smell of stagnant water and rot.
Suddenly, Sugat jolted. “Yes!” he shouted, rushing toward a large tree that stood defiantly alive amidst the decay. Its branches were heavy with large, golden fruit.
“Where are you going?” Hiraya called out, but Sugat was already leaping into the lower branches.
He climbed with the agility of a forest cat, his mind racing. Hiraya is going to love this, he thought.
“Sugat, wait!” Hiraya caught up, her eyes widening as she looked up. “Is that... a mango tree?”
“It’s the biggest one I’ve ever seen!” Sugat shouted. He plucked a massive, ripe mango and tossed it down to her. “Catch! I bet it tastes like heaven!”
Together, they bit into the fruit. For one glorious second, they expected sweetness. Then, their faces contorted in unison.
“Pwe!” Hiraya spat the fruit out, her face coiling in disgust. “T-this tastes like garbage and ash!”
Sugat threw his mango to the side, his shoulders slumping. It looked perfect on the outside, but the inside was black and bitter—poisoned by the very soil it grew in. “I’m sorry, Hiraya. I thought... I thought I found something good for once.”
Hiraya wiped her mouth, standing firmly. “It’s okay, Sugat. I’m fine. We keep moving.”
Sugat looked away, guilt gnawing at him. But as he scanned the horizon from his high vantage point, he saw something else. A cluster of roofs.
“Hiraya, look!” He gestured toward a small village nestled in a nearby valley. He waited, scanning for the glint of Sentinel armor or the white banners of Hera. Seeing none, he jumped down.
“Another village?” Hiraya asked skeptically.
“Come on! It looks quiet!” Sugat rushed forward, making sure she was following.
As they reached the edge of the settlement, they saw rows of Bahay Kubo—traditional houses made of bamboo and palm leaves.
“A Bahay Kubo!” Hiraya whispered, her eyes lighting up. “Sugat, these are native houses, made from the earth itself. They’re beautiful compared to the cold stone of the city.”
But as they stepped past the first house, her smile vanished. The village was a ghost town. The bamboo walls were smashed, the palm roofs were rotted and sagging, and the paths were littered with broken pottery and forgotten rags.
“This is madness,” Hiraya whispered, her hands gripping her robe. “What did the King’s ‘light’ do to this place?”
Sugat’s face fell into sorrow as they walked through the ruined street. Then, he spotted a stone well in the center of the square. His thirst returned with a vengeance. “Hiraya, the well!”
They rushed toward it. Hiraya reached the bucket first, cupping her hands to catch the water as she brought it to her lips. But she stopped. A foul, metallic stench hit her nose. When she looked down, she cried out and sat back on the ground in shock.
The water in the well was a thick, stagnant red, filled with floating debris and filth. It looked like a wound in the earth.
“Not again,” Sugat muttered, his anger flaring. He reached down to help Hiraya up. “I’m sorry. I keep leading us to rot.”
“It’s not your fault,” Hiraya said, cleaning her robe. “I’m just wondering... why is everything so broken here?”
Before Sugat could answer, a sharp, metallic snick echoed through the square.
A blur of movement erupted from behind a ruined hut. Sugat and Hiraya spun around as a man lunged at them. He wore a heavy wooden mask that obscured his features, leaving only two reddish, bloodshot eyes visible through the slits. In his hand, he gripped a large Balisong—a butterfly knife with a thin, wicked blade that hummed as he swung it toward them.
The man didn't scream. He didn't demand gold. He simply charged with the desperate, starving energy of a man who had nothing left to lose.
End of Chapter 11
In this chapter, we see the true face of the "Golden Kingdom." While the King sits in a palace of light, the provinces are rotting from the inside out. Sugat and Hiraya have finally encountered the "Faceless," and their first meeting is at the edge of a blade.
Glossary:
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Balisong: A traditional Filipino folding pocketknife, also known as a butterfly knife. In the hands of a master, it is one of the fastest and most unpredictable blades in the world.Don’t forget to Rate and Follow if you’re enjoying the journey!