The hush of anticipation settled over the grand theater, a stillness so absolute it seemed the very air held its breath. The stage, framed by dark velvet curtains embroidered with golden thread, stood bathed in the soft, ethereal glow of the performance crystals. These enchanted stones, embedded in the ceiling like miniature stars, pulsed with an otherworldly light, shifting colors in rhythm with the unseen energy of the theater.

This was no ordinary playhouse. The Grand Cyprus was a sanctuary of illusion and wonder, where the impossible became tangible, where magic and artistry blurred into one seamless spectacle. And tonight, every seat in the grand amphitheater was filled. Nobles in fine silk, merchants weighed down by gold, travelers who had crossed mountains and rivers just for a glimpse of the famed performance.

For this theater did not remain in one place. It was a fleeting wonder, appearing and vanishing across the kingdom like a mirage. And tonight, the stage belonged to the act that had enchanted audiences far and wide-the girl of a hundred faces, the star who no one could name. A hush fell over the crowd as the curtains rippled open. She stepped into the light.

The collective gasp of the audience was nearly audible, their wonder palpable. She moved with a grace unnatural, her golden robes flowing like liquid sunlight. A painted mask covered the upper half of her face, its delicate filigree catching the crystal light. Her dark eyes, the only visible part of her true self, shimmered with emotion-an expression unreadable yet utterly captivating.

She became the performance.

The music swelled, played by unseen hands upon enchanted instruments, and she began to dance. Every step, every twirl, every delicate movement of her fingers wove a story of sorrow, love, and longing. Flames burst from the stage beneath her feet, curling in elegant patterns yet never touching her. A gust of wind swirled around her at just the right moment, making her robes billow dramatically. Shadows coiled and stretched, following her movements as though she commanded them.

The audience was utterly ensnared. She sang then, her voice smooth as silk, carrying across the grand hall in haunting melodies. No one could look away. They leaned forward as one, bewitched, hearts pounding to the rhythm of her spellbinding performance.

And then-

She vanished.

A blink, a moment of darkness as the crystals dimmed, and she was gone. The curtains fell. The audience erupted into applause, cheers echoing off the marble walls, hands clapping so fiercely it was as though they sought to bring her back through sheer will. They needed to see her again, to understand how she had disappeared so effortlessly before their eyes.

But she would not return. Raze never did.

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Behind the stage, hidden from the adoring crowd, the girl moved quickly through the maze of corridors. The mask was the first to come off, revealing a face far different from the ethereal goddess they had seen moments ago. Her golden robe was tossed aside, replaced with a dark, unassuming cloak that swallowed her figure in shadows.

This was the ritual Razalea followed after every performance-disappear before anyone could glimpse the truth.

Few knew her real face. Fewer still knew her name.

A deep voice chuckled from the corner. "You outdid yourself tonight."

She glanced toward the source, where a man leaned lazily against a pillar, arms crossed. His face was sharp, handsome in a roguish way, with laughter lines around his piercing green eyes. He, Ridian was one of the only two people in this entire world who knew who she was.

"Same routine," she murmured, running fingers through her now-loosened hair. "They watch. They wonder. They never learn the truth." The man smirked. "And yet, someone always tries."

She knew what he meant. There were always a few-a noble who wished to unmask her, a merchant who sought to buy her identity, a scholar who believed she was more than just an actress. She had evaded them all. But tonight...She frowned. There had been someone. Even on stage, even lost in the performance, she had felt it-a gaze that burned hotter than the flames at her feet.

Not admiration. Not desire. Something else.

A hunter's gaze.

Her companion must have caught the shift in her expression. "Something wrong?" She shook her head. "Just a feeling."

Ridian Greeves didn't press her, but his easy smirk faded. "We're leaving in two days. Make sure nothing keeps you here longer than that." She nodded. The theater never lingered in one place for long. It was safer that way. Yet, as she stepped into the cold night air, wrapping her cloak tighter around herself, she could not shake the lingering sensation that, this time, it would not be so easy to leave.

Ridian had met her two years ago. The first time he saw her perform, he was entranced-not by the act itself, but by the way she wielded presence. She wasn't just a dancer or an actress; she was something else, something untouchable. A mirage in the desert. A fleeting illusion one could never grasp. And when the performance ended, when she vanished like mist in the morning sun, he had wanted-needed-to know more. It was the theater's owner, the only other person who knew her truth, who had introduced them. He still remembered that night vividly. "She's talented, isn't she?" the old man had said with a knowing glint in his eye.

"Talented is an understatement," he had replied, still lingering on the memory of her movements, her voice. "She's... unearthly."

The old man had laughed. "She's careful."

That was his first clue that the girl of a hundred faces was not merely a performer hiding behind masks and illusions-she was an act herself. Their first conversation had been short, curt even. She had regarded him with guarded eyes, as though weighing whether he was worth knowing at all.

"You ask too many questions," she had said at last, lips curving just slightly at the corners.

"And you give too few answers," he had countered.

They had become close, not through grand gestures or dramatic revelations, but through understanding. She was someone who trusted few, who lived in the shadows of the very stage that made her famous. And in a way, he understood that better than most.

She never asked him to protect her, but he did anyway. He kept people away, distracted those who got too close. He looked out for her, in the way one traveler might look out for another when navigating a treacherous road. Razalea barely showed it, but she was grateful.

And sometimes, on the rare nights when she let her guard down, when they sat in the empty theater long after the crowd had dispersed, Ridian had often been left wondering if their friendship was just another act on her grand stage.

But then she would disappear again, just as she always did, slipping through his fingers like a whisper of smoke. She wasn't meant to be caught. And he wasn't meant to chase her.

***

Beyond the lavish theater halls, past the bustling streets where the audience still marveled over the performance, in the farthest shadowed corner of the city, a lone figure stood, hidden beneath a hooded cloak.

They had watched her. They had waited. And now, they were certain.

She was the one. There was no denying that heinous glow in her eyes at the peak of her performance. But they were not alone. From the rooftops, another set of eyes lingered on the grand theater, watching as the girl disappeared into the night. A second observer, unnoticed by the first, smirked. "Interesting," he murmured to himself before vanishing into the darkness.