The Price of Power

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“As the bearer of Envy, Your Highness, this power is not one to hold lightly. Mana training cannot be overlooked.” Archmage Gidion Swan traced his fingers along the pulsing runes of his ancient tome, their violet glow casting shadows that split across his face, making him appear far older than he was.

Princess Eydis lay sprawled on the damp grass, her gaze drifting across the eternally gray sky above the royal gardens—a sky that appeared to have taken a vow of boredom. It hung there like an edgy artist who only paints in shades of disappointment, caught forever in that liminal space between night and dawn.

“Not a single raindrop,” she said idly, her voice floating somewhere between daydream and complaint. “I wonder, does the sky hold grudges?”

Gidion coughed, raising an eyebrow. “Your Highness, I regret to ask, but are you philosophising again, or did I momentarily lose your attention?”

Eydis continued to trace invisible patterns in the murky clouds above, her fingers weaving shapes no one else could see. “Isn’t it strange? No sun, no storms, just… suspension. Like we’re caught in the hollow between breaths, neither fully alive nor entirely dead. Ever wonder what lies beyond?”

Gidion closed his grimoire with a gentle thump, a sound that carried both fondness and resignation. Eydis pretended not to notice this—it made her feel oddly vulnerable. Emotion, to her, was almost like the sky beyond her kingdom: vast, incomprehensible, and something her parents had rarely acknowledged, let alone expressed.

“Your Highness," he tried again, adjusting his formal robes. “Must you always deflect with... a question?

“Must you always assume I’m deflecting?” she countered. “Maybe I’m just exercising my royal right to ask better questions than you do. It’s a skill, really.”

“And here I thought I was the educator,” Gidion sighed. “Funny how the roles reverse so swiftly in your presence, Your Highness. Are you truly uninterested in today’s lesson?”

“Honestly? Absolutely,” Eydis stretched like a cat in a sunbeam, though no warmth touched these lands. “I’ve memorised every dusty tome in the Forbidden Library—including Mother’s blood-inscribed scrolls. Really, it’s almost laughably dramatic. I could recite her rants by heart. She practically pauses between each sentence just to hear herself echo-o-o.”

“Knowledge alone is not wisdom, Your Highness,” Gidion sighed again, but his lips quirked up regardless. “The truths of the Sins escape even the oldest grimoires—secrets taken to the grave by each bearer.”

Eydis sat up slightly, eyes glinting with genuine curiosity. “Now that sounds far more appealing than yet another mana lecture.”

“You might need mana training one day, Your Highness.” Gidion replied, glancing skyward. “Those books were written by scholars—observers at best. They offer theories, but no one truly understands a Sin until they’re bound to it. It takes unbreakable will to command something like Pride.”

“Ah, yes. Mother.” Eydis’s gaze sharpened. She stretched out her arm, and an obsidian serpent slithered into view, coiling around her wrist. “Then why didn’t she record her own experiences? Or is withholding information the royal method of parenting?”

“Her Majesty understood that each bearer must forge their own path," Gidion’s voice softened, words chosen with care. “Some bearers surrender, letting the Sin reshape them until they’re barely themselves. Others bind it, their own essence woven into its cage—like trying to capture a storm in a glass jar. The barriers must be rebuilt, tirelessly.”

“That much I know intimately,” Eydis said, her fingers gliding over Envy’s scales, eliciting a contented hiss from the creature. “It’s akin to having a particularly tiresome pet that won’t stop rambling in your head. Quite the twisted meditation exercise, wouldn’t you agree?”

“You possess an understanding that surpasses what’s typical for someone your age,” Gidion observed, his tone reflecting both admiration and concern. “Then again, not many have dared to bind a primal evil, least of all at your age.”

In fact, he meant none. Mythshollow was haunted by lesser evils—diluted echoes, warped fragments of the true Sins, drifting through the shadows like whispers of darker things. The townsfolk had honed their binding techniques over generations. But few had been reckless enough to bind a primal.

Power, yes. But at what cost?

Eydis let out a short, humourless laugh, her eyes gleaming. “Did you expect me to be as naive as those fools who think binding a Sin makes them invincible? Let’s be real—we’re just glorified prison guards, leaking our essence day after day to keep these creatures from tearing the world to shreds. And yet the world paints us as the monsters in children’s nightmares.”

“How did you—”

She arched an eyebrow. “—come to that delightful realisation? Let’s not pretend. These Sins weren’t born from thin air; they’re projections of mortal flaws, taken to monstrous extremes. And the human mind…” Her eyes flashed. “It’s an endless well of irony. Envy’s little mind games? Barely a nuisance. Now your primal Sin, the one you so lovingly call Raven…”

She let the thought dangle, a smirk spreading as Gidion’s eyes widened.

A faint, almost paternal pride crept into his voice. “Quite the insight. It seems our kingdom’s young prodigy actually contemplates the stakes. I almost mistook Your Highness for…well, a slacker.”

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“Prodigy?” she scoffed. “More like a curious child with a dangerous hobby. I’ll never forget the look on Mother’s face the first time I summoned Envy. It was the first time I’d ever seen her crack a bit. Until then, I half-believed she was sculpted from granite.”

“Her Majesty wasn’t pleased?”

Eydis shrugged, her voice lowering. “It was… sadness. Fleeting, but it was there. For a moment, she seemed almost human.”

Gidion raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback. “And you’re not afraid? Why did you even try binding one at such a young age?”

“Reasons… but I am... afraid. But better to face the truth than hide from it. Lies may comfort, but they’re a shallow currency.” She paused, a glimmer of mischief lighting her eyes. “Besides, I wouldn’t mind borrowing Mother’s Pride for a day. Just to see what all the fuss is about.”

“Your Highness!” Gidion’s scandalised tone made her laugh.

“Come now, can you blame me for having ambitious dreams?” Her gaze turned sly. “But really, why did you avoid my question?”

“Which question, Your Highness?”

Eydis rolled her wrist, and Envy dissolved in a wisp of dark purple smoke that lingered, curling through the chilled air. “Why stay here? A mind like yours bound to a kingdom without sun, stars, or rain—an eternity in gray to teach one ‘troublesome’ princess?”

“Troublesome? I prefer ‘challenging,’” he replied with a teasing smile. Catching her glare, he added, “Did I mention how much I cherish your concern, Your Highness?”

“Is that a clever deflection?” She huffed, a faint blush warming her cheeks. “Admit it, you’re hiding something.”

“There are indeed matters I care about here,” he answered carefully, brushing invisible dust from his robes as he rose to his full height.

“Someone, you mean,” she challenged, rising to meet his gaze, her eyes daring him to deny it. “Someone worth forsaking the sun, the stars, the rain? Quite a high price for devotion.”

“Price?” Gidion murmured. “I don’t see it as a trade, Your Highness.” His eyes, distant and thoughtful, drifted upward, following the effortless glide of two birds circling high above.

For a moment, she thought he would leave it at that. Gidion always had a way of sidestepping anything too personal. Yet she noticed the subtle hitch in his breath, the way his gaze lingered on the birds longer than necessary. He often sighed and looked to the sky at moments like this, as though seeking something in their free, unburdened flight that he himself... lacked.

For someone who seemed to long for freedom, why did he willingly bind himself to this place? It was a question she’d often wanted to ask.

Before she could form a reply, he continued gently, “Maybe one day, when the rain finally falls, you’ll see things with a different perspective.”

She gave him a wry look. “I’ll believe it when Pride’s bearer sheds a tear or two. Now that would be worth witnessing, wouldn’t it?”

Gidion’s laughter filled the air, warm and unguarded. “Then, I fear, you may be waiting forever.”

“Quite daring of you,” Princess Eydis quipped, her smile mischievous. “Aren’t you worried about invoking her wrath? I hear it’s… apocalyptic.”

Their laughter lingered in the air, a fleeting bubble of warmth quickly lost to the cold encircling them.

Queen Eydis’s gaze drifted to the raindrops racing each other down the windshield, like the tears her mother never dared shed. Behind the wheel, her knuckles whitened. The hard turn she’d taken earlier, sharp enough to silence the pompous politician in her rearview for a hot minute, had been satisfying.

But no speed could outpace the past.

Eydis caught a glimpse of Noah’s reflection as he sucked in a dramatic breath, clearly preparing for yet another soliloquy of self-importance.

“Pride!” Noah thundered. “Show yourself!”

In response, a noxious purple haze poured from the shadows, thick and stifling, curling around him like a predatory serpent. As it swirled in ominous designs, a polished, sardonic laugh erupted from Noah’s throat.

“End this masquerade!” he commanded, lowering his voice dramatically as though delivering one of his hollow campaign promises. He leaned back, his tone a mocking challenge. “Come now, I don’t have all night.”

The air inside the car seemed to hold its breath, though Noah’s vehicle continued its blind rush through the shadowed outskirts of the city.

“Pride,” he demanded again, his confidence slipping, though he smoothed it over with a disdainful sneer. “Don’t play coy with me. I summoned you!”

Eydis chuckled. “A masquerade, is it? How… fitting. But not in the way you think, Senator. Still, by all means, shout louder. Or perhaps try flattery? It tends to work wonders on beings that thrive on vanity.”

“Enough of your impudence, child!” His voice cracked, exposing a thread of fear she found painfully dull. “Your playground taunts don’t measure up to the true power I’ve dealt with.”

“Child?” Her eyebrow lifted. “Really, now? Your Majesty’ would be far more appropriate. Or perhaps ‘Divine Presence,’ if you’re feeling extra respectful.”

“Your Majesty?” he repeated, forcing a laugh. “If you had any claim to that title, I’d know it. You’re nothing more than an irritating shadow, trying to tear down my rightful bond with Pride.”

“Shadows,” she corrected absently as her mind wandered to Astra’s words. A fleeting smile touched her lips, but it quickly vanished. Focus! Her eyes sharpened. “A connection? Adorable. For someone so well-versed in deceit, you’re remarkably easy to deceive yourself. I suppose that’s something you share with your brother.”

"How dare you—” His face twisted in fury. His gaze shifted toward the mist, his voice rising with faltering conviction. “Pride, remind this fool of her place!”

The mist remained still, unmoved, indifferent.

“Oh, this?” Eydis followed his gaze, clapping her hands lightly, as though appeasing a disobedient child. “I’m afraid you’ve got it wrong. Wrong Sin, I mean. Envy, come out and say hello.”

In answer, the mist thickened, condensing beside him into the shape of a sleek, obsidian serpent that coiled itself lazily around his neck. His eyes bulged, and he choked out a strangled, “E-Envy?” before the serpent tightened, effectively silencing him.

Eydis sighed, her gaze amused. “And here I thought he’d never stop talking.” She turned to the serpent. “You’re late. Tell me, did she follow your essence?”

“Finding you at this breakneck speed is a challenge, Your Majesty,” Envy grumbled, the serpent’s violet sheen catching the light. “But she didn’t, not this time.”

Eydis’s jaw tightened. “Some tricks work only once.”

"But why lure her away?” Envy's voice dripped with curiosity, forked tongue flicking between needle-sharp teeth. “Concerned for her safety, perhaps?”

Eydis’s expression hardened. “Careful, Envy. Speculation isn’t a privilege I grant lightly.” The serpent shrank back ever so slightly under her sharp gaze, scales rippling as it sensed the shift in her mood.

Today, Her Majesty's playfulness was gone, replaced by something darker.

“Forgive me, but I trust you don’t mind that he overheard, Your Majesty,” Envy drawled, its grip tightening just enough to make Noah gasp.

“Not in the slightest,” Eydis said, her voice oozing with amusement as she caught Envy’s little powerplay. “He won't live to tell anyway.”

From the backseat, Noah let out a strangled cry, his face drained of colour as his eyes frantically darted about. His muffled voice scratched out a desperate, “Pride?”

Eydis’s laugh rang out. “Did you actually believe Pride was behind this little game?”

Noah’s eyes widened, confusion and disbelief flaring in his gaze. The question was plain, unspoken but desperate: “What do you mean?”

She shot him a pitying smile over her shoulder. “Sorry to pop your bubble, Senator, but Pride has a taste for a very specific kind of company. You’d need a miracle just to be a varlet.”