Change studied her sister, Rachel, intently, her gaze sharp and probing as she tried to peel back the layers of composure Rachel maintained so effortlessly. But it wasn’t working. The calm, collected exterior Rachel wore began to falter ever so slightly, the edges of her grin fading, the light in her eyes dimming as though a weight was pressing on her thoughts. It was subtle, but Change caught it—the way her sister’s gaze drifted, how her fingers twitched restlessly. Something was wrong, and it gnawed at Change’s thoughts. Maybe, when they were home, she'd find a moment to ask, though she wasn’t sure if Rachel would be forthcoming. She didn't exactly wear her heart on her sleeve.
Shifting her attention, Change's focus fell onto Hana, her mother. Hana was absorbed in a novel, her fingers idly flipping pages as the arcane carriage moved with quiet grace. Change studied her mother with more care now. Hana had always seemed impenetrable, wrapped in an aura of composure that bordered on indifference, but now, Change couldn’t help but wonder. The book in Hana’s hands, the way her brow furrowed slightly at certain passages—it all seemed like the simple indulgence of a quiet evening, but Change sensed that her mother, too, carried something unspoken. Something was wrong, but the veil Hana wore was too thick for Change to cut through.
Sighing quietly, Change rested her head back against the soft leather headrest. The hum of the ARC’s engine and the distant clatter of city life outside were soothing. She closed her eyes, savoring the silence, the last few precious moments of peace. Soon, the world would shift again, and she would be back in the suffocating walls of the basement, bound in chains. A shudder rippled through her as she clung to a small sliver of hope that perhaps, with a stroke of luck, she could move freely among the household—at least for a short while.
The vehicle picked up speed, traveling toward Poloris, the capital that stood as a testament to the sprawling, conflicted history of Tailush. The streets ahead were alive with the sounds of nightlife—Valiens and their Orc servants weaving between market stalls, laughter spilling from open tavern doors. It was a place alive with stolen culture, a melting pot of forgotten traditions, where the past was traded for the sake of luxury. News of the events at the palace hadn’t reached here yet—perhaps it wouldn’t for a long time.
As the sun began to set behind the towering buildings of Poloris, the sky was painted with deep oranges and reds, a fiery backdrop to the ever-moving city below. Streetlights flickered to life one by one, their gas-filled bulbs sparking into brilliance as they lined the path, guiding travelers through the darkening streets.
Soon, the familiar expanse of the mansion grounds came into view. A large iron-barred fence stood between them and the mansion, its metal gleaming in the twilight. An imposing "H" shape was etched into the gate, encompassing a circle, before it split open to let them through. The ARC rolled smoothly up the asphalt driveway, curving gently around the bend toward the mansion. The building, long and sprawling, slowly came alive as the vehicle’s headlights illuminated its facade, casting long shadows that stretched across the manicured grounds.
As the vehicle came to a stop, the exterior lights flickered on, bathing the front of the mansion in a harsh, sterile glow. Change was the first to shove herself out of the backseat, followed by Hana and Rachel. The cold air rushed in, snapping her out of her daze.
At the entrance to the mansion stood a short human man, his posture immaculate. His slicked-back hair and thin-trimmed sides gave him a polished, professional appearance, but it was his anxious fidgeting with the white gloves on his hands that gave him away. When he saw Hana approach, he bowed low, his eyes filled with a mixture of respect and apprehension.
"Good evening, my lady," he said, voice tight with barely contained nerves. Hana nodded gracefully in acknowledgment, and without a word, she turned to open the front door. Behind the human, four Orcs stood in formation, their massive frames seemingly out of place in such a refined setting. Yet their attire matched the human’s—sleek black coats and gray vests, the same immaculate white dress shirts peeking out from beneath. Their gazes were watchful, but there was a subtle sense of loyalty in their stiff postures. They, too, bowed deeply as the trio made their way inside.
"Damien, please escort Velsha back to its chambers.” Hana stated.
"Yes, Ma'am."
Damien rested his hand on Change's shoulders as Hana turned to Rachel.
"Now, Rachel, my dear. Accompany me to my chamber so I may explain the acceptable colors a lady should wear."
Rachel rolled her eyes and folded her arms. "Yes, Mother."
As the girls disappeared up the staircase, Damien silently led Change down the long, dimly lit halls of the mansion, his heavy boots echoing against the polished floors. The grandeur of the mansion seemed to suffocate her, each corner filled with reminders of wealth, power, and a darkness that lingered in the air. Soon, she would be back in her prison—the familiar, cold chains waiting for her at the end of the journey. She felt a familiar ache in her chest, but it was nothing new. This was her life, after all.
The walls of the mansion were adorned with strange and unsettling artifacts—proof of Hana’s penchant for collecting oddities. As she walked through the halls, Change could see them: deteriorating Elven tapestries, their once-vibrant colors faded and threadbare, hanging like ghosts of a forgotten era. Rusted armor from Procaria—the southern kingdom, long known for its brutal wars and fierce warriors—was mounted along the walls, silent sentinels bearing the scars of long-forgotten battles. Each piece seemed to tell a story, one Change could only glimpse in the reflection of her tired eyes.
But it was the basement, the heart of her isolation, that remained her domain. No one else entered, and no one ever cared. Not that she minded. It was a place of solitude, of quiet, uninterrupted confinement, and that was just how Change preferred it. The chains were part of the ritual now—heavy and cold against her skin each night, but they allowed her to move freely through the basement's corridors, through its darkened rooms and hidden spaces. The restraints were not a hindrance; they were a strange comfort. In her shackled world, she could find peace, a quiet existence where nothing demanded more from her than simply existing in the shadows.
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Damien’s presence was as silent as his footsteps. He was a familiar figure now, his role in her life cemented as the one who led her to and from her “room.” They reached the basement door, and without a word, he unlocked it, letting the cold, musty air of the underground space wash over her.
The chains would be waiting for her inside, but at least she could rest. At least here, no one would ask for anything more.
"I know my way, Damien, thank you." Change gently informed him.
"Your Vailen has improved considerably, Change of Season."
She slipped a smile as she wandered down the stairs. She was glad Damien remembered her name; it reassured her he cared about her.
"Thanks to your teachings, I've learned much from you."
The faint smile from Damien lingered in Change's mind as he left, his footsteps faded as he climbed the stairs out of the basement. The door clicked shut behind him, its heavy bolt sliding into place with a hollow sound that resonated through the stillness. The lights dimmed, and the room was left in the comforting embrace of darkness. Change rested her head on her pillow, the familiar weight of the chains pressing against her limbs, grounding her in the only reality she knew.
She closed her eyes, surrendering herself to the quiet as her body relaxed, but sleep didn’t come easily. Her mind buzzed with thoughts she’d rather avoid, but soon, the silence became a soothing companion. Her breathing slowed, and for a fleeting moment, she thought she might finally drift off into a deep, uninterrupted sleep.
But then came the sharp click—the unmistakable sound of the lock bolt sliding open.
Change’s eyes snapped open, her body tensing in response. She had learned to be a light sleeper over the years, especially after her mother’s habit of sneaking into her chamber unannounced late at night. Those visits were always unsettling, a game of sorts to see if Change would react, to see how she would respond to the quiet invasion of her privacy. It had been a while since the last uninvited intrusion from Hana, but Change’s instincts had never dulled.
Her heart raced as she listened to the quiet scrape of the door handle turning, the slow, deliberate steps that followed.
"Oh, good. You are up. We can have a nice chat, brother." Rachel spoke nonchalantly.
Rachel's silhouette blocked the glow of yellow light from the stairwell. A flash of bright light blinded Change as Rachel flipped the basement lights on.
"What do you want, Rachel?" Change asked.
"I wish you out. And by out, I mean gone. But I do not aspire you dead, brother." she opened her palm, revealing a golden key. "Which is why I brought this."
Change barely moved, her eyes wide as she watched her sister kneel beside her. Rachel worked with quick precision, her fingers fumbling momentarily with the chains before she managed to free them from the eyebolt. The cold metal scraped against the stone as the chains were pulled away, the noise sending a shiver down Change’s spine.
The sharpness of Rachel’s movements suggested urgency, but there was an unsettling calmness to her demeanor. There was no anger in her actions—just a quiet determination, as though this were something they had both known would come.
"So you freed me from my restraints, but how do you foresee me leaving the mansion undiscovered, dear sister?"
"Do not assume me dumb, brother. Damien is standing by with the ARC. I sedated our mother when I offered a toast to her slaying the council."
Change's eyes flickered toward the wide-open door, a silent invitation to escape. The moment was ripe with possibilities. But as Change reached out for a handshake, her intentions wavering between hope and suspicion, Rachel surprised her. Without hesitation, she pulled Change into an embrace, her arms wrapping tightly around her sister. The gesture was almost instinctive, as though it had been rehearsed in the quiet spaces between their fractured conversations.
Rachel pulled back slightly, just enough for their eyes to meet. There was a softness in Rachel's gaze, but also something guarded, something she was holding back, as though this embrace was more for her than for Change
"I don't loathe you. I wanted to learn more about you. Mother has not been the same since father passed. You deserve a better life. If you want to discover who Hana has become, go to Black Hollow. Quickly, there's little time left. Now fly, Kiren."
A single tear traced down Rachel's cheek, it's quiet descent illuminated by the faint moonlight creeping through the barred window. Change’s heart was suddenly heavy with the weight of the unspoken, the unfamiliar emotion that seemed to flicker across her sister’s face. Sympathy—genuine, raw sympathy—was something Change hadn’t felt from Rachel in years. If ever.
Her foot hovered over the bottom step, her body frozen in the moment of weakness, her breath catching as she turned back toward Rachel. The tension between them had always been palpable, an invisible wall that separated their worlds. And yet, in this single moment, that wall seemed to crumble—if only for an instant. The vulnerability in Rachel's eyes, the silent plea for something Change couldn’t yet name, pulled at her.
Finally, Change stepped down on the first step as she turned toward her sister one last time, uncertainty flooding her mind. She could feel the pull of the door—freedom—beckoning her, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to fully reach for it. Not yet.
"My name is Change of Season, and I'm your sister."