The palace echoed with cheers, drums, and songs in honor of David. But in the quiet shadows, Mark moved unnoticed.
He slipped through a corridor and ducked into the Founders' palace. Marble pillars towered above him. Golden symbols danced across the walls. As he turned a corner, a voice shouted behind him.
"You! Stop right there!"
Mark spun—two guards.
He ran.
Boots pounded after him. Mark veered down a hall and flung open a heavy door, locking it behind him. Silence. He found himself in a warm, white-tiled bathroom. A marble tub steamed in the corner, and a silk robe hung nearby. A tap ran lazily into the bath.
Mark frowned.
" Someone's inhere?"
He turned off the tub's tap, breathing steady now, and walked to the mirror. He opened the sink tap and splashed his face.
A ripple behind him.
Movement.
He froze.
Then—her reflection.
Mariah emerged slowly from the bath, her body slick with water, hair flowing down her shoulders like rivers of moonlight.
Mark turned off the tap slowly, then bowed low, refusing to turn.
"Mother Mariah—I'm sorry. I didn't know— I had no idea—"
Her voice was soft. Calm. "Look up, Mark."
"I… I can't," he said. "You're not clothed. It's not right."
"You're the first to see me like this," she said. "Since my mother died. Even my brothers haven't."
Mark kept his eyes down.
She stepped closer. "Are you afraid of me?"
He swallowed. "I fear disrespecting you. Not you."
Her hand reached out, touched his chest lightly. "You're different. You look at me like I'm… human."
"I don't know what you are," he said, trembling. "But I know you deserve my respect."
She leaned in. Her breath warm near his ear.
"Then let this be a gift, not a temptation."
She kissed his cheek, then turned—graceful and silent—and slid back beneath the bath's water, disappearing once again.
Mark stood frozen. His heart pounded.
"…What just happened?"
---
The Feast of the Founders
The dining hall of the Guardian Palace shimmered with color and power. Flames flickered in lanterns shaped like the island's crest. Musicians from Cush played pipes and strings while warriors from Salem drank and laughed.
At the central table, David sat surrounded by admiration. A crown of green laurels rested on his head.
A chief from another tribe leaned toward him.
"You've earned more than applause, boy," the chief said, voice deep. "You've earned a clan."
The man turned to his son, seated stiffly beside him. "This is what a true heir looks like—quick, strong, and beloved."
The son's jaw tightened. "Father, the clan is my right."
David raised his cup, trying to smooth the tension.
"Chief, your son fought bravely," he said. "And this island needs all its heirs. I'm loyal only to the Founders, to the Guardian King, and to Eden."
The son blinked—caught off guard.
"Thank you," he muttered.
Just then, Mark entered.
Quiet. Dust still on his sleeves. He crossed to the Cain table, grabbed a plate, took bread, scooped mushroom soup, and sat.
A Cain warrior leaned over. "You saw the match, runaway. What's your take?"
Mark nodded. "David did well."
Another voice—sharp—cut through the table.
"He's the best swordsman this island has seen," said the chief proudly.
Mark looked up slowly. "He's not."
Gasps.
Even David paused.
The chief narrowed his eyes. "Speak carefully."
"The boy he fought—your son—he's better. But he made a mistake. Wore too much armor. It slowed him down. David noticed. He's quick. He took the chance. That's not a better swordsman. That's a better reader."
The chief's son looked at Mark, wide-eyed. No one had defended him like that—not even his father.
David smiled faintly, nodding.
"You speak truth," David said. "And I'm not above hearing it."
Just then, horns sounded.
Everyone stood.
The Guardian King entered, tall and proud in silver robes, flanked by the Huntress, Rex, and Mariah—now fully dressed in a shimmering cloak of silver and blue.
Mark looked up—then down—then up again.
Mariah's eyes met his. A silent pull passed between them.
Rex leaned toward her and whispered, "What is it with this man and you?"
Mariah's lips barely moved. "He's just a guest."
The Guardian King raised his goblet high, his voice cutting through the feast:
"To our Champion—David of Cain!"
Applause erupted.
He continued:
"To our Founders, who brought fire from the stars. To our tribes, who hold this island sacred. To my father Rex, to Mariah the Unseen Flame, and to David, our rising sword."
He paused, lifting his goblet even higher.
"And finally—To the Greatest Family. To Blood and for Blood. May the island grow as we multiply and rule—"
A chorus of voices joined:
"—To our Fathers!"
The Guardian King sat. The music swelled.
The feast began.
---