The drums rolled on as the actors danced across the stage, their voices echoing through the Founders Hall. The performance depicted one of the legendary stories—Rex's fateful encounter with foreign soldiers who had accidentally discovered the island.
A young man, tall and confident, played the role of Rex. He bore a golden wig, a glimmering sword, and the kind of posture only the truly arrogant could master. The crowd was enthralled.
But Mark's eyes weren't on the actors anymore.
They were drawn to the shadows just beyond the stage.
There—barely visible—stood a hooded figure. Unlike the other actors, this one didn't move with rhythm or grace. They stood still, almost frozen, with a long bow slung across their back.
David noticed Mark's expression and leaned in. "Something wrong?"
Mark didn't answer.
The play reached its climax. On stage, Rex—played by the young actor—stood tall, surrounded by fake soldiers. He shouted, swung, defended. It was stylized, over-the-top, almost playful.
Then the hooded figure raised the bow.
An arrow flew.
The audience gasped—but the arrow struck the young man and seemed to stick harmlessly into his chest, no blood, no break.
Laughter followed. It was all part of the act.
The young actor grinned, pulled out the arrow with dramatic flair, tossed it aside, and drove his blade through the final enemy. The crowd erupted into applause.
The performers gathered at the center of the stage. They held hands, bowed low. Their smiles wide. Their heads lowered.
But then—
The young actor playing Rex coughed.
And coughed again.
Red spilled from his lips.
A beat of silence swept the hall. The actor stumbled. A man from the Clan of Toras, who had also been on stage, reached out to steady him.
Too late.
The actor collapsed, shaking, blood now pooling at the corners of his mouth.
Screams rang out.
Mark stood up sharply. "David—!"
But David, still half-laughing, waved a hand. "Relax. No one dies like that. Edenites can't be killed so easily. Not unless it's one of us who did it—or a Founder."
Mark stared, his pulse rising. "Or?"
"Or," David said more quietly now, "if they were poisoned by sap from the Forbidden Trees. But only the Founders know where those grow. Deep in the center of the island."
The actor's body began to steam—wisps of smoke trailing from his limbs. His skin cracked. Slowly, terribly, he began to evaporate.
The hall turned into chaos.
Rex stood up.
He was on the stage in seconds, kneeling beside the young man. The Guardian King followed close, sword already half-drawn, but stayed just behind Rex.
Mark could see it in Rex's face.
He knew.
He looked at the man from Toras, still crouched by the dying actor—his hand on the boy's neck.
Rex grabbed the man by the wrist.
The man smiled.
It was poison. The man had injected it himself.
But then—
The hooded figure on the edge of the stage stepped forward.
They pulled off the hood.
Then the mask.
Gasps echoed through the hall as long black curls fell around a fierce, beautiful face.
Amariah.
Her eyes were filled with rage and pain.
She raised her bow and loosed another arrow—this time aimed directly at Rex.
Time slowed.
But the Guardian King moved first, his body flashing with divine speed. His sword rose with a ringing sound—and struck the arrow mid-air, splitting it in two.
The halves fell harmlessly.
Then the hall exploded.
Warriors rose. Screams tore through the room as fighters from Salem—Amariah's loyalists—revealed themselves and charged.
Edenites who had been laughing moments ago drew weapons.
The Founders Hall descended into battle.
Mark ducked low, shielding David as blades clashed and spells ignited in every corner. A chandelier crashed down in sparks.
Mariah rose at the front of the hall, her hand instinctively on her belly—but her maid and two elite warriors pulled her back, surrounding her protectively.
"Take her out!" shouted one of the guards.
"No," Mariah protested. "I have to—"
They didn't listen. The warriors flanked her and rushed her toward the back passage as more fighters burst onto the stage.
Mark pushed David behind a pillar. "Stay here!"
David grabbed his arm. "Don't get killed."
Mark pulled the sword hidden under his robe. "No promises."
On the stage, Rex stood tall—eyes fixed on Amariah.
The Guardian King stood beside him, eyes locked on the warriors of Salem.
And Amariah?
She stood at the center of the chaos, bow still in hand, face as cold as war.
"Let it burn," she whispered.
And the island obeyed.
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