Kael's Point of View
Most people assume I wear the mask to hide something soft.
A deformity. A secret. A smile.
They forget that monsters don't hide because they're ashamed.
They hide because it makes the reveal more efficient.
When I was younger, the queen told me that control is won in silence.
That true rulers don't command—they wait.
They let others speak first.
They listen, and measure, and only lift their voice when the outcome is already sealed.
I learned quickly.
Learned how to stand still while others bowed.
How to watch while others confessed.
How to own without ever touching.
But lately, something has shifted in the palace.
Not in the court. Not in the priesthood. In him.
My brother.
The first one. The unwanted one.
The one they branded "Hollow" and never gave a name.
He's getting quieter.
And quieter things break more beautifully.
He wears the collar I gave him. Not every day. But enough.
He touches the notes I leave him. Doesn't throw them away.
And when I stop outside his door at night, I can hear him holding his breath.
That's all I need.
The court doesn't speak of him anymore.
The queen said it's better that way.
But she's forgetting something.
Silence is also a throne.
This morning, she summoned me.
The great hall was already filled with nobles. Priests. Watchers.
She didn't look at me when I entered.
She never does, at first.
Not since the day I corrected the Grand Historian's spell mid-lecture without speaking a word.
Not since the fire that responded to me before I lit it.
Not since the sword master stopped asking me to train with the others and began bringing me mirrors instead—just to see how I moved.
The queen sat in full ceremonial robes. Flamebound embroidery. Her staff at her side.
She was angry.
Not loudly. Not visibly.
But I could smell it.
She dismissed the court with a flick of her fingers.
Only the king stayed behind.
He stood like furniture—still, unblinking, irrelevant.
She waited until the doors shut.
"You've stopped attending rituals," she said.
I didn't answer.
"You're disobeying direct orders."
Still, I said nothing.
"And you've been sending your brother gifts."
That made me tilt my head.
"You've been watching," I said.
She rose from the throne.
"He is not your property."
I smiled behind the mask.
"Then what is he?"
The queen's magic is fire-aligned. Firstborn of Kaelith. She once silenced a senator with a single gesture, turned his lungs to steam.
She raised her hand now.
The air warmed.
The runes along the floor flickered.
A warning.
"You forget your place," she said.
I stepped forward.
"No," I said. "You forget why I wear the mask."
For the first time in my life, I reached up and pulled the cloth from my face.
The queen froze.
So did the air.
It wasn't because of a scar or a curse.
There was none.
My mouth was there. My face — untouched, refined, even beautiful.
But there was something beneath it all.
Something in the stillness that made the light shift and the heat recoil.
The kind of silence that made the body remember it was soft.
The king fell to his knees.
The flames in the braziers turned black.
I stepped closer.
The queen couldn't speak.
She tried to lift her staff again. Her arm trembled.
I caught her wrist gently.
"Don't try to leash what you bred to be wild," I said.
My voice, without the mask, was too clear.
Too sharp.
Like glass being drawn across bone.
Then I leaned in — so only she could hear:
"You will not break what is mine…"
"To break."
Then I let go.
Tied the mask back in place.
And walked away before the world remembered how to breathe.