I was in Seclusion for so long that everyone forgot about me

There were places in this realm barred to all but those who had crossed a certain threshold of power or wisdom. They were not halls of worship, nor temples to be prayed in; they were made to observe, to converse, to judge. Who had created them, perhaps only two among the Umbra Prisca knew, and neither spoke of it.

One such place was the Silent Palace. It was no palace in the mortal sense, but a vast, colorless expanse where snow rose instead of falling. The flakes were not snow at all, but drifting specks of dust, the crumbled remnants of dreams once carried by those who still struggled beneath the shroud. This place was carved from a material whose name had long since slipped from the world’s tongue: shining gray white against a void of pitch black.

No joy belonged here. No despair or dread either. Only bleak inevitability—the reminder that time would strip all memory bare, until only crumbling particles and silence remained.

Why such beings chose this place was unfathomable. Perhaps even to themselves. Yet the head of the Umbra Prisca had commanded it, and none among them cared enough to resist.

Upon one of its balconies, two figures lingered. They gazed through the shroud at the realm below, weighing what they saw with cold detachment; even when their scrutiny fell upon their own kind, they measured them as lesser.

“Tell me,” a woman said. Her voice was slow and sardonic, softened by the veil that hid her features. She wore a gown of sheer black silk that revealed as much as it concealed, and her hair—ebony, heavy, unbound—fell to her hips. “Why did you help her? Was it sympathy? Or boredom?”

“Neither,” came the reply. The other was no woman of flesh but a shadow of one, a mist that suggested the shape of shoulders, a curve of hips, the faint outline of nine fox tails weaving fluidly behind.

“Then why?” the veiled one pressed. “Why save her from the humans? It was her own folly to love that pitiful man. Even I found it grotesque. A witch in the arms of a human. She degraded herself. I would have let her die.”

“Should a mother speak so of her children?” The shadow’s voice was low, without warmth, mocking in its indifference.

The veiled witch gave a sharp laugh. “Mother? Spare me. Why should I name them my offspring? And what of you? Eternal breeds her abominations without pause; Nari slaughters the spirit kin in her ceaseless war; Lyra drowns herself in her Holy Sea, preaching her lunacy to fanatics. Do not dress yourself in virtue.”

The shadow tilted its head to one side, then the other, as if trying and failing to translate her words. “I am a creator, not a mother. I did not nurse them, nor teach them, nor bind them with affection. But you—yes, you breastfed them, told them tales, gave them warmth, let them cling to you.”

The witch shifted, caught between scorn and reluctant admission. “I… did. And yet they know nothing of me. My name is not carried in their mouths. It matters little.” Her voice faltered, then sharpened again. “Yours at least know who you are—at least your current fo—”

“You talk too much, Calypso.” The mist cut her off. “Even now your voice is irritating. I care nothing for our children. They are pawns, nothing more, scattered across a board in our neverending chase. But since you demand an answer before your tongue drags us further into tedium: I helped her because it shifts the game. Her faith in humanity is broken. She will hate them now. That hatred will ripen, and in time, it will profit me. There was no pity in it. Only calculation.”

The Mother of Witches scoffed, her jeweled veil glinting faintly as she turned her head. “My daughters may be naive, but they are not fools enough to stumble into your schemes.”

“And if they are?” The mist turned towards her fully now, voice heavy with quiet certainty. “Then step by step, humanity will vanish from this continent. Would that not be worth watching?”

Calypso rubbed her temples, a frustrated gesture unbecoming of her grandeur. “You are mad. Irrevocably so.”

The shadow stilled, its tails freezing mid motion. Then, in a ripple of silence, it vanished and reformed at her back. Calypso did not hesitate; she blinked from sight and reappeared several paces away, narrowly evading its grasp.

“I am highly reasonable, thank you,” it said, ignoring another failed attempt. “But I am weary of this game without win. If this plan fails, I will abandon it and search for another.”

“As if abandonment has ever served you well,” she hissed. “And why must this meeting be hold during your… phase? The timing is absurd.”

The shadow gave no answer.

Calypso exhaled hard through her veil, ready to lash out again, when a low, resonant hum spread through the palace. The summons to reconvene.

Without another word, the mist dissolved, leaving her alone on the balcony. She lingered one breath longer, eyes fixed on the world beyond the veil. Even hidden, her gaze shone like stars cut from obsidian.

A rift tore open behind her. She drifted back into it, slowly, her eyes never leaving the shroud.

“I look forward to seeing how your plan unfolds, my love.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

One by one, the members gathered again in the White Sanctum, the heart of the palace. White sand flowed in rivulets along the walls, spaced evenly, cascading into the center and through an open oculus, falling like a near silent waterfall. Only the faint trickle of grains could be heard as they slipped away into oblivion.

Around the oculus was a great chiseled table of pale stone. Thirteen seats were carved into its perimeter, but only nine were occupied. Three remained empty; their rightful owners had not come. Whether by refusal or by silence, none could say.

A voice rose, sharp and commanding, echoing without echo in the hushed chamber.

“To advance our second directive, we must address the greater problem before us. Eternal—your experiments must cease. Too many have slipped your leash; they are disturbing the natural order.”

At the far side, the elderly woman—Eternal—lifted her gaze. Her face was aged, yet untouched by frailty. Calculating eyes gleamed, and a slight smirk curved her lips. She let them wait. Then, with deliberate cruelty, her mouth formed a single wordless reply: No.

Anger rippled through the circle. Several of the gathered leaned forward, their gazes sharp with disdain. But two remained unmoved: Calypso, veiled and still, and the mist shaped being with tails drifting faintly in the gloom.

“Are we truly to accept such insolence?” demanded the Mother of Origin, her voice edged with disgust. She turned her hand sharply towards the two unmoved figures. “It is your continent she is tearing apart. Do something.”

Neither Calypso nor the shadow stirred. Calypso’s veil betrayed nothing; the mist gave only a flicker of annoyance behind its still facade before speaking.

“I will not intervene. In anything. If you wish her stopped, then stop her yourselves.”

The bluntness silenced even Eternal, who faltered, her smirk falling away.

“Then we will prepare our own measures,” said another voice—deep, distorted by the obsidian mask its owner wore. Upon its surface, a single azure horn curled in a short spiral on the left side, while the right bristled with the mane of a lion. The mask turned slowly towards Eternal. “You are free to act accordingly, but these creatures will stand as your proxy. If they fail, you abandon your experiments.”

Eternal scoffed and vanished without another word, dissolving into black smoke that hissed as it sank into the floor.

“I don’t think she liked the outcome of this at all, Xiezhi. And you, shouldn’t you have helped your… protégée?”

The existence sighed, “I warned her from the beginning. She chose to ignore me. I will not waste effort shielding her from the consequences. Her creations do not interfere with my work, and the mortals of that continent are not my concern.”

“Ouch. that’s cold, even for you,” said an old man in an over embroidered Daoist robe, the sleeves so long they trailed over the floor. He laughed, but the laughter was brittle, forced. “But I guess not all of us can be as sentimental as our dear Rialla here.”

“That isn’t true!” protested a girl with the face of a teenager.

“He has a point,” replied another, Dira, in a flat monotone.

“Nooo, not you too! You’re so mean, sister!” the girl pouted, her voice trembling with a mix of hurt and childish pride.

“May we resume the meeting?” the mist whispered. Its words were toneless, drained of care. “I have far more important matters than listening to this drivel.”

“You are cruel today,” the Daoist robed elder said, shaking his head in mock disapproval. “I had thought Calypso’s heart was the coldest here, but to hear such words from you…” His voice trailed, leaving the censure unfinished, but heavy.

Rialla’s lips parted, her face stricken. She did not speak. She only stared at her old friend, hurt by the emptiness where warmth had once lingered.

“Shall we continue?” asked Calypso, her veil shifting as she tilted her head.

““Of course,” said Xiezhi, lifting his masked face to the circle. “But before we continue, I wish to extend not merely an offer, but a chance. These new powers that rise are still far from our equals, yet already stand above the mightiest mortals. They may serve as our proxies, forming their own faction. A trial, of sorts.”

“Who are we speaking of?” The voice was deep, resonant, edged with command. It belonged to Leviathan, who had been silent until now. Her presence pressed on the sanctum like abyssal waters. “The Jaeger?”

Xiezhi shook his head slowly. “No. Their ways are too questionable, too compromised. I am speaking of—”

---

[If you read this stoy somewhere else than RR/SH it is stolen. I only post on those two sites outside of Patreon. If you read this on another site, please read it where I actually post it. Thank you.]

╭══◞ Now, Maera POV ◟══╮

“Are you listening?” Asche asked, leaning against the chair, her matriarch form appearing relaxed.

My gaze remained fixed on the paperwork before me. “Mhm. I am. But I am thinking of how we should tread further.”

She hummed softly, a note of agreement that seemed almost idle.

Agreement—that was a fine word. It described the state I was in perfectly. Only a short while ago, the Arachne had baffled me by assuming an elven form, and then, without pause, had pressed me into a bargain.

And what a bargain it was. Entirely in my favor, promising access to resources this continent had not even named yet. ‘A boon for magi craft’, she had called it. A blessing. And perhaps it was. But the truth was simple: the excitement dulled within moments, fading into the hollow air.

That was how I knew.

The seals had retracted again, slipping deeper, hiding themselves until the next storm of emotion pried another one of them loose. It was clever, I had to admit—far cleverer than I wanted to allow. They had learned to protect themselves by retreating, by ensuring each breach would set another free. I had not found the time to repair them properly.

And the System was there as well. I could feel its touch, faint but insistent, pressing itself into my affairs. Always trying to have its say. Always trying to push. So, as a countermeasure, I decided to take my medicine twice a day—at dawn, at night. My supply would dwindle quickly. I did not like that. But it was still preferable to the alternative, and with it came a clarity, a question that still lingered, almost forgotten—

—since when had the System started to influence me?

I saw what I had been. Impulsive. Reckless. Foolish. Since… since Aska. I had been careless. I had let myself slip.

It had started subtly, that much I knew. It crept through my own domain, feeding from the edges of my ignorance, and I had not noticed until too late. But why force me out now? Why drag me into the world, onto the board again?

It could not have been the divine. I doubted that. So was it… her?

I was missing something. A ploy. A scheme. A secret hand. But by whom? I could think of two beings who might meddle in my domain—two only—but they would never work together. They would never lower themselves to that.

And still, the pattern made no sense. Why unlock the seals? Why force emotions onto me, when they were the very chains I had learned to avoid? For what purpose? To what end? Or was there no purpose at all? Was it a coincidence? A mistake? A miscalculation by something I once thought beyond error?

I drew a slow breath. The clarity of it was almost pleasant, even with Greed still clinging. Yes, the seal was broken, but Ava remained bound. She could not escape, not until every last Anchor was cut away. The door was gone, true, but the gateway had not vanished. It had only shifted—and that gateway was now me.

A thought pierced me then, unbidden: what if the divine teachings could be used to forge a true domain, severed entirely from this realm?

It was tempting. Too tempting. A world apart, unreachable, untouchable. Everything I had attempted so far had failed, every experiment yielding nothing. But now—now, with the System’s interference, with its twisting of the laws—it seemed closer. Almost real. Almost possible.

A smile slipped across my lips before I realized it.

“Thinking of something good?” Aska whispered, close enough that her lips nearly brushed my ear.

“Yes. It makes me almost eager to meet Alicia again,” I said, turning to look into her eyes.

Mischief sparkled there, sharp and playful. She pressed her hand to her chest in mock hurt. “Another woman, already? I sit here beside you, and your thoughts wander elsewhere. How cruel. And after the way you spoke about Nyriel, too—gosh.”

That pulled my attention. “You aren’t actually jealous, are you?”

Her body tensed. She turned her head away, looking through the window behind me. When she spoke, her voice was quieter. “Did you know I was once promised as the second wife to a Winter? A horrible man. Weak. Obnoxious. His love was domination, twisted into something vile. For a year I endured that household, until he vanished—his body never found. With no successor to follow, I was brought back.”

She paused, breathing in, her soul darkening. “But do you think I was treated differently afterwards? No. My mother was gone, my father powerless and uncaring, and the Elders did whatever pleased them. I learned, slowly, that nothing I did—no word, no act—was ever enough. The love I reached for came back as malice. And only in death did I see what I had felt for you. Even when I hated you, even when I despised you—your indifference remained. Always the same. I thought it cruelty. Now I know it was the seals.”

Her face softened when she turned back to me. “But since returning… everything feels different. I feel young again. Perhaps I still am. By dragon kin measure, I was little more than a fledgling when I died. And then time stopped. So perhaps I never grew past it. Perhaps I am still a young adult now, and this explains so much. My restlessness. My jealousy. The foolishness of it.”

She laughed lightly, but her voice trembled. “And yes, I know what it is. Not the jealousy of a lover. Something closer to what family longs for when it is denied. But it gnaws at me still. Nyriel did nothing, and yet she received what I begged for. She met you only hours ago, and already she had unconditional affection—family affection. Why her, and not me?”

I was thankful for the medicine. Without it, her words might have cut deeper. Even so, I understood her. She did not want to share me, just as I did not want to share her. Not with Nyriel. Not with anyone.

And yet… the warmth of the night before already felt hollow, like a deception. Could I trust myself at all?

The sunlight caught on my ring, and I shook my head. Asche was right. She was still akin to a young adult, burdened further by the stormy volatility of a wind elemental. And with the soul link binding us, her turbulence bled into me, while aspects of myself seeped into her. It was dangerous. It would only grow worse.

It was tricky, for I had already made her my mask, my public persona. To sever it now might destroy more than it was worth, unraveling everything. The seals would wither faster than I could repair them. If push came to shove, there remained one recourse, a measure I could still take—

Aska’s hand cupping my cheek brought me back instantly, and I instinctively leaned into it, savoring the soothing effect it had on my soul as I closed my eyes. Greed still stirred, whispering the urge to monopolize such things, but even the simple act of showing surface-level vulnerability felt like a reward—for Aska, and for myself. It was my way of showing gratitude for being stopped last night.

But as soft as I might have looked in that moment, my heart remained cold. And buried deep within, a flicker of fear had taken hold. I didn’t want to admit it, but it was there: the fear of letting someone in. Of letting go.

After what felt like a never-ending heartbeat, Aska hushed, “So, what do you think of the new servants?”

My eyelids opened sluggishly. “I’m honestly surprised at the variety of their origins. I’m starting to wonder if one of those demigods had something to do with it.”

“How so?” asked Asche, lowering herself onto the armrest so I could lean against her if I wished.

“From what I understand, many of those races are exclusive to their own, refusing to let humans near them at all. And yet, somehow, humans still managed to have them shipped into their empire,” I explained, resting my eyes again.

“This…” Aska tilted her head, speaking slowly, “does sound like something a demigod would be capable of. They hold an archon-like status among mortals, after all. And from what I’ve heard, they’re not good people either. Tana told me some very nasty stories about them.”

I looked up. “Tana was the wood elf?”

She nodded. “Yup. Somewhat shy, but if you give her the chance she’ll gnaw your ear off. She’s adorable, honestly. And her girlfriend, Myr? Protective as anything.”

I blinked, faintly amused at how casually she spoke about them. “So you’ve been making friends.”

Color rose faintly in her cheeks before she cleared her throat. “A Anyway… of all the demigods out there, only a handful seem remotely compassionate. Most are the opposite. They take what they want, and they revel in it. They use their strength for their own gain and pleasure. Minor deities are supposed to be… well, better. At least in comparison.”

That drew my brow upwards. “Minor deities? I haven’t engaged with those. Care to enlighten me?”

“Mhmm. A forest god, for example. They’re usually local, bound to a grove or a valley, but there are countless numbers overall, scattered into pantheons and ranks. They meddle in mortal affairs far more readily than the higher ones—always for their own gain, mind you. I cannot say if or how they are integrated into the System. Perhaps they are simply powerful enough within it to bend its rules.”

“Perhaps,” I mused. “Divinity always played by its own rules. But if it’s harnessed through the System…”

“Anansi came to mind—he was a powerful god, after all. Still, humans back then didn’t have this kind of System, and I never bothered to look into it here either. Not that I could have; there were none to worship me.

Gentle strokes of her fingers in my hair pulled me back from my thoughts.

“So the conclusion is we need more information,” I said quietly. “I really should thank Sophia for buying the Arachne. With her ties to the Gossamer League, and Kazari acting as a broker, we might finally begin building a proper network.”

“I think so too,” Aska agreed, then hesitated. “But before I forget—you really do need to explain the whole thing with Tulsi and Sophia again. I mean, I got the gist, but…”

“But?”

“But that can’t be all, can it? Two souls in one body? Why don’t they just find another vessel and separate?”

“Tulsi and Sophia aren’t just Vetala,” I explained, folding my hands. “They are a Divieria. A rare subspecies. They are not simply two souls crammed into one body; they are two souls intertwined as one. And even that description does not give them justice. Even among their kind, they are exceptional. Two active soul cores, assisting each other, taking turns in control. And one of the tells for who is in control is their outward appearance, as the soul of a Vetala gradually reshapes the host’s body into its true form the longer it stays.

“So that’s why Sophia looks closer to a harpy?”

I nodded. “Correct.”

Aska tapped her fingers against the chair in thought. “So… how exactly are Vetala born? Because their concept makes it hard to imagine.”

I looked at the ceiling. “It depends. Most of the time they try to conceive once they have fully made a body their home. The chance of birthing a Vetala child is highest then. When—”

“Wait, wait, wait.” She cut me off, sitting straighter. “What do you mean by ‘chance’?”

I studied her confused face, finding it almost cute, before continuing my explanation.

“As I was trying to say, a newborn between two Vetala does not have to be of their own kind. They are amalgams. Souls layered, mixed as a seed buried in a host, feeding on the soul energy that had been reserved for another.”

Her voice dropped, troubled. “That sounds cruel… erasing one soul so another can bloom.”

I turned to her, meeting her eyes. She recoiled slightly, recognizing the emptiness behind mine. Yet it left me cold; I could not understand why she would think this way.

So I tilted my head and asked, “Why?”

Her eyes widened. “Because this isn’t simply killing, Maera. This is erasure. It’s removing a being from existence. Forever.”

“Ah.” My voice was calm, detached. “I see where you misunderstood. I should have clarified: soul energy is not yet a formed soul. It is more akin to a nurturing fluid, preparing a vessel to receive a soul before it truly enters. An early thread forms between seed and soul. If the soul proves stronger, the seed withers. If the seed is strong enough, it feeds along that thread until it severs the connection to the body the soul was meant to inhabit. Of course, this is only a simplified explanation, but one that should suffice.”

Aska exhaled slowly, her body easing, though unease lingered in her face. A faint chagrin, too—because what she had wanted was not clarification, but condemnation. A rebuke.

But I felt nothing.

We could not dwell further on the matter when a knock cut through the air, stale with unspoken words.

I waited for Asche to transform into her wolf kin form and then announced, “You may enter.”

The door opened and Deidre stepped inside, followed by the dark elf I had noticed earlier when they returned with the new servants. At first glance, he had seemed unremarkable, but his soul told a different story. It gleamed with divine threads, connected yet broken, lingering around him like tangled strings in stagnant water from a discarded puppet. He was also much stronger than Deidre, who seemed to have lost much of her prowess during the night.

“The carriage you ordered earlier has arrived, Mistress,” she said with courtly poise, dressed in her new head maid’s uniform. Earlier I had granted her that position, as well as the butler’s. The succubus was trained well enough to serve in either role, and her hunger for power made her the perfect candidate to climb higher still. I doubted she would be content for long, but that suited me—my plans for her reached further than she imagined.

“Thank you, Deidre. You may go.”

She bowed and signaled the dark elf to follow. I suspected she had named him as her second, a butler under her. That was fine. She knew what she was doing. His eyes lingered on me as he turned—a sharp, suspicious glance. He disliked me. That much was obvious. But his dislike was irrelevant.

“What’s the carriage for?” Asche asked once they had gone.

“We’re meeting Alicia today,” I replied. “It’s time to learn how to step into the System.”

Her ears twitched uneasily. “Are you certain we need her?”

My head tilted. “Of course. She is our best chance at answers. Why wouldn’t we need her?”

She averted her gaze, her lips pressing tight. “I just… I don’t trust her.”

“That’s fair,” I admitted without much thought. “But don’t concern yourself. I will know if she lies. Always.”

I stood up. “Come. I don’t intend to waste time. There is much to claim, and I—”

The words lingered on my tongue.

“—want finally to be a step closer.”