CHINESE ARYA STARK meets THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA.
*A Wattpad Featured story*
When everyone wears a mask, who do you trust?
In the unforgiving empire of Erden where the Imperials reign supreme, Sarna is a slave. After escaping the brothel where a m...
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"Before, there was darkness, an emptiness so vast and terrifying, it cracked the first egg where the first High Immortal sprang forth. Pangu drew his mighty axe and cleaved the rest of the egg into pieces, and from it, came the world."
The World—The Immortalist Lores
CHAPTER ONE
The day I returned to the Jade City, I saw a boy die.
The air stank of sweat and cheap wine as people converged into the square. Caught in the middle of the crowd, I had to stand on tiptoes to see him crouched on the execution platform.
Under the scorching coin of a sun, the heavy metal band around his neck faintly glinted.
My own neck burned. It had been five years since I had escaped slavery, but the coldness of a metal collar still choked. Phantom, but I shivered nonetheless.
The child was a tiny thing. His skin clung to his bones like barnacles on a rock, and his wrists were so slim, he could slide out of the metal shackles if his arms fell to the sides. Those were made for grown men, not children.
"That boy tried to poison the crown prince," one woman whispered.
"No, no." A man shook his head. "The Imperials caught him tryin' to escape the palace. Pity, he's so young."
The whispers rose and coalesced. To my side, mothers clutched their children close, young men and women clad in silks stood a short distance from the filthy poverty of the crowd. Most of the people present were silent, calloused hands clasped together in prayer.
The child didn't even bother to lift his head. He kept his eyes downcast, and he sat in the cage, as still as a statue.
As if he had accepted his fate.
Look at me.
I knew he couldn't see me, couldn't see my hope and compassion through the veil covering my face. I hoped he felt, somehow, that he was not alone.
"Sarna." Biyu tugged my hand, impatient. "We have a performance in less than half an hour. Do you want Mr. Long to dock our wages again?"
"You don't have to stay," I said, not tearing my eyes away from the execution platform.
I didn't need his reminder. I knew the consequences of turning up late for performances. Yet I was unable to turn away from the boy who was about to lose his head. In this wretched world of Imperials and slaves, we were all we had. I would rather lose my wages than let this boy die alone.
Because, I had escaped. He failed.
Biyu sighed but stayed.
The executioner stepped toward the cage. Garbed in a loose black robe with a cowl, the sight of him sent hot bile roiling in my stomach. He reminded me of Mama Ruga. I knew the disgusting owner of the Pavilion was far away, but I was instantly thrown back in the heavily perfumed rooms of the brothel. I flinched as the memory of a whip lashed across my legs.
