RULES OF THE DAMNED

PROLOGUE

MY DREAM CRASHED down as the flag of Erideth rose above. Thousands of Damned scattered at the capital, witnessing the retreat of the regime that ruled the Kingdom of Greed for thirty years. 

My eyes followed the movement of the white flag while the Jurist pulled the rope. Despite this brief moment of tension, I hoped that something or someone would stop it. My wistful thinking was futile, though. When the symbol of the new beginning reached the top, accompanied by the cheering of the people, dread washed over me. I averted my gaze, feeling the presence of my biggest phantom since I was young, clawing out from the deepest part of my memory.

The royal palace loomed behind the massive flagpole situated at the heart of the kingdom, glittering with pride like my father's greedy eyes right now. A perfect contrast to the gloomy faces of the Yllarions. The white flag swayed with the wind, as if taunting the former sovereign and giving false hope to the other bloodlines. Whereas these people saw it as a sign to pursue their thirst for power, I saw it as a threat to the freedom I've been dreaming for a long time.

My gaze moved above. Beyond the pandemonium, light and darkness fought for dominion over the horizon. Twilight favored the latter since the beginning of time, like how fate sided against me from the day I was born.

I stifled a yawn and squared my shoulders. Before I could wallow in grief, or fell into my usual self-pity episode, I reminded myself that another ten minutes wouldn't hurt me. Just ten more agonizing minutes and you're done here, Belle.

A conversation nearby caught my attention. Three men stood beside me as if they owned the place. One of them almost crushed my feet with his huge boots. I took a clandestine glimpse. Their faces oozed with pride and their hands did animated gestures as they exchanged premonitions. They did not recognize me, thanks to my hoodie. Unlike them, I didn't dress up for this event, an act of defiance I was glad my father failed to notice. 

"The Yllarions tasted power, and I'm certain they will not give up the throne. Maximus's sons are the best candidates for the upcoming Selection," a man in a formal suit said.

Since I needed to stay a little longer, I might as well eavesdropped on these self-proclaimed oracles. 

"Do not underestimate the desire of the Lorisons for redemption. Desperation is as dangerous as calculated wickedness," another man whose body was meant for intimidation replied. 

"Who says the Lorisons have no plans? True royal blood ran in their veins, the same way true wisdom resided in their minds."

I should be filled with gratitude the way the third man butted in, for I was a Lorison. Instead, his high expectations suffocated me. All my life I was groomed to rule, yet my heart sought the unreachable—freedom. I didn't aspire for the throne. I just wanted to live my life the way I fantasized with no restraint and most of all, away from this kingdom.

The men continued to defend their respective stands. Exhausted from their testosterone battle, I shifted my attention. I couldn't see my father. Perhaps he was still gloating with his fellow narcissists. Perfect, I can now escape. 

I let my eyes wander around, just to be certain, before I left the gathering with all the stealth I'd come to master. The chants of the people clung to my ears as I navigated the way back to my grandiose cage, which was supposed to be my home but didn't feel like one. The neighing of the horses, and the rustles of the tires coming from the moving carriages, greeted me when I stepped out from the main gate. Men in tuxedos and women in fancy dresses talked amongst themselves. 

My escape included steering away from the crowd and looking invisible as possible. My father had connections almost everywhere, so I needed to be careful. When I could no longer hear the cacophony behind, the breath I'd been holding on broke free. Before I could bring my guard down, which I was glad I hadn't, I heard a commotion. Against my better judgement, I walked closer. 

"Fortune favored the cunning," I said, lacking reverence and conviction the declaration entailed, but loud enough to stop their argument.

"Fortune favored the cunning," the man replied, somehow annoyed by my presence.

My gaze traveled east, landing on the dejected face of an old man beside him. His wrinkled forehead appeared older than his age as he held his empty wallet. A huge box in between them connected the dots. I lowered my eyes. The bulge in the guy's pocket proved me accurate.

Hateful words threatened to escape from the tip of my tongue. I stared at the scar that marred the back of my right palm. From the protruded line, the memories of my father's warning resurfaced. I swallowed my anger against my will. 

"Going somewhere?" I arched my eyebrow.

The guy chuckled; the old man's body sagged. "Nah. I'm done here. He can no longer pay for my service."

"Y-you can't just leave me here. I cannot carry it. Please, I need this to feed my f-family."

"Not my problem anymore. I am only doing what is right."

They quarreled for a moment before the guy left, cursing all the gods, and kicking the box along the way. My hands curled into tight fists. I tucked the proof of my anomaly behind my stiff back. Still, my cheeks and trembling lips left a more visible remnant of my transgression. I scoffed at the old man, my last resort of salvation, when he directed his pleading eyes to me. Tears strained his weary face.

'Do not look at me like that. I already learned my lesson a long time ago. A free service is a betrayal to Erideth. Helping without gaining something is a treason.'

I turned my back with a heavy heart. Determined to face the wrath of my father once he was home, but afraid to see the pain of the old man I'd left on the street. 

I looked above. Darkness reigned.

"Fortune favored the cunning," I whispered. "If only that fortune includes freedom, then I will ace their fucking Selection."