Halls Of Glass And Glow

The crescent moon hung in the sky like a curved blade, ribbons of light danced down in dismay, highlighting the home of the masked king.

He stood alone in the Glass Hall, a cathedral stretched into infinity, a looking glass thrusted into the center of his palace. Every wall was a window, floor to ceiling, panes rising so high they seemed to disappear into the storm above. Rain hammered ceaselessly against the crystal walls, each drop exploding into rivulets that bled downward like veins of mercury. The thunder outside rolled slow and deep, shaking the glass.

His figure was framed in silhouette, the masked veil over his face catching faint flashes of lightning as he peered down at the sputtering of droplets against the glass, the rippling paths of water and wind. Beyond the glass stretched the whole world, swallowed in the storm, the edges blurred into one giant mass.

The hall itself was bare, save for the rain and the silence, both of which belonged to him. Every echo of water against glass was a hymn to his dominion. Every flash of lightning threw his shadow across a thousand mirrored surfaces, appearing as though countless kings stood beside him.

“Nature’s chaos. The sound of weakness breaking apart.”

He pressed his palm to the pane, watching the water streak down in crooked lines.

“It looks like the world is crying,” he said to nobody but himself. “Every drop a little voice, racing to be first to the ground.”

Another flash of lightning rippled across the hall, multiplying his shadow between the columns.

“I used to wonder where the rain goes,” he murmured. “Does it drown the earth? Does it fill the sky back up when it’s done? Or does it just...vanish?”

His fingers traced the path of a single drop, dragging his reflection into a smear.

“When I was a child, I thought the storm was God giving the world a bath, cleansing it of all its sin. But look...” His head tilted, eyes following beyond the blurred glass. “The harder it rains, the dirtier it all becomes. The filth just spreads even further.”

He stepped back from the window, the sound of the rain swelling until it filled the silence.

“The storm that never stops. The storm that makes everything worse.”

The far wall stirred. Darkness crept across the marble floor, taking a wretched shape. Xallarap emerged from the shadows, its body trembling with distortion, its bow sharp and deep. The shadowed figure appeared like nothing more than something one would see out of the corner of their eye.

“My king,” he rasped.

The Amber King’s meditative stance had been interrupted, thoughts no longer only his, and so he faced the idea that had formed in his hall.

“You’ve been watching him,” he finally said, voice spilling like molten resin.

“Yes.” Xallarap’s form flickered. “Lucius remains shackled in the Serious House. He has not broken yet, but he will. His cycle is not yet complete.”

The masked veil shifted faintly, the King tilted his head. “Break and bind. They dissolve, and I remake them. But Lucius...” The words lingered, heavy with savor. “...Lucius clings to himself. He is obstinate, but he will drown like all the rest. Reborn into what I need him to be.”

The chamber darkened, the amber veins in the columns throbbing with heat.

“Yes, my lord. I’m aware of how timely this matter is, but the boy seems more headstrong than first imagined. It will take longer than anticipated.

“That reason,” the King whispered, “is exactly why he must be destroyed. Everything has finally come down to this. He will rid this place of all its filth.”

Xallarap wavered, uncertain how to respond. The droplets continued to clink off the glass, a dark and wet gloom projected over the entire world.

“Increase the intensity,” the Amber King demanded. “His will... his face... his essence…all of it, will be bend to my will.”

The last word lingered, low and intimate, as though spoken not to Xallarap but to Lucius himself, far away in his chair of chains.

“Return,” the King ordered, the smallest hints of exhaustion in his tone. “Leave me to my sanctuary.”

Xallarap bowed low, its shadow melting into the cracks of the marble floor.

“As you will, my king.”

Alone once again in the glass walls of the hall, the Amber King raised a single hand. From his gloved fingers dripped molten amber resonance, a sparkling bead that struck the tiled floor with a soft hiss. It pulsed once, twice, like a living heart.

“Lucius...” the King whispered, the veil quivering with every word. “Nothing more than a drop of rain in my storm.”

***

The Sanctum glowed, but the air was heavy in preparation.

At the central dais, Caesar stood strapped into the harness of his gear. The armour rack of colourful attires gleamed faintly under the Sanctum’s glow, but his outfit was one made for blending in, not standing out.

Ultra moved with precision, checking the node calibrations, fingers brushing over holographic glyphs that shifted under his touch.

“Once you reach the House, everything could turn to liquid. Nothing there stays solid in your mind,” Ultra said, his voice sharp. “Don’t anchor to the House. Anchor only to Lucius and make quick contact.”

Caesar adjusted his grip on the gauntlets, nodding.

“You’re going to need to-”

Ufvws…can you…hear me…bhhdjw…

Ultra’s eyes widened with surprise.

“Uhh…you good?” Caesar asked.

“He…he got the message. He replied.”

Lucius’s words stretched and snapped like radio waves, but the substance was there.

Ultra dropped the equipment he was holding in his hands, shaken at the splintered sound of the voice.

“What? What’d he say!?”

“It was all fragmented…barely conceivable. But it was there, he was there. The Serious House hasn’t broken him yet.”

A projection of Pareidolia floated before them, the sector of the Serious House burning bright over their heads.

“He’s alive. That’s all I need to know.”

Caesar’s lips pressed into a thin line, but his eyes hardened like steel. “Then we have no more time to wait. We breach now.”

Ultra turned, the Sanctum’s glow painted half his face in shadow, the other half in white light. “Yes. There’s no other choice.”

He closed his eyes, his body burning with teal resonance, and focused on projecting his message as far as he could conjure. Dropping his voice so that it could only be heard over their secured echo line, he formulated a quick and direct response.

We’re coming, Lucius. Stay strong.