The humble servant of time is death.

  Death is a murderer! All it takes is a breath.

  I, the loyal Ghull of the Asaha, would not take such a bet.

  Death is a thief! I witnessed such theft.

  I made a guess for what it takes to make a bless.

  And when the queen moved, the king died.

  If it was a game of chess, I would confess.

  For the first time since arriving on Ars Pheria, Ava slept soundly through the night, her dreams deep and peaceful. With her presence no longer a secret, her room was relocated to a more permanent space, closer to Alessandro’s chambers. She was now attended to by maids who brought her meals and nurses who kept a watchful eye on her health. According to Ars Pherian customs and cultural norms, it would not be considered proper for her to live in the prince's chambers.

  For the next few weeks, it was decided that Ava would heal five patients each day, gradually building her comfort with her abilities. She felt a quiet sense of contentment, knowing her presence was accepted and that she was fulfilling her purpose. Yet, despite this, the feeling of not truly belonging lingered. The enormity of the change in her life was slowly sinking in. She missed her home in Paso Robles, the familiar sights and sounds that felt so far away now.

  Sitting alone in her room, Ava couldn’t shake the thought of Logan, who must have been frantic by now. She imagined that she had already been reported missing, and the police might be searching for her in Cappadocia. Ava’s mind also lingered on the Turkish taxi driver, the last person to see her on Earth. Was he being questioned by the authorities?

  Could she ever go back to Paso Robles? The thought weighed heavily on her. She could walk to the portal right now and ask the Ghull to send her home. He had promised he would, whenever she wanted.

  Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the sounds of commotion in the corridor. People were rushing up and down the stairs, their footsteps echoing with a sense of urgency.

  Ava quickly dressed and left her room, her heart racing as she moved through the quiet halls. The maids and nurse who had attended to her the night before were no longer in the common room. She made her way up the stairs, drawn to the Emperor’s chambers, only to find a crowd of senators gathered outside. As she approached the doors, one of the senators stepped forward, blocking her path.

  “Lady Ava, isn’t there anything you can do for him? Perhaps your healing abilities can go beyond just the dark fume," one of the senators called out, his voice in desperation.

  Ava didn’t respond. She simply continued walking, her mind focused on the room ahead. Inside, the atmosphere was heavy with concern. The Emperor lay in his bed, his face as pale as marble, his hands resting motionless on his chest. Alessandro and Perla stood beside him, speaking with someone who was diligently taking notes of their words. As soon as Aurelia spotted Ava, she moved quickly toward her, her face a mixture of concern and quiet urgency.

  “Unfortunately, the Emperor was found cold this morning,” Aurelia said, her voice steady, almost mechanical. “Perla and Alessandro will need to follow the proper protocols and arrange for his ceremony.”

  “Oh my God, how could this happen?” Ava exclaimed in desperation, her instinct pulling her toward Alessandro. But before she could move, Aurelia gently stopped her.

  “Please, listen to me first,” she said, her voice firm yet quiet. “Alessandro will be on the edge right now. You must wait until he comes to you. You cannot approach him in front of everyone. Do you understand?”

  Ava felt a tightness in her chest, her stomach churning as if it had dropped into her throat. Alessandro’s father was dead, and yet, she couldn’t comfort him in his darkest moment. He wasn’t even looking at her.

  "Why? Why are you doing this to him?" Ava asked, her voice shaking with a mix of confusion and hurt. It was hard to believe that Aurelia, who had been so close to her since her arrival on Ars Pheria, was now treating her like a complete outsider.

  “Because he cannot cry,” Aurelia said in a whisper, her gaze steady. “If he breaks down, everything unravels, and he loses his chance to become the next Emperor.”

  “Isn’t he the heir to the throne?” Ava asked, confusion clouding her voice.

  “Only if the Senate approves,” Aurelia replied. “If they don’t, they can nominate another candidate. Please, give him time.”

  “I don’t understand… why can’t he cry?” Ava asked, her eyes already wet and her voice trembling with uncertainty.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “You will understand in time,” Aurelia said, her tone soft but final. “For now, please go back to your room.”

  Ava walked back to her room, gazing out of the window at the bustle of Ars Pherians moving in and out of the palace like ants in a frenzy, each going about their duties without pause. Everyone seemed weighed down by sorrow, but no one stopped to allow time for grief or mourning. Not all of them could be the same, could they?

  Ava’s mind wandered, her thoughts turning to the possibility of a Sumerian attack. How many of these people would rush to the portal in panic if Ars Pheria were threatened? How many would stay to defend their home? What would an Ars Pherian do in the face of true danger?

  Were survival instincts more rational when exercised collectively, or individually? She couldn’t help but wonder how they would respond when tested by real survival, something none of them had ever faced before.

  The funeral ceremony for Emperor Sephianos stretched over two days. Ava attended the official proceedings at the grand piazza, standing beside Aurelia amidst the crowd. She listened quietly as people spoke of the Emperor’s legacy, recounting his many accomplishments, and watched a film detailing his life and achievements during his reign. His contributions to Ars Pheria’s agricultural development were highlighted, particularly his efforts to establish a farming zone on the cooler, fertile northern coast.

  The film, however, was conspicuously silent on the topic of the Sumer. There were no TV reporters or broadcasters, no cameras capturing the moment for the public. No one was dressed in black, and there was no church, no priest, no traditional rituals. The ceremony felt almost... impersonal, as though something essential was missing.

  On the third day after the Emperor’s death, his funeral ceremonies were finally concluded. It was now the day for the Senate to approve Alessandro as the new Emperor.

  Ava hadn’t spoken to Alessandro since the morning his father passed. Was he blaming her for Sephianos’s death? The uncertainty gnawed at her, leaving her lost in the dark. She resisted the urge to summon the Ghull again, though she lit the candles in her room several times, but never called for his presence.

  Death may be a new beginning.

  Belief may be the reality.

  Unfortunately for the creatures of mud, death is neither beginning nor reality.

  Of all the conscious beings created in this universe,

  Creatures of mud are the most unlucky.

  I, the loyal Ghull of the Asaha, don’t know of any God.

  Where there is no God, existence dances and plays God.

  Where the river runs, water is the God.

  Where I appear in betrayal, I am the God.

  From the graves I pulled out the dead,

  I looked in their hearts and their souls embedded.

  Restored with life, the dead looked at me,

  None wanted to come back, they were all so weary.

  So, I burned their hearts and drank the flames,

  Never seen a heart not filled with blames.

  Blames and regrets, sometimes disgrace,

  Almost enough to fill the space.

  So, I asked what makes them happy,

  To fill their hearts with joy and merry.

  In this world or the others, I gifted so many.

  Creatures of mud never pure, never holy.

  So, I gifted one more world to create excellency,

  Better than all others to my taste honestly.

  Neither human nor inhuman completely,

  Their hearts pure more than any.

  On the third day after the Emperor’s death, Prince Alessandro was officially crowned as the new Emperor. Emperor Sephianos II delivered a speech to thank the Ars Pherian Senate and honor the memory of his late father. His words were measured and dignified, but the weight of the moment was palpable. He reminded the Senate of the looming threat of the Sumer and called for the senators' working reports to be prepared within three days. The urgency in his voice was clear, time was running out.

  In the first week of his reign, Alessandro was buried under an avalanche of paperwork and reports. Perla, ever pragmatic, urged him to appoint her as his first advisor. As she sifted through the documents, she quickly realized that most of the senators had little to offer, many had no viable solutions, only questions. They were all looking to Alessandro for answers.

  Days passed, and while Alessandro grew increasingly despondent, trapped in a sea of bureaucracy, Ava remained at the rehabilitation center, tirelessly curing the sick. Her work brought hope to those around her, but even she could not escape the growing tension that hung over the planet.

  On the ninth day of his rule, Alessandro made his way to Ava’s room. His blue eyes, once bright, now appeared hollow and sunken from exhaustion. The weight of his new responsibilities had drained him. As he entered, the warm beams of the orange sunset streamed through the windows, casting a soft glow over him. It felt as if the Ars Pherian sun itself was trying to offer some semblance of comfort, wrapping the new Emperor in its embrace.

  “I wasn’t ready to see you,” Alessandro admitted, his voice heavy. “Are you angry with me?”

  “I’m not angry,” Ava replied softly. “I’m just worried, and I feel so lonely. But I’m still here for you. Because I love you.”

  “I love you too, with all my heart.” Alessandro pulled her into a tight embrace, and for the first time in days, his tears began to fall, tracing the lines of his face. “I couldn’t mourn my father. There was no time, and I was surrounded...”

  “There’s no one here, just you and me,” Ava whispered softly. She kissed his warm, tear-streaked face, feeling the weight of his pain in that tender touch. He was her Italian cello musician, a man who had been turned upside down in just a matter of weeks by the crushing changes in his life.

  With a gentle grace, she removed his cape and imperial uniform, then carefully laid him on the bed. As she did, she dimmed the glow of her skin, letting it fade slowly until only the swirling colors of her emotions, blue and red hues, were visible around her.

  She leaned over him, and she brought Alessandro back to life, gently and slowly.