Chapter 4: Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The door shut with a quiet thunk behind her.

Emily stood still for a beat, just outside the throne room, the two guards settling into place a few paces behind her—silent, stone-faced, and irritatingly watchful. She didn’t know their names. They hadn’t spoken a word since she’d been dumped at Caelan’s feet like some enchanted stray. Still, they followed her everywhere. Always present. Never touching. Never far.

Her fingers brushed the edge of the orange robe as she took a slow breath. The fabric still felt too bright, too loud against the castle’s dark stone. Everything here echoed—every step, every breath, every thought she didn’t say aloud.

Emily started walking.

The hall was wide and cold, lit by the same floating lights as the throne room, hovering just below the ceiling like little glowing ghosts. As she passed under them, their glow shifted—sometimes white, sometimes blue, sometimes the faintest violet. They cast strange shadows on the floor.

She passed doors, all identical—tall, dark, featureless. The occasional sigil marked one: simple carvings etched in the shape of flame, or branches, or an eye. She paused at one, reaching toward the handle—

“Emily.”

She nearly jumped.

The voice was soft, calm, and way too close. She turned just in time to see Varis hurrying down the corridor behind her. Her expression was neutral, but her movements were sharp and quick—like she’d been running and didn’t want to show it.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Varis said, falling into step beside her.

Emily arched a brow. “Not startled. Just rethinking my life choices.”

Varis offered a faint smile. “A common condition around here.”

Emily studied her as they walked. “Let me guess—Caelan sent you?”

Varis gave a small nod. “He asked that someone remain close, in case the castle overwhelmed you.”

“In case I wander somewhere I shouldn’t, you mean.”

Varis didn’t answer. But she also didn’t deny it.

They moved past a series of darkened chambers, their heavy doors closed tight. One hallway curved upward toward what looked like a tower. Another spiraled downward into something darker.

Emily glanced toward the upper staircase.

Varis spoke quickly. “That one’s restricted.”

“Let me guess—the very top?”

“The very top.”

Emily made a face. “Of course it is.”

They passed another door. This one swung open at Varis’s gesture—no handle, no hinges. Just an obedient slide of stone.

The room beyond was massive. A domed ceiling stretched overhead, painted in gold and black with constellations she didn’t recognize. Shelves lined every wall, stacked with ancient tomes and scrolls. A long chandelier hung from a chain above, strange white lights flickering inside enchanted glass.

A library.

Emily blinked. “Okay, this part of the kidnapping I like.”

Varis smiled softly. “Many of these texts are older than the kingdom itself. You may explore freely. Just… avoid the books with seals on their spines.”

“I’m sorry—seals?”

“Magical seals. Wards. Some of them react poorly to the uninitiated.”

“Oh good,” Emily muttered. “Exploding books. That’s comforting.”

They stepped inside. The guards remained at the doorway like silent shadows. Emily wandered between the shelves, scanning titles she couldn’t read. The script was delicate, looped, ancient.

“I don’t suppose there’s a ‘How Not to Be a Magical Prisoner’ guide in here?” she muttered.

Varis just smiled—pleasant, polite, and absolutely unbothered. “Or, if you prefer something gentler, we have a children’s history book from the Academy’s lower levels. Lots of pictures. Very cheerful illustrations. No vivid soul trauma.”

Emily blinked. “You’re kidding.”

Varis tilted her head. “It was written by a scholar who believed children should learn through joy. He was exiled.”

Emily huffed a short laugh. “Of course he was.”

“I believe the cover has a smiling sword on it,” Varis added helpfully. “With eyes.”

“Oh my god.”

“You might like it.”

Emily narrowed her eyes. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Emily wandered between shelves until she found a lower section labeled Educational Materials – Pre-Class Initiates. The handwriting on the plaque was unusually loopy, like someone had tried to make it cheerful but ran out of will halfway through.

She crouched down.

And there it was.

A thick, square-shaped book with a painted leather cover. A sword—complete with round eyes and a too-wide smile—grinned back at her under the title:

“Little Souls, Big History!”

She held it up with both hands. Turned it over. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered.

“I told you,” came Varis’ voice lightly from behind a shelf. “He was very committed to the tone.”

Emily flipped it open and blinked at a page where a cartoon knight waved at a field of burning crops. The caption beneath read: ‘Sometimes, when you ask the gods for rain and get fire, it’s a learning opportunity!’

She snorted.

“Oh, it gets better,” Varis said, now stepping into view. “The chapter on the Soul Wars has a sing-along.”

Emily gave her a flat look. “Do you make people read this?”

“Only the traumatized ones,” Varis said sweetly.

Emily looked back down at the page, lips twitching.

She didn’t put the book back.

Instead, she hugged it to her chest like a guilty pleasure and stood.

Varis raised a brow, but didn’t comment. Just gave her a knowing look and gestured toward the archway on the far side of the library. “Come on, there’s still more to see. I’ll even show you where we keep the good tea.”

Emily followed, the ridiculous smiling sword grinning up at her from under her arm. “You have bad tea?”

“We have medicinal tea,” Varis said grimly. “That counts.”

They stepped out into the hall. The two guards shifted slightly behind them, always a few paces back. Still silent. Still watching.

Emily glanced at them, then at Varis. “So. Do they ever talk?”

Varis smirked. “Only when you’re unconscious.”

Emily made a face. “Comforting.”

Varis led her into the next room a few halls down—a high-ceilinged space lined with glass cabinets. Inside: preserved plants, powders in labeled vials, strange roots suspended in clear gel. The air smelled faintly of lavender and something sharper, like antiseptic.

“Infirmary,” Varis said, her voice softening. “We keep a full ward downstairs, but this is for fast access. Surface patrols sometimes come back a bit too… shredded.”

Then Varis turned toward another hallway and said, “Next stop: the standard ritual rooms. They’re all identical and equally boring.”

Emily followed. “Somehow I don’t believe you.”

They moved on, the halls quiet again but more familiar now. Emily still didn’t know where anything was, but with Varis beside her—it somehow didn’t feel quite so hostile anymore.

“Four identical ritual rooms?” Emily asked as they passed a closed door with an etched glyph. “Let me guess—he likes symmetry.”

“No,” Varis said with a smirk. “He likes redundancy. If one gets contaminated, he wants three backups ready.”

Emily arched a brow. “Contaminated?”

“You really don’t want to know.”

They turned a corner. The corridor narrowed slightly, walls warmer here with reddish sconces flickering softly.

After a beat, Emily glanced over. “So… what about you?”

Varis blinked. “What about me?”

“I mean—where are you from? Before all this.”

Varis looked amused. “Trying to figure out if I’m trustworthy?”

“Trying to figure out how you ended up soul-bonded to a castle run by a brooding magical overlord.”

Varis gave a snort. “Fair.”

They passed another set of ornate doors—shut. The hallway curved left.

Emily shrugged. “Where are you from? Before all this?”

Varis was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “I was born here in the ashen wasteland. Small village. Nothing special. My parents were farmers." She paused, laughing a little as she said. "My sister used to chase me through the wheat fields barefoot for hours.”

Emily waited.

“When I was ten, the Blood Cult came through. Said our village had a shrine that offended their gods. We didn’t even have a shrine. Just an old tree the elders tied ribbons to on solstice nights.” Her voice dipped, low and steady. “They burned it. Burned everything. Everyone.”

Emily’s steps slowed.

“I saw my sister die.” Varis’s jaw tightened, but she kept walking. “My parents too. But they didn’t kill me. Not right away. Said I was ‘unbroken.’” Her mouth twisted. “That I had ‘use.’”

Emily felt her stomach turn.

“They kept me in a pit at first. Eventually a cage. I lost track of time. They fed me just enough. Dragged me out to test poisons or sharpen blades or… worse.”

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Varis didn’t elaborate. She didn’t need to.

“I think they forgot I had a name.”

Emily couldn’t speak.

“Then one day,” Varis said quietly, “his majesty showed up.”

Emily looked at her.

“No warband. No spells cast ahead. Just him, walking through fire and madness like it bored him. They tried to stop him. They couldn’t. I watched him kill seven men without blinking.” She paused. “Then he saw me.”

Emily held her breath.

“He didn’t say anything. Just looked at me. And something in me cracked. I thought maybe he was there to end it. And I was ready.”

Varis smiled faintly. “But he didn’t. He opened the cage. Picked me up like I weighed nothing. And he brought me here.”

Emily blinked. “He just… saved you?”

“He gave me my name back,” Varis said. “Let me choose what to do with it.”

Silence stretched for a beat. Then Emily said softly, “And you chose to stay.”

“I chose to serve. He didn’t ask me to. I wanted to. Still do.”

They turned down another corridor. The ritual rooms loomed ahead.

Emily gave her a sidelong glance. “You really trust him.”

Varis looked at her. “With my life.”

Emily exhaled through her nose. “Noted.”

They reached the ritual rooms. Varis gestured lazily. “Still creepy.”

Emily peeked inside. “Yup. Still consistent branding.”

Varis let out a laugh. “I like you.”

“Only took a near-death experience, a soulbond, and two armed guards to win you over.”

“Oh, please. You had me at eye roll.”

Varis, glancing sideways. “So,” she said lightly, “what about you? What’s your story?”

Emily let out a quiet breath, one hand brushing the spine of the book tucked under her arm. “It’s… a little cliche.”

Varis said nothing, just waited.

“My mom, Katelynn, got pregnant with me when she was sixteen,” Emily said. “Her parents kicked her out. No help. No support. Just her and me, figuring it out together.”

A pause. Emily’s voice softened.

“She gave up everything for me. Worked three jobs, lived off caffeine and willpower, always made sure I had what I needed—even when she didn’t.” A small, almost reverent smile pulled at her mouth. “She used to leave sticky notes in my lunch box. Encouraging crap. Silly stuff. Reminders to be kind. I don’t think she ever stopped trying to be both my mom and my whole world.”

Varis glanced at her, quiet.

“She finally left my dad when I was about seven,” Emily added. “That was the worst of it—he was... a violent drunk. But she got us out. Everything good about me is because of her.”

Varis gave a small, sincere nod. “She sounds extraordinary.”

“She is.” Emily looked ahead, expression hardening with a fierce kind of pride. “Now that I can afford it, I’m taking care of her. She has her own little place. Quiet. Calm. Safe. She gets to rest now.”

There was a silence between them—mutual, understanding.

“She’s the reason I went into medicine,” Emily said, voice quieter now. “Not because she pushed me. She never once said I had to do anything. But I watched her, day after day, come home dead on her feet—still smiling. Still making dinner. Still asking about my day.”

Varis didn’t interrupt.

“She worked nights at a care home for years. Low pay, heavy lifting, thankless hours. But she treated every patient like they mattered. Like they were family. And when she talked about them... it was never just charts and symptoms. It was stories. Lives. People.”

Emily looked down briefly, then back ahead.

“I remember sitting on the floor with my coloring books while she studied to get her nursing certification. I thought she was magic. Tired, broke, stressed—but somehow still soft. Still human.” She huffed softly. “I wanted to be like that. To help the way she did. To matter like that.”

A pause stretched, warm and reverent.

“So yeah,” Emily finished. “I memorized anatomy flashcards under a blanket with a flashlight before I even understood half the words. Because of her.”

Varis gave a low, thoughtful hum. “Sounds like you both have stubborn hearts.”

Emily’s mouth twitched. “Well, one of us had the good sense to stay out of magical soul-contracts.”

They both chuckled lightly as they stepped away from the ritual rooms just walking aimlessly now.

“What about your father?” Varis asked gently. “Did you see him much?”

Emily let out a short, dry laugh. “Oh, god, no. He was awful.”

The air shifted slightly, her steps slowing.

“He drank like breathing. Mean drunk, too—yelling, throwing things, breaking whatever was closest. And when he wasn’t drunk… he was worse. Quiet. Cold. Like he was waiting for a reason.”

Varis stayed silent, her presence steady beside her.

“He died a few years ago,” Emily added after a beat. “Liver failure. I didn’t go to the funeral. Neither did my mom.”

She didn’t sound angry when she said it. Just tired. Like she’d folded that chapter of her life away a long time ago.

“Sometimes I feel bad,” she murmured. “Like maybe I should’ve… felt more. But mostly I just felt free. Isn’t that awful?”

Varis shook her head. “No. It means you survived.”

Emily met her eyes—and this time, it was Emily who smiled first. Small. Honest. Grateful.

Varis bumped her shoulder lightly against Emily’s. “Alright, enough heavy talk—are you hungry?”

Emily blinked, then let out a breath of a laugh. “I could eat.”

“There’s a kitchen wing,” Varis said, her tone brightening. “And I owe you the best tea in the castle, remember?”

Emily gave a small smile. “Right. I’ve been waiting.”

They walked in comfortable silence, making light conversation as they moved through the castle's winding corridors. The air grew warmer as they approached the kitchens, scented with rising dough and fresh herbs.

Varis pushed open a thick wooden door set with brass rivets. “Welcome to my favorite part of the castle.”

The kitchen was warm and bustling, full of clattering pots and the soft thud of dough being kneaded. Near the hearth, steam curled from a simple kettle resting over low flame. The smell drifting from it was unlike anything Emily had known—floral, yes, but layered with something earthy and almost electric.

Varis walked straight to it, plucked two handled mugs from a shelf, and poured.

“This,” she said, handing one to Emily with a quiet kind of pride, “is the best tea in the castle. Told you I’d show you.”

Emily followed Varis to a small table near one of the tall kitchen windows, the smell of bread and herbs wafting through the air. They sat across from each other, tea mugs in hand, and for a few moments the warmth and quiet filled the space between them. The tea was as promised—delicate, fragrant, a strange mix of sweet and sharp that lingered on her tongue.

Emily took another sip, then glanced at Varis.

“This really is the best tea,” Emily murmured.

“Told you so,” Varis said, her smile small but proud. “It’s brewed from frostbloom petals. Only grows wild near the cliffs up north. Very difficult to harvest, very worth it.”

They sipped in a comfortable quiet for a beat, the bustle of the kitchen around them muffled by the high stone walls.

Emily glanced down at the sleeve of her bright orange robe. “So... since I keep getting stared at like a walking warning sign, want to tell me what all these robe colors actually mean?”

Varis tilted her head slightly, amused. “You’re not a warning. You’re just rare. Orange means you’re a servant of the Crown—directly tied to a ruling house. People stare because it’s not a common sight.

Emily snorted softly. “Great. Love being unique.”

Varis’s smile grew. “You’re handling it well. Now, red—that’s the color for standard servants. Cook staff, errand runners, maintenance.”

“So... orange is a fancier red.”

“In a way. More trusted. More watched.” Her tone was even, but Emily didn’t miss the weight behind those last two words.

“And the browns?” Emily asked, curiosity creeping in.

“Labor classes,” Varis said, resting her chin in her palm. “Different shades for different roles. Light brown for agriculture. Dark brown for things like blacksmiths or woodworkers. Mixed tones for trades like leatherworking or tailoring.”

“Craftsmen and workers. Got it.” Emily sipped again. “I saw someone in a deep blue robe earlier. Like, royal blue.”

“Scholars,” Varis said instantly. “Blue means they study or support other classes. Rune researchers, arcane linguists, record keepers. Most of them live in the floating cities, but his majesty keeps a few here.”

Emily filed that away. “And the ones who don’t wear robes at all? Just those gray uniforms?”

“Combat classes. Soldiers, knights, bodyguards. The shade of gray usually says something about their rank or focus. Archers tend to wear lighter tones. Elite guards wear nearly black.”

“Is there more?” Emily raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, purple. Elementalists. Rune-based magic casters. They get a little freedom in their dress—robes or something more practical. Most choose function over form.”

Emily leaned back, tapping her fingers on the cup. “And nobility?”

Varis gave her a look. “They wear whatever they want.”

Emily smirked at that. “Of course they do.”

She let the silence stretch for a few breaths, then reached carefully, “So... where does that leave Caelan? I haven’t seen a robe on him at all. Just his big... layered... dramatic death-cape thing.”

Varis’s expression sobered. She investigated her tea for a moment, then met Emily’s gaze. “He’s not required to wear the colors. He’s noble born. And beyond that—his class... it isn’t one most people speak of lightly.”

Emily blinked. “Which is?”

Varis paused.

Then softly: “He’s a Soul-Arcanist.”

Emily frowned, the term foreign and heavy. “Is that bad?”

Varis’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “It’s rare. And feared. But that’s a conversation for another room. And another day.”

She stood with a grace that suggested the discussion was closed.

Emily watched her for a second, then rose too, brushing her hands on her robe. “Another room, huh?”

Varis smiled faintly. “One that doesn’t serve tea.”

They left the kitchens behind, the warmth and scent of herbs fading into the cooler hush of the stone halls. The echo of their steps mingled with the quieter tread of the two guards who still trailed behind at a respectful—but clearly intentional—distance.

After a moment, Emily tilted her head. “The mark on Caelans arm—the one that says ‘Soul-Arcanist.’ That’s the same kind of thing as mine than, right? Mine says… Servant.”

Varis nodded. “Everyone gets theirs by the time they’re five. That’s when the body starts absorbing the ambient magic in the air. It happens naturally—your soul gets… read. Analyzed. The magic sort of looks at what you are underneath everything else. Then your mark appears.”

Emily squinted at her forearm. “So, it’s not some government branding thing. It’s… like magical diagnostics?”

Varis shrugged. “Something like that. Magic doesn’t lie. It sees you clearly—maybe more clearly than you see yourself.”

She made a face. “Terrifying. I didn’t even get a say.”

“No one does,” Varis said gently. “It’s not about choice. It’s about truth.”

Emily snorted. “Great. Cosmic tattoo artist and a therapist. With zero bedside manner.”

Varis gave a breathy exhale that might have been a laugh. “No one can change their mark. Not normally. It’s supposed to be fixed."

Emily glanced over her shoulder, then leaned slightly toward Varis.

“So…” she said, voice low and casual. “What is a Soul-Arcanist?”

Varis’s head turned sharply, eyes flicking to the guards, then down the corridor ahead. She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she quickened her pace slightly, leading Emily around a corner and into a narrower hall with no windows—just thick, veined stone and the muted glow of floating lights overhead.

Only when they were out of earshot did she speak, her voice dropped to a near-whisper.

“It’s not something we talk about openly,” she murmured. “Not unless we have to.”

Emily arched a brow. “That bad, huh?”

Varis didn’t smile. “Soul-Arcanists can manipulate the essence of life itself. Not just heal or harm the body—but alter the soul. They can bind it, reshape it, even destroy it. Most magic works on the physical or elemental plane. Soul magic cuts deeper.”

Emily absorbed that, her fingers tightening slightly around the edge of her robe. “So… what, like necromancers?”

Varis shook her head. “No. Necromancy plays with death. Soul-Arcanists play with identity. Memory. Will. They can reach into the very core of a person and twist it.” Her voice lowered further. “In the old wars, they were executioners. Or weapons. Sometimes both.”

Emily’s steps slowed. “And Caelan is one of those.”

“The only one left,” Varis replied, almost reluctantly. “They were always rare, but now it’s just him. Or at least, he’s the only one who’ll admit it.”

“Sounds like a lonely club.”

Emily swallowed, her throat dry. “And Caelan’s had that mark since he was five?”

Varis nodded. “That’s what I heard. He was sent away young—some say to a re-education camp, some say a prison. His father is the king, but no one wanted a soul mage as heir to the throne.”

Emily lifted a brow. “So, what happened?”

“He ran. Escaped when he was about sixteen. Came here—to the wastelands. No one really knows how he survived, or how he built all of this. But over time, he made Viremoor into something real.”

Emily looked around at the cold stone walls, the hanging lights that hummed faintly overhead, the guards still shadowing them like wraiths.

“Built it from nothing?” she asked.

“From fear,” Varis said quietly. “And power. He didn’t just survive the wastelands. He tamed them.”

Emily walked in silence for a while.

A man marked as a Soul-Arcanist since childhood. Banished. Escaped. Built a kingdom from ash and bone. Bound her soul by accident—or maybe on purpose. And now, she was here, trapped in orange robes and walking haunted halls.

She exhaled through her nose. “This place just keeps getting better and better.”

Then all the sudden Emily jolted, her entire body seizing with searing pain.

She hissed through her teeth, clutching her hand—and then gasped. Blood welled up between her fingers.

“What—” Her voice broke as she stared at the gash now open across her palm. It hadn’t been there a second ago. The skin was torn clean through, red and raw, the flesh underneath exposed like someone had taken a blade to it.

“God—what the hell—?” she stammered.

Varis turned at once, eyes widening in alarm as she stepped closer. “Emily—?”

Before she could answer, a white-hot burn exploded across Emily’s back. She screamed, falling to her knees, her hand smearing blood across the cold stone floor.

The guards rushed forward, weapons half-drawn, but confused, scanning the hall for any sign of an attacker. There was none.

“Wait!” Varis snapped, throwing an arm out protectively as she dropped beside Emily and reached for the back of her robes. “She’s not being attacked—there’s no one—”

She yanked the fabric up—and froze.

A long, crimson line was opening across Emily’s back, right before her eyes. Skin splitting. Flesh parting. Blood rising.

“No, no, no—” Varis whispered, panic flashing in her face. “She’s being—she’s being cut.”

Emily screamed again, her voice ragged with terror.

Another slash ripped across her thigh. Then one on her ribs. The air smelled of iron. Her orange robes were soaked in seconds.

“I—I don’t understand—what’s happening to me?” she cried, choking on tears, her body trembling violently. “I didn’t do anything—what is this—?!”

Varis pressed her hands to Emily’s back, green shimmering magic already flaring between her fingers. She healed the first wound, the skin knitting back together under a rush of light—but as soon as one closed, another appeared, this time across Emily’s face.

“Gods, they just keep—” Varis’s voice broke. “I can’t keep up, I can’t—”

Emily’s limbs were shaking. Her breath came in shallow, panicked gasps.

The pain overwhelmed everything. Her vision blurred. Her body no longer felt like hers. It was a map of agony, carved and raw, marked by invisible hands.

And then, blessedly, the world tilted sideways and went dark.