CHAPTER 8 : FIRST MISSION - DISGUISE
580 Words
Cera had chosen her title herself — Goddess of Death.
A name born not from pride, but from survival.
She had passed through a thousand death fields and come out alive.
The youngest in history.
And only the third girl ever to hold a post this high in Marquis’ empire.
Now, she had earned her place — as Side Hand to her brothers.
The underworld didn’t sleep that night.
Celebrations echoed through the fortress — laughter, music, the clinking of glasses.
Cera sat at the long mahogany table beside her seven brothers.
The air smelled of smoke, liquor, and gunpowder — the scent of victory.
Marquis sat at the head, silent, yet his eyes were soft when they looked at her.
He poured wine for the others — deep red like spilled blood — and when he reached her, he poured orange juice instead.
The others laughed, teasing her youth.
But Marquis raised a hand to quiet them.
“Cera,” he said, his voice deep but calm, “you’ve earned your title.
But now comes the real test — the art of control.
You’ll join your brothers in missions starting tomorrow.
And your first lesson… is to blend in.”
He leaned forward, his gaze piercing through the noise of the room.
“In this world, power is useless if you can’t hide it.
The strongest survive not because they’re feared,
but because no one sees them coming.”
He gestured toward Lucian — the 25-year-old known as The Chameleon.
Lucian smirked, his sharp eyes flicking toward Cera.
He was infamous for his ability to become anyone — a merchant, a student, a beggar, a soldier — never the same man twice.
“Lucian will train you,” Marquis continued.
“The art of wearing masks.
Your first mission begins tomorrow.”
Cera nodded. She never questioned. She never refused.
Then Marquis raised his glass — this time, a glass of wine — and placed it before her.
The brothers looked at each other, confused.
Even Lucian paused.
“You’re one of us now,” Marquis said softly.
“No more juice. Tonight, you drink as a Side Hand.”
Cera hesitated for a heartbeat, then lifted the glass.
The dark liquid burned down her throat, bitter and strong.
Her vision blurred slightly, but she didn’t flinch.
The table roared with laughter and pride — their little sister had become one of them.
Soon the night faded, the laughter grew distant, and one by one, everyone left — until only her seven brothers remained.
The bottle was almost empty, and Cera sat still, her eyes half-open, her mind drowning in blurred memories.
When William — the eldest — walked toward her and offered his hand to take her to her room, something in her finally broke.
Her fingers trembled as she took his hand — and then the tears came.
Slow, quiet, unstoppable.
For the first time since that day… she cried.
She remembered her brother — her real brother.
The warmth of his voice, the smell of the old wooden house, the way he smiled when he said “happy birthday.”
But now — no one remembered.
No one celebrated.
It was her birthday… and his too.
And yet, she was alone in a room full of people who only knew her as the Goddess of Death.
William didn’t speak.
He simply wrapped a coat around her shoulders and let her cry until she fell asleep.
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