Chosen by Valen

*Zara* I had never believed in devils. Myths, yes. Symbols. Archetypes, maybe. But devils? No. That belonged to frightened children and long-dead villagers. Still, here I was, standing alone beneath the cracked dome of an ancient ruin, with a forbidden book in my hands and a red moon rising above me. The wind whispered through the broken columns, brushing sand and time across my boots. My flashlight flickered, fighting against the weight of the night. And the book—The Red Book—was heavy, pulsing faintly with something I could not recognize. I opened it. The pages weren’t written in a language I didn't recognized, but the symbols tugged at something in her bones. The ink shimmered in the moonlight like it was alive. I shouldn’t read it aloud. But i was the kind of woman who did exactly what i shouldn’t. My voice, steady and low, echoed through the stones. “Saural vi taem... Verek d'an moraz...” The final word split the air like a knife. The ground trembled. The wind died. And the moon— The moon turned black at the center. I gasped, dropping the book. A sharp pain shot through her chest, like claws sinking into my ribs. I stumbled back, clutching my heart. My skin burned. My vision blurred. Then, silence. And a voice behind me: “You shouldn’t have said that.” I turned. There was no one there. But the world was gone. Valen's chamber… Zara's eyes fluttered open to a dimly lit chamber, the air thick with unfamiliar scents—burnt incense, aged parchment, and something metallic. The ceiling above was adorned with intricate carvings that seemed to shift when not directly observed. Panic surged as she sat up abruptly, the silk sheets slipping off her. This wasn't her room, her world. The last memory was of the Red Book, the incantation, the searing pain... A soft gasp drew her attention to a cluster of women standing near the doorway. They wore elegant attire as if they were attending some fancy ball, their skin pale and whitish as if they've never been under the sun, their hair all flowed like something from a commercial– something unreal, their faces and body were so beautiful they'd put many models and celebrities she knew to shame. But their expressions were a mix of curiosity and disdain. "She's awake," one whispered, her tone laced with skepticism. Zara swung her legs over the bed, the cold marble floor grounding her spiraling thoughts. "Where am I?" she demanded, her voice steadier than she felt. A tall woman with sharp features stepped forward. "You're in the Master's estate," she said curtly. "He summoned you." "Summoned? What is that even supposed to mean!" Zara's voice rose. "I want to go home." The woman exchanged glances with her companions. "Few leave once they've been called." Zara stood, her legs trembling. "I didn't ask for this. I don't want to be here, please I have a life—a job, friends..." "Silence!" another woman snapped. "Your presence here is a disruption." Before Zara could retort, a softer voice interjected. "Please, calm yourself," it came from a younger lady with kind eyes. "I'm Elara. We mean no harm." Zara clung to that sliver of kindness. "Elara, can you help me understand what's happening?" Elara hesitated, then nodded. "I'll do what I can." The other women scoffed, turning away. "She's not our concern," one muttered. Elara came closer to her after the others left and raised a gown from the bed beside her that looked just like what the others were wearing and started helping her undress, she wanted to protest ask why she was being clothed in a heavy fabric that itched just from touching it but she was scared if she made things hard for Elara she wouldn't get answers. As Zara dressed in the attire, the tension in the room was palpable. Elara made small talks with her trying to calm her down–she assumed but didn't really answer the main questions she had in her head. Most of her replies were ‘Master summoned you’,’Master would call you when you are ready’,’Just do as Master says’, ‘you will understand everything when the time is right’. She later started to believe they weren't real human maybe some AI robot that were programmed with what to say, but Elara’s eyes were so kind and shy even she couldn't be fake. So after Elara was done dressing her up she decided to go outside to seek answers she was not getting from inside the room or chamber as they called it but she was amazed at what she saw ,she was literally in a Castle,not just a regular castle this one felt alive, it was empty but you could feel an overwhelming pressure from the walls, from the statues that seemed to just lazily sit there,from the staircase that seemed architecturally impossible. They were some people she assumed to be staff because of their uniform, but she decided not to be side tracked and find the answers she was looking for,but the house seemed so big she didn't even know how to go about it. The male staff she encountered in the corridors were stoic, offering no answers, only observing with impassive eyes. But she decided to walk around who knows she might just find a way out of here. She came across more people as she walked dressed in the same kind of dresses as those from her room earlier and figured they were maids or workers but who wears ball gowns to work as a maid?. That Master must surely be insane. Just then she felt a movement beside her jumped and discovered it was only Elara but she didn't say a word so they just walked in silence, Zara inquisitively looking around and Elara smiling politely all the way. Whispers followed her: "Another one? She won't last." "The Master grows impatient with each failure." Elara stayed close, offering quiet support. "Not everyone here is unkind," she whispered. "But trust is earned." Zara's mind raced. She needed answers, a plan. But first, she had to navigate this treacherous estate, where allies were scarce, and the Master's intentions remained a mystery. Zara wasn’t sure how long she’d been wandering the halls. Everything in this place felt too polished, too deliberate—like she’d stepped into a movie set designed by someone with a god complex. The corridors were endless, curving and stretching in ways that defied architectural logic. Yet, every time she turned a corner hoping for an exit, she only found more grandeur—mirror-lined walls, velvet-draped archways, and statues with eyes that almost seemed to follow her. A dream. That’s what this had to be. A lucid, hyper-detailed dream conjured by her overworked brain. Maybe she was asleep in her studio apartment, or still passed out in the ruins where she found the book. Or in a coma. That last thought hit like a punch. She leaned against the cool wall, closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply. “This isn’t real,” she whispered. “It can’t be real.” “Real or not,” came a voice behind her, “you should try not to get lost.” Zara turned, startled. It was Elara—the same gentle-eyed maid who had tried to help her earlier. She stood a few steps away, holding a folded cloth and a silver tray with a small ceramic bowl. “I figured you might be hungry. Or at least... human enough to need food.” Zara blinked at her. “Do people get food in dreams?” Elara smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Some do.” Zara followed her reluctantly into a small sunroom, or what passed for one here. The light outside was dim, pale lavender instead of golden, and the sky still churned like storm clouds holding their breath. She sat and stared at the bowl—warm stew, or something close to it. It smelled good, but she couldn’t bring herself to eat. “You really think this is a dream?” Elara asked, folding her hands. “I have to,” Zara said. “Because the alternative is... insane.” Elara was quiet for a moment. “I used to think like that too.” Zara glanced at her sharply. “Wait—you’re not from here?” But before Elara could answer, the door creaked open, and two other maids entered—one tall and scowling, the other whispering behind her hand. Their eyes swept over Zara with thinly veiled disgust. “She’s still here?” the tall one said, brushing invisible dust off her pristine apron. “Thought the Master would’ve sent her back screaming by now.” “Or worse,” the other murmured. “Some don’t last long.” Zara’s spine stiffened. “I can hear you, you know.” “We’re counting on it,” said the first with a saccharine smile. “Just don’t get too comfortable, sweetheart. You’re not the first outsider to set foot here. You won’t be the last.” “Elira. Talia,” Elara said sharply. “That’s enough.” The two women left with a scoff, their laughter echoing in the hallway. Zara looked at Elara, her throat tight. “Why do they hate me?” Elara hesitated. “Because you’re not like them. And because they know what it means... to be chosen.” Zara’s chest ached. “I didn’t choose any of this.” “No,” Elara agreed. “But something chose you.” There was a heavy silence. Elara stood. “You should get some rest. The estate shifts at night. You’ll need your wits about you.” “What does that mean?” Elara only smiled faintly and said, “Sleep with one eye open.”