Chapter 1

In the eerie silence of the night, the moon's feeble glow cast shadows upon the cobblestone path as two palace maids, Isabella and Margery, struggled to drag the lifeless body of a slender youth towards the concealed entrance of the sewers. The air was thick with tension and the weight of their clandestine act hung heavily in the night.

Isabella, her eyes wide with fear, whispered to Margery, "Oh, Margery, what have we done? This poor lad... he looks no older than eighteen. How did it come to this?"

Margery, beads of sweat forming on her forehead, replied with a shaky voice, "Hush, Isabella! We can't afford to be overheard. It was the Mistress's orders. She said he knew too much, that he posed a threat. We had no choice."

They continued dragging the youth, his lifeless eyes staring into the void, his long black hair cascading over his finely chiseled face. Isabella hesitated, looking down at him with a mix of sorrow and guilt. "But he's just a boy. What threat could he possibly have posed?"

Margery, gritting her teeth, shot a quick glance around, making sure they were still alone. "The Mistress is cunning, Isabella. She sees shadows where we see none. We're just pawns in her game."

As they reached the entrance to the sewers, Isabella couldn't help but speak her mind, "What if someone finds out? What if there are consequences?"

Margery shot Isabella a quick, stern look, "Stop your fretting, Isabella. We've come too far now. The Mistress's orders are not to be questioned."

Alas, the pale and coldness of the youth's body indicated that he was no longer of the living. The two palace maids, their faces hidden by the dim light, quickly reached the inner court's sewers. They were about to throw the lifeless body into the darkness below when, to their horror, they felt it tremble within their hands.

Isabella gasped, her eyes widening, "Gods! Margery, look! He's still alive!"

Margery, disbelief etched across her face, stammered, "But... but he was dead! How can this be?"

Then, their gaze lowered toward the youth's beautiful face, and they were horrified to see his eyelids trembling. His eyes sprang open, revealing a pair of captivating, shiny red eyes that held a spark of life.

The youth grinned mischievously, his voice weak but playful, "Well, well, what do we have here? Two lovely angels rescuing me from the clutches of death?"

The maids exchanged nervous glances, still grappling with the surreal situation. Then, as the youth continued his playful banter, Isabella's eyes widened in horror. She pointed at the youth, her voice trembling, "Margery, he's... he's talking! Dead bodies don't talk!"

Margery's face paled, and she let out a horrified gasp, "Sweet heavens! This is unnatural! It's like we've stumbled upon a cursed spirit or worse!"

The youth, amused by their reaction, chuckled, "Come now, ladies, there's no need to be frightened. I'm very much alive, as you can see."

But the maids weren't buying it. Isabella screamed, "This is unholy! We must leave!"

Promptly, they dropped the body, the youth still grinning, and turned on their heels, sprinting away from the inner court's sewers at the speed of cheetahs. Their footsteps echoed through the dark passages as fear fueled their escape.

In a thud, Valen Sanguis fell onto the ground, the impact sending a slight pain through his feeble body. His playful grin faded into a scowl, and he groaned, "By the gods, what in the infernal realms was that? Have you two lost your minds?"

Isabella and Margery, still running in blind terror, barely registered his words. Isabella shouted back, "Keep away, foul spirit! We won't be part of your dark magic!"

Margery, her voice trembling, added, "Stay back! We won't let you haunt us!"

Valen Sanguis, lying on the cold ground, massaged his aching body. "Haunt you? I'm not a ghost, you imbeciles! I'm as alive as you are!"

But his protests were drowned out by the fading echoes of the maids' frantic footsteps. Frustration and anger etched across Valen's face, he muttered to himself, "Insolent fools, dropping me like a sack of potatoes. I'll make them regret this."

Summoning what strength he had left, Valen pushed himself up from the ground, wincing at the residual pain. He muttered a few choice curses under his breath and dusted off his clothing.

Seating himself in a cross-legged position, he initiated the process of sorting through his thoughts. His recollections were unclear, and the most recent memory he could grasp was finding himself in an entirely unfamiliar realm governed by power, social standing, and mystical forces. His current location was within the inner court of the Empire, and he recognized himself as a seventeen-year-old eunuch, brought to the palace through the sale orchestrated by his biological parents.

Valen's eyes scanned the surroundings, taking in the grandeur of the palace. The cold realization of his situation sank in, and a bitter taste lingered in his mouth. "Sold to the palace as a eunuch," he muttered to himself, clenching his fists. "A pawn in their political games."

As he pondered his circumstances, flashes of memories began to surface. He remembered the harsh training, the stringent rules, and the cutthroat competition for favor within the palace. Valen's jaw tightened, anger burning in his eyes. "I won't be their puppet any longer."

The pain from his fall served as a harsh reminder of the physical toll he endured. Valen took a deep breath, steadying himself. "Strength, status, and magic," he mumbled, contemplating the rules of this new world. "If that's how they operate here, I'll play their game. But on my terms."

His father, an imbecile, and his mother, a woman of questionable virtue in every sense, had made the regrettable decision to sell him to the palace in a desperate attempt to settle their mounting debts. Valen, always a quiet child, harbored dreams of exploring the vast Continent, but the opportunity to fulfill that dream had never presented itself. Instead, he found himself entangled in the political machinations of the palace, a pawn in a game he never chose to play.

Worse, destiny chose to curse him with something he didn't know how to deal with: A devilishly handsome face! Valen's features were sculpted with precision, his dark hair framing a face that would stand out in any crowd. His attractiveness became a double-edged sword, drawing attention and unwanted admiration in the perilous corridors of the palace. His striking appearance, while captivating, became a constant source of scrutiny and envy, complicating his already challenging circumstances. The very beauty that could have been a blessing in another life became an additional layer of complexity in the intricate web of palace politics.

The attention and animosity fueled by his remarkable looks created an environment where every interaction was laced with suspicion and hidden agendas. Valen, unable to comprehend the full extent of the curse bestowed upon him, navigated the treacherous waters of palace life, where his beauty became both a coveted asset and a perilous liability.

Sold into the palace and rendered a eunuch brought a certain sense of relief, yet fate's cruelty unexpectedly struck again. While attending to his duties in the imperial kitchen, he caught the attention of one of the Mistress's maids. Soon after, he was summoned to her chambers. The Mistress, whose name remained a mystery, was celebrated as the empire's most beautiful woman and the favored companion of the emperor. Consequently, when she demanded his "services," he recoiled in horror, refused, and attempted to respectfully excuse himself.

Incensed by his refusal, the Mistress subjected him to a fatal caning, the brutal punishment resounding through the palace corridors. Valen, ensnared in the perilous interplay of beauty and political intrigue, met a gruesome demise for daring to resist the desires of the empire's most influential woman. His once-cursed beauty tragically played a pivotal role in his downfall, adding another bleak chapter to the convoluted fate that entwined him with the palace's machinations.

Regret gnawed at Valen as he lay in agony, his mind grappling with the consequences of his defiance. "I should have accepted and bedded the most beautiful woman in the empire," he whispered to himself, ruefully contemplating his choices. "It would have spared me this wretched fate."

But then, the searing pain from the caning jolted through his body, a harsh reminder of the brutality he had endured. Valen winced and gasped, the reality of his situation crashing down upon him. He groaned, "Accepting might have saved me from this pain, but at what cost? My dignity, my autonomy? No, I won't be reduced to a pawn in their twisted games."

As the echoes of his torment reverberated through the palace, Valen's thoughts oscillated between the regret of rejecting the Mistress's demand and the agonizing memory of the punishment that followed. The complex web of beauty, power, and political intrigue had ensnared him, leaving him to grapple with the consequences of choices that seemed to lead only to despair.

Thankfully, there was nobody within a hundred meters, as his cry had the potential to wake even the deceased. "Deprived of manhood? What is this absurdity? I never agreed to endure such misery! God, return my dignity!" Valen's tormented shout resounded through the vacant corridors, a desperate plea merging with the shadows of the palace.

The harsh realization of his castration struck him forcefully, and the intense pain from the caning paled in comparison to the mutilation he had suffered. Valen's sense of self and masculinity had been forcefully taken away, forcing him to confront the cruel truth of his altered reality. The palace, once a realm of distorted dreams and unrealized hopes, now held the shattered remains of a man who had dared to challenge destiny, only to be crushed beneath its unrelenting burden.

Valen's eyes widened. Why was a voice suddenly echoing within his head? He looked left and right for a person to blame, but there was no one to be found. The empty corridors stretched before him, devoid of any living presence. A shiver ran down his spine as he realized the voice was a manifestation of something far more ominous, an unseen force dictating his fate.

The voice in his head responded, a chilling tone cutting through the air, "You can't see me. I'm in your head."

Valen staggered backward, his hands clutching his temples as if trying to physically grasp the source of the haunting voice. "In my head? What kind of madness is this? Show yourself!"

Valen wondered if he had gone insane. But considering that he had been sent into this magical place, anything was possible. The boundaries between sanity and madness blurred within the confines of the palace, leaving him questioning the very nature of his existence. As he stood alone, wrestling with the enigma of the voice inside his head, Valen couldn't shake the feeling that he had stepped into a realm where the laws of reality were rewritten at the whim of unseen forces.

The palace, once a symbol of power and authority, had transformed into a surreal landscape where the threads of destiny were manipulated by entities beyond comprehension. Valen's mind became a battleground between reason and the inexplicable, each echoing corridor and hidden chamber adding another layer of uncertainty to his already bewildering journey.

Gritting his teeth, Valen straightened himself, a newfound determination replacing the initial shock. "If this is madness, then let it be. I won't succumb without a fight."

In the echoing silence of the palace, Valen's voice seemed to dissipate into the shadows. The eerie calm settled again, and Valen, still on edge, decided to confront the enigmatic presence within his mind.

"What purpose do you serve?" he questioned, his voice echoing through the empty corridors.

The voice responded, a seductive and melodic woman's tone, "I serve the whims of fate, Valen Sanguis. My purpose is entwined with the destiny of those who wander within the world."

Valen frowned, uncertainty etching his face. "Why are you in my head? What do you want from me?"

The seductive voice took on a softer tone, "I am but a spirit, trapped in the ephemeral threads of existence. I do not know how I came to reside within your mind, nor do I understand the greater purpose behind our connection."

Valen, still grappling with the surreal nature of the situation, felt a strange mix of curiosity and trepidation. "A spirit without purpose? What kind of entity are you?"

The voice, its seductive quality waning, responded with a touch of melancholy, "I am a fragment, a whisper of forgotten tales. Perhaps our fates are intertwined by a force beyond our understanding."