The warmth of dinner had faded, but Mark's mind remained restless.
He walked alone down the hallway, the walls of the Guardian King's Palace stretching high above him like ancient guardians. The torchlight flickered gently on polished stone.
He reached a washroom, turned on the faucet, and splashed cold water on his face. Droplets clung to his skin, but the unease didn't wash away.
He stared at his reflection. What was he even doing here?
Drawing a breath, he dried his face and left the room.
On the way to the Founders Hall, voices caught his attention.
Two men stood near a wide archway, dressed in Salem's green-and-black robes. They were speaking low, but the name they said froze Mark mid-step.
"Amariah's stirring again. Salem's council won't hold her back much longer."
"Let her rise," the other said. "After what happened at Babel… they should've listened to her in the first place."
Mark lingered a moment longer, then moved on.
He entered the Founders Hall.
It was magnificent—shaped like a grand theater, with a wide, arched ceiling painted in shimmering hues of gold and obsidian. A large stage stood at the front, carved from white stone and lit softly by crystal torches along its edges.
But there were no chairs.
Instead, the floor was laid out with soft mats and plush pillows in the colors of every tribe, arranged in semicircles.
Mark spotted David in the middle rows, waving him over.
"You made it!" David said, shifting to give him space.
Mark sat beside him, eyes still drifting to the stage. "Hey… have you ever heard of someone named Amariah?"
David blinked, surprised. "Where'd you hear that name?"
"Passing conversation."
David leaned in, voice lowered. "I've read about her. Heard stories too. She's… complicated."
"How so?"
"Well," David began, stretching his legs, "each clan has a Chief, right? When the Chief dies, the title passes to their first direct child. Always the first."
Mark nodded.
"But," David added, "if anyone in the clan believes the heir's unworthy, they can declare a Tribe Match."
Mark frowned. "A what?"
David grinned. "A challenge. Both candidates must climb to the top of Mount Hakor—highest point on the island—and hunt one of the wild goats that live there. First to return with a goat becomes Chief."
"And if both return with a goat?"
"Then it gets fun," David said. "They wrestle. Bare hands. No weapons. Winner becomes Chief."
Mark raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"
David nodded. "It's ancient law. Brutal, but fair."
"So Amariah—"
"—Was the rightful heir to the Clan of Toras," David finished. "She was Chief Toras' firstborn. No one doubted it. Until Babel happened."
"What happened?"
David's tone grew somber. "Rex led a rescue mission to Babel—to save his father, Keth. He took the Guardian King, the Lords, and several Chiefs."
"And?"
"They were ambushed. The Dark One was waiting. Amariah's father and younger brother were both killed. The first deaths on the island."
Mark's eyes widened. "The first?"
David nodded. "We were a people of peace before that. Even with our power, no one had truly died. Not until then."
Mark leaned forward, trying to imagine it. "She was there?"
"She wasn't meant to be," David said. "But she followed them. Saw it all."
Mark was quiet for a moment. "And she changed?"
"She revolted. Pulled away from the tribes. Refused counsel. Salem split because of her. Some still follow her to this day."
Mark exhaled. "So… she could've been a Chief."
"She still could be. Depends on what she's planning next."
Mark glanced around. "But Edenites are weaker than the Founders, right?"
"Yes," David said softly. "Because we're mixed. Rex—he married a normal human woman. The blood changed after that."
Mark blinked. "Wait. Human?"
Before he could press the question, David nudged him with a grin. "Shhh. The family drama's about to begin."
Lights dimmed as soft music rose. Performers dressed in ceremonial garb stepped onto the stage, their robes flowing in colors of the five Founders.
Each represented one of the legends. The one in silver moved like thunder—Keth. Another in red danced like wind—Zillah. One wore emerald and bore a glowing crown—Mariah.
Mark's eyes drifted toward the front row.
Mariah sat beside Rex, radiant and composed. Her eyes were locked on the stage, but Mark couldn't stop watching her.
She looked… timeless.
A queen among gods.
The drums beat louder.
The play began.
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