The hum of artificial lights reminded Veronica of a night she once spent in a hospital bed, after breaking her arm as a child. She hadn't cried when the bone snapped, not even when she was about to go into surgery. Only in the aftermath, once she was awake and alone in her hospital bed without the comfort of her brothers or parents—her father had gone to the cafeteria—did silence overwhelm her, and she sobbed. Most vividly, she remembered the buzzing overhead, how the light twitched and lonely footsteps down the hallway frightened her. She sobbed, vulnerable and abandoned.
This time, Veronica wasn't reclined and ensconced in sterile bedsheets, vulnerable or abandoned; she was slouched over, her face sweating inside a mask molded to her facial features, forehead resting on the surface of a table. The buzzing grated on her ears. When she realized she was conscious, Veronica grunted and sat up, then grimaced at the dizzying pain pounding through her head.
"Ah. You're awake."
The voice stiffened her shoulders. Veronica squinted through mesh eyeholes, vision obscured in the peripherals, but easily focused on the shape of a person standing on the far side of the room. He stepped toward the table, holding a clipboard at chest-level before taking a seat across from her. A gleaming golden mask stared back.
"Quite the entrance you've made," he remarked, slowly tilting his head. "Particularly because we weren't expecting you." Then he chuckled.
Dread filled Veronica's lungs and made it hard to breathe. She tried to move her hands onto her lap, only to find her wrists bound to the back legs of the metal chair she was sat on. Alarm rattled her body as Veronica tried to get a better look at her bondages, but not even her feet could move, so tied up to the chair legs that her thrashing caused the chair to squeak and groan, scraping the floor in futility.
"I don't suppose you were expecting to be here either."
Veronica's attention snapped back to him. He was the first person to actually speak to her in this place. She only knew he was a man from the masculine intonations of his voice; even if his manner of speech was airy and indifferent, at least he was human. "Where am I?" she demanded.
"Somewhere between dreaming and dead," he answered.
"Don't bullshit me. Tell me where I am."
"Now, how could such keen forensic intuition be so incapable of recognizing truth?"
"My keen intuition is telling me someone's fucking around with the truth."
"Mere flirtations."
"Tell me the truth."
"You're fun," the masked man teased.
Veronica bristled. "Stop fucking with me and tell me where I am!"
The man leaned back, steepling his white-gloved fingertips on the clipboard in front of him. An air of playful amusement bolstered his harmless look overall: clean white wool pullover, honey brown hair framing his mask, its baby-soft visage like a renaissance angel cast in gold. A smile took shape in his voice. "Very well. You're in the Sanctum, under the jurisdiction of the Court of Sancteid, the only human establishment in the realm of Echoless."
"That's great. Now tell me where I am on Earth instead of the fucking gibberish you just gave me."
He hummed. "You're not on Earth. At least, not in the way you think you are."
"...What?"
He leaned forward. "You've fallen between the cracks of your reality, my dear, and landed in ours. This realm is a by-product of yours, similar to the concept of antimatter—a shadow of your existence, undetectable except as an absence of ordinary matter—as you bathed in light may only see what is illuminated. Until you tumble into the darkness... at which point, what lies in the darkness takes shape. You are in an opposite plane."
Disbelief came as bewildered silence. She couldn't wrap her mind around what she was being told. "Is this real? Are we real, or is this all in my head?"
"This is real," he replied, and the cadence of his words resonated through Veronica with strange familiarity she couldn't pinpoint. "We suspect this opposite plane was once nothingness. Then something far greater than you or I will ever understand created this realm, scraped it together from echoes of reality, and placed us here. In ways, it is similar to reality; the fundamental laws of physics are the same, the substrate of the realm resembles what you've seen on Earth. Grass, trees, buildings, roads, mountains, oceans. But the rules of this realm are at the whim of its creator. This reality may shift or break, and is constantly transforming. It is a wound on space-time; not supposed to exist, perpetually raw and unhealing. We don't know why we are here."
It sounded like complete bullshit to Veronica. She wouldn't have believed anything the masked man said, if not for the fact that she had already wandered through an inexplicably vacant city and watched an impossible monster break out of a living crystal and wreak havoc. Only what she'd seen with her own eyes finally convinced her that he may be telling the truth.
"We've developed a system to intercept newcomers—worked out an understanding with the realm's creator, if you will," he continued. "There is a room here in the Sanctum where people appear. We monitor it at all times, and usually we can see when a person materializes. But the rules of this realm, as I said, are subject to change—lately the realm has become unpredictable. Abnormalities are occurring with worrying frequency. You have appeared completely without warning outside of the Sanctum. That... is something the Court does not like."
"Wait." Veronica closed her eyes, putting herself back in time to the moment she'd watched the crystal burst. No... before then, to the memory from that moment. "You keep mentioning the creator of this realm. I remember having a conversation with someone before I woke up."
The man clasped his hands together. "We all have such conversations."
"So you can communicate with this creator?"
"In a way."
"Why not ask what we're doing here, then? Or why the abnormalities happen?"
"Communication is at the creator's discretion."
Veronica frowned. "So you're implying, what, we're all at the mercy of an absent god who treats this place like some big toy box?"
"And humanity is one of their many toys, yes."
The more she dissected the truth, the more questions that arose. He didn't explicitly state that the voice Veronica communicated with was the creator, and she wasn't entirely convinced that was the case; the voice had referred to themselves as a product of some space-time rending 'she'. The voice, too, had spoken of seeing itself in her—undefined, without parameter—and that it was awakening. Veronica didn't know what that meant, but kept it to herself, setting it aside for later consideration.
"Okay," she sighed, organizing her thoughts. "This opposite plane built by some unfathomable god is being populated by humans stolen off of Earth. You called it... Echoless."
"There can be no echoes of echoes."
"Whatever. And we're in a building called the Sanctum. You mentioned the Court of Sancteid. What is that?"
"That is us," he said. "You and I, and the subjects of the Sanctum. Anyone pledged to the Sanctum is Sancteid."
"I'm guessing the Sanctum is the big castle in the middle of the city."
"Yes."
"Are people automatically pledged to the Sanctum when they get here?"
"Yes."
"What does that mean?"
"It means you join our quest to research, explore, and understand this realm, to protect the Sanctum's inhabitants, and obey our law to keep peace."
"So I have no choice."
The man nodded.
Not that Veronica intended to cause mayhem—her intentions may very well align with this Court, given her desire to scour this place for answers. "And those who refuse?"
"Ah..." She heard him smiling again, but less in amusement and more so in forgiveness of her ignorance, like he felt bad about it. "You recall I mentioned an understanding with the creator?"
"I do."
"It is our creator's wish that all inhabitants, should they somehow find their way back to Earth, maintain confidentiality of the existence of Echoless, lest humanity drive themselves mad in search of it. The pledge to Sancteid is a pledge of mutual anonymity. In exchange for denying knowledge of the realm, the creator allows Sancteid to oversee intake of humans into the realm. That is why we wear masks."
Although the explanation was crucial to Veronica, it lost its momentum as soon as Earth came up. "There's a way back?"
He quelled her hopes with a raised hand. "Not that we have found."
"Why agree then, when anonymity might not even matter?"
"Because even without the promise of returning to Earth, we still want to maintain peace and order. And we cannot do that unless we can influence every person that arrives here. For as long as we are trapped here, we must cooperate and obey the creator's wishes. If we maintain the pledge of maskedness, the creator gives Sancteid control."
"Well clearly your influence is lost on some people. I saw someone without a mask."
"Yes... not everyone agrees to pledge themselves to Sancteid. Those people are a threat to us and the creator. Perpetrators of violence and chaos."
Veronica chewed on this fact, gauging whether or not she wanted to divulge more. "That person... They dropped a crystal when they ran away from me. A pink crystal. I touched it and that's what made that huge monster."
"I'm aware."
That explained the crystal, then. It must have been something like a weapon these rebels used to attack the realm—that was probably why the monster headed straight for the Sanctum. Veronica had no idea that touching it would activate such a beast. She knew better, now. Through the duration of her silence, Veronica processed everything she'd learned; she hadn't realized that the silence was employed by her interviewer in the same way, until he decisively stood up and stepped around the table.
"I trust you are in agreement with your pledge to Sancteid," he said, hovering at Veronica's shoulder.
She would be an idiot to claim otherwise. "Yes."
"Then there is one final condition to impart on you before I remove your bindings."
"Okay."
The man bent down beside Veronica, his golden mask lurking beside her ear. "Your name, Veronica Lamb, is no longer yours," he said, and the heat of her own name grazing her ear was the last breath of her identity expiring. All that she was evaporated with that name into the air. "The Court of Sancteid has bestowed a new name upon you. That name is Lotusfoil."
Of all the emotions heaved upon her during the interview, that swell of discomfort was certainly the most severe. The thought of losing her name was not one she could easily stomach. Hiding her face, sure; but erasing her entire identity was neglecting everything Veronica had worked for. That she had never even spoken it to the man felt like he reached inside and ripped it out of her. She didn't think that surviving here would be so dehumanizing. So... violating.
After her ankles and wrists were freed, Veronica stood up, stretching her limbs. "What's your name, then?"
The man stood by the door. "Evander."
The difference in convention made her think he'd never been stripped of his name. If he could be Evander, why couldn't she be Veronica? She reached out to where her name lay discarded on the fumes of his breath and reclaimed it, quietly tucking it back into her heart.
Evander gestured for her to follow, his tone lightening. "Come! Let me show you the Sanctum."
They left the glossy white walls of the interview room for a long hallway of similar composition. Blank white walls lined the corridor, illuminated in harsh white light and closely monitored by security cameras near the ceiling. A labyrinth of white fiberglass and long windows gave her glimpses into what appeared to be a research facility hidden away within the castle manned by grey-masked individuals examining samples and standing at laboratory equipment. "How did you get these machines? Where does all this equipment come from?"
"The creator entertains our curiosity," said Evander. "They understand our endless pursuit of knowledge. It's a form of enrichment."
Ahead of them, a set of double doors split the clean laboratory environment from the old stonework of the castle. Once they passed through the doors, the interior more closely resembled the architecture she had seen from afar. High arches and a cobbled floor made up the castle's corridors, while walls illuminated by oil lanterns and adorned in tapestries and paintings complemented the Sanctum's archaic atmosphere. "How long has Echoless existed?"
"Many centuries."
"When did the first people show up?"
"Our oldest Noble is from the... 1200's, I believe."
So this creator had been interfering with humanity for a long time. Veronica suspected the Sanctum was the first asset of the realm to be built. "Noble?" she repeated.
"Those of us who have proven our dedication and loyalty to Sancteid are given the title of Court Noble. They are well respected individuals; scholars, artists, diplomats... leaders in our community."
As they walked, two people in a silk tunic and an elegant dress strode past, both of them sporting pearly white masks, short brown hair and long blond hair. They ogled Veronica and Evander, tittering quietly between themselves.
"Are you a Noble?" Veronica asked Evander.
He chuckled dimly. "No."
Approaching a corner, Veronica impulsively looked over her shoulder at the two passersby—Nobles, she suspected. They had stopped walking to watch Veronica and Evander. She barely glimpsed them before turning the corner, heading for an archway opening to the outdoors.
A gradient of gentle lavender and passionate orange sprawled across the evening sky. The burning red orb of the sun hovered on the horizon, setting the vacant city alight in sunset glow. Evander led Veronica along the ramparts that enclosed a courtyard populated by several buildings: a keep, a stable, several small workshops, and the grand castle itself. Below them, in the shadows of the ramparts, a group of black-masked soldiers were engaged in violent spars, clashing spears, swords, and shields, or grappling with their hands.
"Anyone who is not a Noble serves the Court according to their talents," said Evander. "There are Court Messengers, Court Janitors, Court Scientists... These protectors of the Sanctum are the Court Knives."
A cold sweat washed over Veronica, watching the vicious training regime of the Court Knives. Worse than their brutal exchanges, she recognized their outfits. The red-dashed mask at the head of the group, walking along the rows with their hands behind their back, judging. She mused inwardly that she'd make a better Court Lab Technician.
"They are who recovered you from the city," Evander confirmed.
"Who's the one with the red part on their mask?"
"That's Redmaw, the Knive Superior, their leader. He oversees integration into the Knives and conducts their missions beyond the Sanctum."
He was the one that drove his sword into the monster's temple, then choked it with the rope. He had confronted Veronica and smothered her.
She and Evander observed the training session until Redmaw looked up at them. Even from afar, she felt the intensity of his unseen stare, remembering the pressure of his massive hand. Evander nodded to him, then wordlessly guided Veronica to the nearby tower intersecting the ramparts.
Redmaw was already waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs. The heavy wooden door hung open, allowing a beam of dusk light to fall onto the hard-packed dirt and straw scattered at their feet. Uncertainty brewed with each step drawn closer to the Knive Superior, his muscular stature far larger up close, his hands in black gloves balled into fists. The dark cowl over his head and the fiendish mask with its red muzzle veiled all of his humanizing aspects behind cold, hard angles. Evander stood her in front of Redmaw, despite her instincts begging for distance.
"As you've likely anticipated, you will be joining the Knives to prove your loyalty to the Nobles," said Evander. "You will undergo the standard integration process and participate in regular Wellness Evaluations to ensure your training is up to expectations."
So this was her fate. She had been brought to this mysterious realm to serve the Court of Sancteid as a dog.
Evander gestured between Redmaw and Veronica in introduction. "Knive Superior. Your newest recruit, Lotusfoil."
Not knowing what to say, Veronica swallowed and nodded. Redmaw did nothing.
Evander turned to her. "I'll hand over your orientation to Redmaw. Please do come see me in the castle if you need anything; as the Court Herald, I am your voice to the Nobles. Otherwise, I suppose the next time I see you will be for your first Wellness Evaluation." He paused with what Veronica sensed was a parting smile. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Lotusfoil. And... good luck."
She clung to his words. As Evander walked past them to the door, Veronica resisted the urge to scream after him, asking what he meant by 'good luck'. But the door slammed shut behind him, ensconcing them in darkness, and then Redmaw suddenly came to life in the shadows—and she realized exactly what 'good luck' meant.
The moment he grabbed her wrist and wrenched her close, all Veronica's hair stood on end, her nerves electrified. "No more of Nightchurch's tricks," he warned, his voice as baritone as he was tall, as thundering as he was intimidating.
Veronica froze, immediately aware of the damage such a man could do to her. "No tricks," she exhaled.
"You serve the Court of Sancteid now."
"Yes." She nodded.
"No."
Veronica blinked behind her mask. No?
"You don't yet understand... how much of you belongs to the Court of Sancteid." He pulled her even closer until there was barely an inch between their bodies, his threatening aura permeating her chest. "To me."
She so desperately did not want to be here. Against all instincts to obey, Veronica resisted and pulled away.
Redmaw violently grabbed her throat with his other hand and squeezed. "You will not understand until you are broken down and rebuilt. Nor will you achieve your true potential as a weapon of the Court until I forge you out of fire myself. I will see you remade."
"What the fuck?!" Panic burst within Veronica. "S—Stop!" She clawed at his hand, tears prickling her eyes. Why the aggression? She was already complying! She agreed with the Court's objectives of peace and obedience—she was obedient!
Redmaw clenched her jugular so tight she thought he was going to rip it right out of her throat. Veronica choked and gasped, helplessly kicking at him before Redmaw threw her to the ground. She landed in the straw, coughing as she rolled onto her side. The assault shocked her out of action. Arms trembling, Veronica scrambled to regain her composure, peering up at the Knive Superior with tears behind her mask. Vulnerable, abandoned.
He growled. Then he reeled his boot back and struck her hard in the ribs, over and over again.
That night, behind the door of that tower, the Court of Sancteid's ruthless pledge was beaten into Veronica. The first thing that broke was trust.