The Descovinio estate glistened like a palace carved from frost and ivory. Towers of crystalsteel pierced the clouds, banners hung immaculately from windless air, and every step taken within its walls echoed perfection. But for Bell, it was a prison lined in velvet.
Isabella Recisdia—Bell, as only one person had called her with warmth—stood at the edge of the sunroom, tracing her finger along the transparent pane. Beyond the garden, she saw nothing but symmetry. Guards walking in sync. Drones floating in neat rows. Not even the trees were allowed to grow out of pattern.
She missed the chaos of real life. The scent of rain. Her mother's voice.
A whisper of silk against the floor broke her thoughts. A maid bowed respectfully, placing a silver tray with untouched fruit and tea. Bell nodded politely. She had learned to wear the mask.
She was the illegitimate daughter—acknowledged but unspoken. Allowed to live within the palace but not allowed to belong to it.
Her mother, Allisa Recisdia, had once been a symbol of quiet resistance, even within the lion's den. But she was gone now, assassinated by the very family Bell lived among.
She had no proof. Only instinct. And grief.
---
Later that afternoon, while sorting through one of her mother's old wardrobes that had been sealed and stowed in the lower wing, Bell's fingers brushed against something strange.
Behind a false panel in a drawer—hidden beneath a layer of old silk—lay a velvet box.
Small. Heavy. Locked.
Her pulse quickened. She looked around. No one.
The lock wasn't even mechanical—it responded to touch. Her mother's touch, long gone. But when Bell's hand rested on the surface, something clicked. Family. Blood. It recognized her.
The lid opened.
Inside was a gleaming artificial eye nestled in stasis foam. It shimmered with iridescent rings, subtle but alive. Next to it, a sealed note.
Bell sat on the edge of the old settee, breath tight. She opened the letter.
> My dearest Isabella,
If you've found this, I am likely gone. I always feared that one day they would silence me, but I could not leave this world without leaving you something that mattered.
This is the Eye of Eden. Not a weapon, but a burden. It shows the memories of those you touch—but not always the ones you want to see. It is dangerous, forbidden, and hunted.
It was not meant for me. But perhaps it was meant for you.
Trust no one. Especially those who smile too easily.
And if your brother lives—hold onto him. Even in darkness.
Her hands trembled. The name wasn't written. But she knew.
Enzo.
She stared at the artificial eye. It looked eerily human. She had always thought cybernetic implants were grotesque. This one… felt like it was watching her.
Bell closed the box and hid it within the folds of her cloak, heart pounding. She wouldn't report it. Wouldn't speak of it.
She would keep it.
---
That evening, she returned to the garden alone. The night sky above the estate was filtered through the atmospheric shield, giving the stars a soft, blurred glow.
She sat on the bench she and her mother once shared. The breeze carried the faint scent of jasmine—synthetically generated, but comforting.
Her thoughts swirled.
What was the Eye of Eden really for? How did her mother come to possess it? And why did the note mention her brother…?
The guards passed by, their movements precise, mechanical.
A shadow moved across the upper wall. Just for a moment. A flicker.
Bell looked up sharply. But nothing was there.
Still… something stirred in her. A memory. A feeling.
She hadn't cried in a long time. But that night, under the stars she couldn't quite touch, she let herself mourn. Not just for her mother.
But for the boy who once called her Bell like no one else could. The brother she prayed hadn't forgotten her.
She whispered into the dark.
"I hope you're still out there, Enzo."
The Eye of Eden pulsed faintly in the hidden box beneath her hand.
And the shadows listened.