Chapter 129: Sophia

Sophia sat still as marble, one hand resting beneath her chin, the other draped over the gilded armrest of the chair. The room glowed with soft yellow light cast from braziers mounted on the walls, each flame fed by controlled streams of mana. It was meant to create warmth, comfort, and a sense of intimacy, but all she felt was stifled. ’Another day of this inhumanity. Shall the Council of Weather ever heed my pleas?’ Her gown shimmered like liquid silver in the firelight, woven with threads so fine they almost vanished when she shifted. The artisans would have been proud of their work, but Sophia did not care. Clothes had become uniforms long ago, no matter how beautiful they were. She wore them to play her part, not to enjoy them. "High Priestess Sophia, I must say again that my family’s economic influence is unrivaled across the Western systems. Even Emperor Alexander himself has complimented them! With my hand in marriage, you will command it. Your name would—" "Be drowned under the weight of your father’s debts." She interrupted, her tone as sharp as glass. The suitor, a tall young man with blond hair combed back so tightly it looked painful, froze mid-sentence. His mouth opened once, closed again with an audible clack, then settled on a forced smile. He bowed awkwardly and stepped aside. ’Another failure. The whole line will be useless once again.’ Sophia’s gaze slid past him to the next in an infinite line of men. Some were young, some were old, but all of them looked the same to her. ’Self-obsessed and seeking the favor of my church.’ They lined the marble floor in perfect order, scions from powerful houses and lesser dynasties alike, each eager to bind her to their cause. She was a prize, not a person, in their eyes. The next suitor, a shorter man with a round face, stepped forward with too much energy. He clutched a small box in both hands, approaching with reverence as if offering tribute to a goddess. "High Priestess Sophia, my family is rich in gemstones from the mines of Epsilon IV. I bring you this—" She didn’t bother to look. "No." "But—" Her eyes flicked up, revealing pupils the color of a storm. Crackles of light shot across them, causing gasps from those waiting. "I said no." His words shriveled on his tongue. He swallowed, bowed far too low, and scurried off like a rat, his box bouncing with each step. The next man stepped forward immediately, emboldened by another’s failure, convinced that he would be the one to break through. ’So much confidence, and so little brains.’ Sophia sighed, leaning her cheek against her hand. Her chair was tall and elegant, carved from obsidian wood with veins of silver running through it. It had been built to elevate her above everyone else in the room, a gift from the Council of Priests upon her ascension to the station of High Priestess. Ever since she sat in it, however, it felt more like a prison, with these men her jailors. They came armed with words, promises, jewels, fleets, even songs. She had heard them all, forced to sit and listen. Some spoke of love, others of alliance, many of convenience, but they were all the same. Full of hungry eyes, eager hands, and no vision beyond their bedroom mirror. None of them wanted her; they wanted what she represented. A link to the Church of Weather. The chosen champion of a goddess so potent with power that marriage to her meant ascendancy by proxy. "Lady Sophia, I have been blessed with a rare element by the goddess of weather. With me at your side, the power of the church will rise beyond compare, led by you and—" She waved her hand before he could finish. A servant draped in cloth that covered him from head to toe approached from the corner, silent and efficient, guiding the suitor away with a bow that held more grace than the young man had shown. Sophia’s head throbbed. She longed for silence, for the chamber to empty and leave her in peace, but the line was long, and every dismissal seemed to sprout another intrepid young lad willing to try and sweep the weak little priestess off her feet. ’How many more will I endure tonight?’ She glanced at the high windows set into the stone walls. Outside, the night stretched over the Temple City, a glittering web of towers and bridges illuminated by cold starlight. Airships drifted between spires like insects, their engines glowing faintly. A myriad of paintings and frescoes adorned every surface, mostly of storms, blizzards, and other extreme disasters. Out there, the world churned with politics, war, and ambition. In here, she was trapped in the theater of suitors. "High Priestess Sophia, I would like to offer—" "Stop." Her voice was soft, but final. The man froze, confusion spreading across his features. She did not even look at him, instead raising her hand and snapping her fingers. The sound echoed across the chamber. Everyone fell silent. When she next spoke, her tone was calm, but beneath it was a strength that belied her true power. "I tire of repetition. Every word spoken here has already been spoken a thousand times. Fleets, wealth, magic, power, promises. None of you brings anything different. Do you truly think I am so easily swayed by your paltry offerings?" No one answered, their eyes darting in different directions. Some went toward the floor, others toward each other, yet none dared to meet hers directly. She leaned forward in her chair, her unusual gaze sharp as a blade. "If you wish to court me, do not come with the baggage of your fathers or the weight of your houses. I do not need fleets, nor coffers, nor trinkets dug from a mine on some distant asteroid. Bring me something new, something that does not insult my intelligence by pretending to be unique, especially when it most assuredly is not." The silence deepened, heavy as stone. At last, she reclined again, resting her chin against her hand. Her face was serene, but her eyes glowed with impatience. "You may all leave now. If any of you find a reason worth my attention, then return. Otherwise, stop wasting my time." One by one, they bowed. Some were stiff with anger, others pale with embarrassment, a few even appeared to still be clinging to fragile hope. Yet they all left. The chamber emptied, the remnants of the line only being a faint trail of dirt and dust. At last, Sophia was alone. The silence she had craved settled in. She closed her eyes, letting it wash over her. For a moment, she simply sat, her body still, her breath slow. But peace never lasted long. "Strong words." Her eyes snapped open. From the far side of the chamber, a figure stepped out of the shadows. A man in plain robes, his face partly obscured by a hood. One thing was clear upon first glance. ’Not a suitor. He is far too calm, lacking the desperation of those feeble-minded creatures.’ "And who are you?" The man bowed with deliberate grace. "Merely an observer." "I did not invite observers." "No, but observers come regardless. Lured not by invitation, yet they always seem to coincide so neatly." She frowned, studying him carefully. He was unarmed, at least visibly. His voice carried no arrogance nor flattery, only an ease that felt unfamiliar after hours of simpering suitors. It was as if he had spoken to people of her station many times before. "What do you want?" His robed head tilted ever so slightly, not enough to be truly interested, but noticeable all the same. "Simply to watch and gauge in these trying times." Sophia frowned, her features knitting together. "To gauge what?" His hood tilted slightly, as if he were smiling beneath it. "Whether Weather’s hidden bolt is as sharp as she pretends." The words lingered in the chamber, echoing off the walls for her to hear again and again. Sophia straightened, her stormy eyes narrowing. For the first time that evening, she felt something stir inside her chest. Rather than disappointment or boredom, it was something else entirely, something she hadn’t felt since she first learned of her incredible power at the young age of only ten. Interest. The man bowed again, lower this time, then stepped back into the shadows. Within moments, he was gone, as though he had never been there at all. Sophia sat motionless, her mind turning as she stared at the spot. A morsel of unease remained, but so too did that spark she had not felt in years. Part of her was tempted to order the men to search for him, drag him back to be questioned, yet she stalled. ’Perhaps it is best to let the wheels of change turn naturally.’ The suitors would return tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that. They always would until she made a decision. But now she had something else to think about, something that was finally exciting. And for Sophia, High Priestess of Weather, Goddess of the Storms, Blizzards, Hails, and all that fall from the heavens, that was worth far more than anything the suitors could offer.