Page 106 of Savage Throne
Moni
Groggy and disoriented, I opened my eyes.
My lashes fluttered against the golden sunlight streaming through the window of the tent, casting long, shifting beams of light across the fabric walls. The air was crisp and cool, with a faint trace of pine and damp earth.
I blinked a few times, trying to decipher my sluggish thoughts. It felt like I was rising from a deep, endless dream.
Where am I?
The thought whispered through my foggy mind as I tried to orient myself.
Slowly, the scene around me began to sharpen.
The tent’s walls were a deep, luxurious navy, edged with silver embroidery in swirling, elegant patterns that reminded me of dragon scales.
The ceiling arched high above and was supported by poles wrapped in silk ribbons that twisted like climbing vines.
Where the fuck is this?
In the far corner, a lacquered wooden table stood, and the polish shined like a mirror. On it rested a tray with delicate porcelain cups and a teapot. Steam still curled from the spout.
The scent of jasmine tea mingled with the mountain air.
A small oil lamp sat beside it. The glass was etched with lotus flowers.
I shifted beneath the covers and realized I was lying on a bed—not just any bed, but one draped in thick quilts of velvet and fur, layered so luxuriously I felt cocooned in softness.
A bed this extravagant seemed out of place in the rugged setting, but then again, nothing about this tent seemed typical. It wasn’t just shelter—it was a masterpiece of wealth and refinement brought to the wilderness.
My gaze wandered to the window; an opening trimmed with fine netting to keep out insects.
Beyond it, I could see jagged mountain peaks stretching into the distance, their snow-dusted tips gleaming under the afternoon sun.
The sky was a flawless canvas of blue, painted with streaks of white clouds that seemed to hover just close enough to touch.
That’s right. I’m on Mount Utopia and. . .
I stared at the jagged peaks.
The memory of last night came crashing back to me.
I killed people.
And not accidentally.
And certainly not as someone else’s pawn, although I could make an argument for it.
Still. . .I made the decision myself; I couldn’t even blame Leo.
I pulled the trigger.
I ended lives.
A chill crept over me, deeper than the mountain air seeping through the tent’s fabric walls.
I am a. . .monster now.
I gripped the edge of the fur-lined quilt, holding it tight against my chest as if that could anchor me in a world that suddenly felt. . .different.
