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\sccn{The monster}
% \noindent There's a monster crawling up the palace walls. Covered in black coarse hair, it's moving quietly under the squalls through the nightmares of a rebellious countess. The guards haven't seen its orange fangs, and neither the steps of its seven ---not six or eight--- legs have been heard. There's a price to be made for the wanton convocation of magic.
% Iki lays on the carpet of a room fit for a princess. His bed is a mess of blankets and wrinkled sheets. Night terrors are holding him in a sinister race against ever raising shadows. Sweat pearls on his chest under the ceiling lamp and then runs like a minute river as the boy twitches and shakes.
% There's a guard at Icardos' room. It's only fitting for, tomorrow, the slave boy will be presented as \myTextIt{Prince Æri}, so the city might believe that their gods have not abandoned them, that the Emperor, yea, might have spit on the celestial inheritance, but that the bloodline of heroes is not yet dead, for the ancient tree has a young green sprout. \myTextIt{Vartio}, the guard, knows the countess' charade, but his trust isn't placed on old gods or traditions, but on the countess, and the belief that the Empire will, as always, prevail in the end. If a little lying was needed it was good with him, if he had to die to save that slave boy, that he'd do.