The child wrinkled the snout of his serious Rat face, standing firm, his ice-gray eyes glowing with pride as a solitary tear slid down his seven-year-old cheek.

  "If you don't help me, she'll leave." His voice was bitter. "Without her, I'll die."

  He was a small Rat in a grey tunic, with pale fur and short white hair. He stood at the heart of black mists swirling around him like a whirlwind of darkness. In the distance, the faint whisper of drums could be heard.

  "You will live, little Hakien."

  The voice that cut through the veil of shadows was mature and feminine, her slow words overflowing with tired affection.

  "You will live first despite the pain. Later..." The voice continued. "You will live for her cause."

  "I don't want to," Hakien responded aggressively. "I want you to make her stay. You're a goddess, you have the power to save me."

  A colossal mask emerged from the black mist. Carved from white wood, with rounded edges covered by black roots. The god-mask smiled through the hollow cut of its lips. Above the empty eyes, colorful petals wove a crown of withered flowers.

  “I am Hope,” the God-Mask said. “I am the seed within your present. Feed me, worship me, follow me… and I will bloom in the eternity of all your days to come.”

  "She leaves tomorrow."

  "Her body leaves tomorrow, but she left you... long ago"

  "No, no..." The words came out weak, in the voice of a frightened child. "What if I'm good? If I'm good, will you give me what I want?"

  "No one can give you the choice that belongs to another."

  "I NEED HER."

  "Your mother is already gone" The giant mask leaned over the small Rat child, casting shadows over his pale fur. "Surrender to me, be mine, and I will plant a garden of light in the dark valleys of your agony."

  The child fell to his knees as his tears struck the black ground. There was relief in his pain… for now, nothing else mattered. Not his pride, nor his shame, nor even his will to fight. And yet, in the emptiness of his fate, his heart found one last request.

  "Then... I want to die," he said with a sigh.

  In response, a flood of light poured into the dark hall from behind him.

  When the intense brightness reached the God-Mask, it shattered the white wood into a shower of incandescent sparks.

  The child stood to face the light… but his tunic caught fire, then his fur, and his skin shriveled into a lifeless black crust. His charred silhouette cracked open, releasing embers and ash into the air.

  However, as his exterior crumbled, his interior paradoxically expanded. When his black countenance shattered, another face emerged from within him: a wider jaw, longer hair, and the same ice-gray eyes. Yet, where there had once been the pale glow of sadness, now burned a cold flame of hostility and antipathy.

  When the last ash was consumed by the light, the child was gone, replaced by a sixteen-year-old youth… taller, stronger, wrapped in a tattered black cloak.

  The Young-Rat did not close his eyes to the harsh light, forcing himself to confront the emptiness within. At the heart of the light, a black silhouette rose, taking the form of a grandiose muscular figure with pointed ears and long dark wings.

  The shadow-being was the opposite of light, its darkness the flame, and the pale white glow that emerged from it merely an unholy reflection of its black soul.

  Without mouth or eyes, the shadow-being stared at Hakien through the tilt of its absent countenance. The Young-Rat seemed unimpressed, raising his shoulders with an expression of scorn and boredom.

  "Hope is the cruelest of goddesses," said the shadow-being, without voice. "She chains you to the promise of a tomorrow that never comes... knowing that, without her, few would bear the unbearable weight of today."

  The voice did not come from the shadow apparition… it resonated from within Hakien, like an intrusive thought impossible to silence.

  "In a world where children cry," the black voice echoed, serene and caustic, "the danger is not the gods who ignore them... but those who answer their prayers."

  "Let me guess," Hakien wrinkled his snout with disgust. "You're a god different from the others. Only you have the power to fulfill all my desires?"

  "Not all." The shadow finger waved, and then, in a theatrical gesture, pointed upward. "Just one."

  "You're late." Hakien’s gaze turned to ice. "I don’t believe in gods anymore."

  "And you shouldn’t." The missing face of the shadow-being gave the illusion of a smile. "Gods are parasites. They feed on your obedience, steal your individuality, and in the end, still blame you for the failure of their impositions."

  He let the silence weigh in the air.

  "I despise your prayers and renounce your submission. Love me, hate me, or ignore me… I care little. I don't come with empty promises... I bring gifts and opportunities no god would ever offer you."

  "You have nothing I want."

  The shadow figure extended a hand of darkness. Between its long, sharp fingers, it held a small, bright yellow coupon. "I have the Golden Ticket."

  Hakien's ears twitched. "You are Schadenmor?"

  The shadow bowed with theatrical flair. "At your service."

  "I thought it was a lie. So many people claimed you'd appeared to them… but how can you be in so many places at once?"

  "In the depths of the abyss, we are united by everything we want but cannot have."

  "Is that what the ticket is for?" Hakien asked. "To give me what I can't have?"

  "There is power in the collective hunger of the lost," Schadenmor nodded slightly. "This is the physical echo of absence. The shape of longing itself. It holds everything you were denied… everything you need, so that your true life… can finally begin."

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "You're describing a fantasy."

  "Yes, it's a fantasy." The small coupon gleamed with incandescent yellow light.

  "But the ticket exists, in your world, within reach, waiting for you. And if you find it… if you tear it, making it yours… then your fantasy will become real."

  Hakien gave a crooked smile. "How many tickets are there?"

  "The Spire of Schadenmor rises from the abyss every five years. Each of the five nations of Morserus receives five Golden Tickets. There will be twenty-five guests… twenty-five competitors who will climb its floors, facing trials… until only one remains."

  "Then your ticket is worthless."

  "Not for the winner."

  Hakien narrowed his cold grey eyes.

  “If you hold a ticket, that gives you a one-in-twenty-five chance.” He waved his hand dismissively. “But when you don’t... when there are only five tickets per nation, and Kazil has millions of Rats all chasing the same prize... what are the odds then?”

  "It's not a lottery." Schadenmor opened his arms. "It's a game. In a game, the winner isn't the luckiest... the winner is the one who beats everyone else."

  "And what about those who aren't the best? What happens to the fools who believe in you and fall into the Deep Wells? Who get lost in the Spore Forest? Do you have any idea how many Rats died the last time you hid your tickets in Kazil? Do you care what happens to those who lose?"

  "Nobody cares about the losers."

  "Does that seem fair to you?"

  The soft drums beating in the background now grew louder, faster.

  "Fair?" Schadenmor closed his dark wings. "If a Rat wants to steal your life from you... tell me, what would be fair? To kill, or to die?"

  "To kill."

  "The only justice is winning." Schadenmor’s shadows pulsed brighter. "The Golden Ticket is your future... injustice is letting someone else take it from you."

  "I don't want to play your game," Hakien said with a smile. "Not worth the risk."

  "Nobody risks their life for a game." Schadenmor unfurled his dark wings. "They risk it for the spoils."

  Hakien tilted his head, trying to resist… but his curiosity betrayed him.

  "What kind of spoils?"

  "There are three prizes, each more glorious than the last. The first belongs to your nation. The winning people will receive five years of bountiful prosperity."

  Hakien scoffed. "What do I care about the prosperity of a nation of Rats?"

  "Fair." Schadenmor’s pointed ears twitched. "Then consider the second prize... one that might speak more deeply to your heart. The winner will be crowned the Supreme Being of Morsérus… a title that commands envy from the elite, worship from the masses, and silent fear from the powerful."

  Hakien shrugged. "As if I'd care what a rotten, unjust world thinks of me."

  "Very well." Schadenmor leaned in. "I saved the best for last."

  He raised a long finger toward the sky.

  "At the top of the Spire, beyond the ivory balusters, rests the Book of Wishes. As old as the world. As boundless as longing. Within its pages lie all the desires, the prayers, the miracles reality refused to grant."

  Schadenmor drew closer.

  "Find your longing written within it. Speak it aloud. And watch the emptiness inside you be filled... with everything you've ever been denied."

  Hakien considered what his wish would be, then waved his snout dismissively and stared at the shadow-being.

  "What happens if I go through all of this… kill and die in your game… only to not find what I want in the pages of your book?"

  "Everything that's missing can be found in the Book of Wishes."

  Hakien shrugged.

  Schadenmor took a few steps back, as if giving up… then turned sharply.

  His echoes resonated deep inside the Young-Rat.

  "You want your mother back?"

  The hollow voice burned in Hakien’s chest.

  "You want her happy, proud of your victory, pretending she never abandoned you?"

  Hakien stepped back.

  "Or perhaps you'd rather see her in tears," the void-like voice followed him,

  "regretful, begging for your forgiveness… carrying the pain she left you with?"

  "No." Hakien's voice cracked into a half-shout. "No."

  "Everything is in my Book of Wishes."

  Schadenmor's presence was oozing blinding light.

  "Whether it's the pleas of an innocent child, or the demands of a bitter youth... no matter what shape your emptiness takes… there are many chapters for your pain."

  Hakien wrinkled his snout, letting out a low growl. He stepped toward Schadenmor.

  "The child who wanted her back is dead." His voice was firm, hollow with finality. "You don’t see me. You think you do… you think you can twist me using my past. But you're wrong." He clenched his fists, eyes burning. "I don’t want my mother. I don’t want this world of Rats and their lying gods."

  He paused.

  "And I want your Golden Ticket even less." Hakien exhaled deeply, steadying his breath. "What I want…" He closed his eyes. "What I want is a world where none of you exist." His voice trembled with quiet fury. "A place so far, so silent, that even the memory of you can't reach me."

  The shadow-being shielded the Young-Rat from the blinding light by wrapping him in his dark wings. His hollow voice echoed deep:

  "That too can be found in my Book of Wishes."

  "It's tempting," Hakien admitted, his voice soft, almost weak. "I won’t lie."

  "I always knew you would say yes to me."

  Hakien gave a dry laugh. "My answer is no."

  "What?"

  The drums rose, louder than the whisper of his shadowed voice.

  "I said no."

  Schadenmor recoiled his wings, shrinking back.

  "From your first to your final breath," he said, offering his dark hand, "you’ll never find what you seek without me."

  "I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone." Hakien slapped away the darkness. "I have my plan. I command my destiny."

  "What if I tell you a secret?" Schadenmor’s arm cracked with light before reforming in the flames of hi own shadow. "What if I tell you… you're different from all the others?"

  The drums shook the ground beneath them.

  "Different how?"

  "What would you say," Schadenmor paused, "if I told you that you are destined to find the Golden Ticket?"

  "I’d say you're cheating."

  "Not at all." He coiled his shadow-arm through the air. "I’ve always had the power to recognize the winner."

  Hakien hesitated. The drums grew louder. His chest beat in sync.

  He wanted to believe. But wanting to believe… that was the trap.

  "You're trying to deceive me," he said, grounding his voice.

  "What does your heart tell you?" Schadenmor’s echo stirred inside him. "Is this just another game? Or was this one created just for you, so you could prove your worth to the world that hurted you?"

  The drums intensified.

  Now, Hakien heard a crowd… euphoric, carnival-like.

  "What is that noise?"

  "That is the world you reject, waiting for you."

  "Make them stop."

  "They will never stop. The only way to silence them... is to find the Golden Ticket."

  "NO. I ALREADY TOLD YOU. NO!"

  "I can prove you are the chosen one," Schadenmor’s echo barely pierced through the roar. "I will tell you where I hid your ticket."

  "NO!"

  Hakien covered his ears.

  The shadow-being’s voice came from within, but it failed to reach him — drowned, suffocated by the shouts of joy and the deafening drumbeats of ecstasy.

  He knew this rhythm.

  It was a festival.

  A festival of the Orkshas.

  Schadenmor’s shadow shuddered at the impossible sound… an intrusion from a reality that should not be. With every pulse, he flickered toward oblivion. And as his darkness died, so too did the light it once cast.

  Hakien stood alone, abandoned by dark and light alike.

  In the void of nothingness.

  Yet the beats grew louder.

  “No,” he gasped, agony clawing at his voice. “Stop this cursed sound.”

  But the damned drums… even as he faded away…

  The drums kept playing.