---
"Spymaster Aluzara, I plan to take your job once I build up a network of ME's. I was a human male that translated a fragment of one of Amaranth's spell. I walk a path of assimilation or 'one who is many'. I could the maiden pouring your drink, the old woman buying apples for a recipe she making, the guard you hand over your weapons too before meeting the royal family, the street urchin that borrows your wallet, the Dwarven blacksmith you just bought a sword from. That is my plan."
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Chapter Twenty-One: The Shadow Queen Rises

Aluzara's black eyes gleamed—not with fear, but something far more dangerous.

Amusement.

"You think yourself the first to dream of eyes in every shadow?" She chuckled, a dry sound like dead leaves skittering across stone. "I invented the game you're playing, thief." Her fingers flicked, and suddenly a dagger gleamed between them—the blade pressed not against my throat, but against her own wrist. "Shall I prove it?"

Before I could react, she sliced deep.

Blood welled—

And didn’t stop.

It spilled over her arm, her robes, pooling at her feet… where it rippled, then rose into shapes—figures—

Copies of her.

Five Aluzaras now stood in a half-circle around us, their movements synchronized, their voices whispering as one:

"Your predecessor tried this too."

The original smiled, licking the wound closed as her doubles faded like mist.

"I peeled his mind apart to learn how."

The Queen observed us both, her face unreadable.

"Well," she murmured. "This will be interesting."

(Does Aluzara’s display shake your confidence, or does it only sharpen your hunger to claim her tricks—and her flesh? Will the Queen allow this power struggle, or is she orchestrating something far more intricate?)

---
"Mommy, isn't it treason to attack the royal heir?" A young girl's voice rings out from behind Aluzara. (Aluzara's daughter and your third face)
---

Chapter Twenty-Two: The Blade Turns

The room froze.

Aluzara’s dagger clattered to the floor.

Behind her stood her daughter, a girl of no more than ten, her dark braids swaying as she tilted her head with perfect, innocent curiosity. The Spymaster’s face drained of color.

“S-Sera?” Her voice cracked.

The girl—me—blinked up at her with wide, guileless eyes. “Yes, Mama?”
…