A vast roiling expanse stretched beyond sight, fluid and ever-changing.

  The Sea of Possibility.

  An impossible ocean.

  It shimmered with prismatic waves, enticing and dangerous, for within it the horror and the wonder were one, and all things once were possible.

  So, it was said.

  But no more.

  In it the feeble laws of lesser realities once held no sway; time and space twisted and warped beneath its waves, and even the faintest desire or fear could take shape in an instant.

  So, she had been told.

  But now the will of the Ambition had tamed it. The red light of his beacon washed over it as proof of his Dominion.

  She could see it all from where she was. The window offered protection from the elements but did not obscure her gaze. She took a step forward and touched the glass, so fine it almost seemed to not be there.

  Her finger drew a single line on the pale film across the glass caused by her breath, a simple act which broke the illusion.

  The red bathed the impossible ocean; it seeped into the streets below, and slipped into the very ballroom she found herself in.

  Ever-present as its master and maker.

  From the streets below to this palace high above it all, she too was a creature of ambition. But only mortal.

  Lesser.

  Yet the same drive burned within her, which burned within her God, who had forged the city she called home in this infinite ocean. A city which bore its master’s name.

  A city of civilization, extravagance and above all ambition.

  The City of Ambition.

  The clinking of glasses, the soft melodic notes of an unseen orchestra, the hum of conversation: it was all around her. She was but a young mortal debutante among her superiors. Once she turned around, once her hand would release from the cold glass, they would be there: Scions, Kin, Gods.

  The Kin stood before her, clad in garments woven with symbols of her house, her poise unwavering, her motions controlled, her words deliberate.

  She held her own for a while, able to catch the woman’s attention for more than a moment, her thoughts and opinions deemed worthwhile, or at least entertaining. The Kin exuded sophistication, and she felt crude and clumsy compared to her. Who was she to a Kin? Servants of the Primeval, one of the old forces of the cosmos.

  The Kin’s glass emptied. An opportunity to impress, but when she caught the attention of a waiter, another Kin had appeared, and she was left out of the conversation.

  Alone with her doubts, an observer, not worthy of their attention.

  Lesser.

  She turned her attention to the lavish platters with delicacies mortals seldom could partake of — cuts of meat from wondrous beasts, delicious shimmering fruits, and other delicacies she had never seen before.

  A bite of fruit, a glass of wine, she used to console herself. Both offered sweetness, but the drink offered release, a pleasant fog to cloud her mind.

  She emptied a glass and found it filled, not by a servant, but by a Scion.

  A Scion of the Ambition.

  A man so beautiful it bordered on the inhuman. She found his words so enticing, and even her own thoughts streamed from her mouth with such ease. He led her with such grace, such hand, that she could but succumb to his charms. More wine, more words, more touches, not unwelcome.

  Eyes that burned, relentless, insatiable.

  Did he desire her?

  For a moment she believed it was possible, his presence welcome, his desires too.

  And then, a sharp crash, a wine glass had shattered.

  His gaze looked past her, at the source, and found something.

  More beautiful.

  Better.

  She felt it, the lack of it, how his interest waned, his attention drawn to another, his diversion finished, his game ended.

  And she was left alone.

  With wine.

  Lesser.

  Mortal.

  She stared at the wine still at the bottom of her glass.

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  All around her were those who were more.

  Superior.

  Wealth her family had, even influence, but they were still only mortal. She was here because it was demanded of her; it was expected of her. She steeled herself and carried on, attempted to hold her own, to partake in it all. She wandered among them, charming and intelligent, and found herself wanting.

  Glances of disdain. Flickers of amusement. Desired only as a diversion. An amusement some choose to flirt with for fun, while others endured her presence, their words laced with boredom.

  The hollow words, the shallowness of it all began to tear at her, and it began to become too much. She couldn’t remain among these beings; their very presence smothered her, reminded her of what she was.

  Lesser.

  She moved, slowly at first, then with haste, towards freedom. Out a door, into the cold night air. She stepped to the balcony’s edge, rested her hands on the cool, smooth jade railings.

  The stars, the sea and the streets were with her; the sounds of the ballroom muted, the sounds of the city a reprieve.

  In the distance she could see the lights of endless ships, which traversed the multitude of islands within the sea, and some ventured even further, beyond the Great Canal, into the Primeval Realms.

  She took it all in, the vista with her eyes, the cool air with her lungs; she let both linger within her. The sea was tamed, but it was still a swirling chaos which both terrified and fascinated her.

  Her breath a mist in the cold.

  Finally, she could breathe, away from judging eyes and scornful smiles.

  Steps.

  Steps behind her.

  Soft, barely audible, yet she felt the need to turn, every step akin to a command.

  A step. A turn. And her heart skipped a beat.

  A Daughter of the Ambition stood before her.

  A Daughter of the Ambition.

  Radiant. Ethereal.

  The very air bent to her will, her beauty staggering, her presence overwhelming.

  She bowed her head in respect, in submission, all while her pulse quickened, her mind raced.

  She fought to conceal, to mask the surprise that coursed through her.

  Why was she here?

  A voice smooth and melodic, yet it held authority.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? A reminder of how fragile this city is without the will of my father holding it together,” she said.

  Why was she talking to her?

  She struggled to find her voice. The Daughter’s presence and the fact that she had addressed her… had jolted her mind.

  “It’s beautiful… and terrifying…” she said, as words finally fled her lips.

  Like you.

  “It feels limitless…” she said.

  Like you.

  “It’s an honor, my Lady,” she said.

  The Daughter smiled, stepped closer next to her and gazed at the sea. Perhaps she had only been a diversion? The sea, the true allure of the night.

  But her eyes returned their attention to her; they made her feel both small and seen.

  “Does it surprise you that I would speak to you? I see it in your eyes,” she said.

  She was but a debutante; she didn’t know how to respond, what to say, but she didn’t need to.

  “I am a Daughter of the Ambition,” she said.

  With every word the Daughter’s presence grew; it washed over the debutante, made her skin tingle, her bones tremble.

  “All but for my father are beneath me — Scion, Kin, mortal, it matters not,” she said.

  Her words struck her heart, stilled the air, muted all other sounds.

  “But you are all also… mine…” she said.

  The words sent shivers through her. There was no arrogance, only truth in them. She bowed again, deeper this time. Pressed down by the weight of the words uttered.

  “Of course, my Lady. I… I know my place. I’m honored you’d even consider speaking to me,” she said.

  The Daughter remained more, her eyes sharp, intrusive, but her expression softened.

  “And yet, here you are…” the Daughter said.

  “Mortal. Aware of the gap between us.”

  The Daughter’s hands touched her chin, guided her gaze toward her.

  “How do you feel about the life you lead… about your place in my father’s Dominion?”

  The Daughter’s eyes seemed to consume her, swallow her whole, her words threatened to drown her, yet the debutante spoke.

  “I know my place in the Dominion. It has given my family everything.”

  She tried to breathe, to fight through the terror that gripped her.

  What if her words angered her?

  “But… sometimes, no matter how much I achieve, there’s always a wall.”

  The words were said. The terror abated as her heart slowed.

  “One I can’t cross.”

  “One I never will.”

  “For I am only mortal… unlike you.”

  The Daughter’s hands held her head gently between her palms, the skin smooth as silk.

  Words like honey followed.

  “Yes, you are not like me.”

  “That is the nature of things.”

  Her face came closer, her words more intoxicating.

  “You are not meaningless. Your service does not make you… lesser.”

  “There are many roles to play, and each must know where they fit under my father’s rule.”

  “So let us talk freely,” she said.

  And freely they spoke. Of their fathers, one but a mortal, the other God. Of their lives, the debutante’s so short, the Daughter’s ancient and endless. Yet they spoke, and she felt at ease, as if the Daughter had commanded it, and she could but obey.

  Perhaps she had?

  But what if she had? Did it matter? It was her right, and every moment was a mixture of wonder and disbelief for the debutante. It was a conversation she didn’t wish to end. If it only could last longer.

  She still had a hand tightly gripped around the railing; it assured her that all this still was real, for the air around her was not cold anymore, the chill not there to ground her in reality.

  “You have potential, even if you cannot fully see it.”

  “Many mortals waste their lives chasing after things they will never attain.”

  “But you… I find you interesting. I am leaving soon, to tour my father’s realms. Perhaps you would serve me on this journey?”

  To serve her?

  The words were more like blows. They made her heart race, shook her mind, but above all they stirred her ambition.

  Her excitement overcame her fear. Her desire defeated her doubt.

  “I… I would be honored, my Lady. But… why me?”

  “I’m but a mortal. Surely there are others more suited to serve you?”

  The Daughter smiled, her expression, an acknowledgement of something inevitable.

  “Perhaps. But I have chosen you. All are beneath me, yet all are mine.”

  “You will accompany me, and you will learn more about your place in this world.”

  “I offer this because I see someone worth guiding. Do not waste it.”

  She wouldn’t.

  “I will serve you with all I have, my Lady. Thank you for this chance,” she said.

  The Daughter glanced at the sea, at its endless possibilities and then she took a step. The Daughter cradled her head with both hands and drew her closer; she leaned down and pressed her lips softly on her forehead. And with it came a warmth that spread throughout her body.

  There was nothing else. No cold. No sound. Only warmth.

  And a mark on her forehead.

  She couldn’t see it, yet she knew its shape. Seven circles. Six within one. She knew now who had claimed her.

  The Seventh Daughter of the Ambition.

  The Daughter’s lips left her brow, her hands slipped away, but the mark remained.

  “This mark signifies you are mine now; no one else may claim you but my father. All who see it will know whom you serve,” the Daughter said.

  “Go now — speak to your family, to those close to you, and prepare for what lies ahead. In three days, we leave for the Sea of Possibility.”

  “Do not disappoint me.”

  With those words, the Daughter turned and walked away, into the warmth of the ballroom and the sounds therein.

  She was alone in the cold, only the warmth and light of the mark to remind her of what had happened.

  The Daughter, beyond her sight.

  Do not disappoint me.

  She wouldn’t.