Before the Abyss, there was applause. I remember the sound. It is the only thing I have not allowed the void to eat. I was not a warrior then. I was a Maker of Moments. In the First Age, when Zetun was a canyon and the gods were still young enough to be jealous, I built a stage.

  I danced until the stones wept. I sang until the stars leaned down to listen. I lived for the Gasps. That precise split-second where a thousand hearts beat in sync because I willed it. Then the war came. The sky tore open. And the audience died. I stood on my stage, twenty-three years old, watching the world burn.

  A voice spoke from the darkness. "You hate this," it said. "Not the death. The silence." It was right. "I can give you an eternal audience," the voice promised. "You will see everything. Feel everything. You will never be bored again." "The price?" "You will never create again. You will only watch."

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  I took the deal. I traded my voice for eyes. They remade me. Stripped my flesh, hollowed my soul, and turned me into a archive of suffering. Class Seven: Pain and Entertainment. For three hundred years, I have floated in the dark, watching mortals perform the same tired plays;

  The Hero’s Sacrifice. (Boring).

  The Villain’s Monologue. (Derivative).

  The Lovers’ Parting. (Cliché).

  I screamed for a century. Then I got quiet. Then I got hungry. Until I saw him. The boy in the pit. Eight years old. He didn't fight with honor. He threw sand. He used glass. He refused to die, and more importantly, he refused to perform for the master.

  He broke the script. For the first time in three centuries, I didn't want to eat the moment. I wanted to applaud. So I made him a deal. Not to save him... I wanted to see what he would do next. Yozi thinks I am a monster feeding on his pain. He is wrong. I am just a critic, finally watching a show worth the ticket price.