His expression was a mix of surprise and a fear so genuine it hurt more than any blow.

  —Lyss… —his voice, my name, a broken whisper— what are you doing here? No… what did they do to you here…?

  I couldn’t answer.

  Neyra, just behind me, looked at him as if she’d stumbled upon a secret she never meant to hold. Her lips tightened, but she said nothing.

  Silas stepped toward me, awkward, as if he still couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

  —I just got back —he murmured, breathless—. I spent a month working in North Kharos. They don’t get Aurelis broadcasts out there, Lyss… I didn’t know you were here. I didn’t know anything.

  But before he could say more, before I could even process his words, Ahnna appeared.

  She slid between us like a perfumed specter, wrapping around Silas from behind with a softness that had an edge.

  And without asking permission, without a hint of shame, she kissed him on the cheek.

  A soft kiss.

  Possessive.

  Humiliating.

  —Love… —she cooed, sweet as viper venom— I’ve been looking for you. Don’t disappear like that…

  The sound of the kiss echoed inside my skull like a hollow bell.

  My stomach dropped.

  I didn’t feel sadness.

  I felt heat.

  Anger.

  Resentment.

  A fire burning at the base of my tongue.

  Ahnna turned to us, her golden eyes shining with a diamond-wrapped insult.

  —Oh… did you already know each other? What a sweet coincidence…

  Silas swallowed, uncomfortable, as if the ground had vanished beneath him.

  —Ana—

  Ahnna corrected him with nothing but a lifted hand.

  He lowered his gaze. His voice was weak when he repeated:

  —Anabeth…

  Ahnna smiled, satisfied.

  From her bag she took out a small satin pouch and placed it in Neyra’s hands.

  —This is for you, darling. You shone even brighter than me today. You earned it.

  With the tip of her finger, she brushed Neyra’s cheek.

  Neyra blinked, red, overwhelmed, unable to reject the touch.

  Ahnna sighed theatrically… and dropped the final dagger:

  —I’m going to review the shots. I want to publish them tonight. Be good… and rest.

  One glance at Silas.

  A slower one at me.

  And she left.

  Her perfume took seconds to fade.

  Silence.

  Silas looked at me as if trying to piece together a word he’d never learned to say.

  I looked at him with something I couldn’t even name.

  I drew a deep breath. I knew that whatever came out of my mouth next would have no return.

  He spoke first, a clumsy apology.

  —Were you the ones scheduled today?

  My smile was frost.

  —How could you not know we arrived? They threw us a welcome event. We were on every news broadcast, Silas.

  My voice was low.

  Sharp.

  Unforgiving.

  He raised a hand, desperate to explain.

  —Lyss, I was completely out of touch. I don’t live in Aurelis, News doesn’t reach us the same. I didn’t—

  I cut him off.

  Anger boiled between my ribs.

  —What did you see in her? Did she seduce you with those huge tits and that perfect waist?

  Silas pressed his lips together, pained, shaking his head almost desperately.

  —It has nothing to do with that. Don’t say that, it isn’t fair—

  My laugh was a blade.

  —What then? Does she give you perfect sex every night, Silas? Is that it? That toy everyone wants to fuck?

  His face tightened, but he didn’t step back.

  —Lyss, stop. That’s not it. Listen to me—

  —I don’t care. —My voice cracked like a whip.

  I stepped back.

  I grabbed Neyra’s arm so hard she let out a small gasp.

  I didn’t stop.

  —Go to your inflatable doll, Silas. Go. I’m sure she’s waiting to lick your hands. Enjoy.

  I turned, pulling Neyra with me.

  I didn’t look back.

  I didn’t listen to whether Silas called out again.

  I didn’t care.

  The door closed with a soft, intimate click.

  A sanctuary with no cameras, no lights, no Aurelis breathing through every crack.

  Silas still wore a deep frown, hands shoved into his pockets, his knuckles white from everything he was forcing himself not to say.

  Anabeth —not Lux, not the idol, not the public goddess— looked at him with eyes made of equal parts fear and desire.

  She stepped toward him.

  Then again.

  And when Silas didn’t step back, she wrapped her arms around him with the silent desperation of someone afraid her chosen refuge might ignite at any moment.

  —Now that no one is watching… let me hold you —she whispered, her voice crumbling between expensive perfume and a raw insecurity she never allowed herself to show.

  Silas didn’t return the embrace immediately.

  His hands climbed slowly to her back, stiff, reluctant.

  —Why didn’t you tell me? —he hissed against her neck, every word a nail—. You knew she was here. You knew it was her. Why did you let me find out like that?

  Ahnna slid her fingers behind his neck, as if afraid he might push her away.

  —Don’t exaggerate —she murmured, tone meant to sound light but failing—. It was… a coincidence. A little game…

  Silas pulled her back just enough to force her to meet his eyes.

  —It didn’t look small when you kissed me in front of her.

  His voice cracked at the end—not with anger, but with disappointment.

  The kind of fracture Ahnna had never learned to handle.

  She swallowed hard.

  Her flawless mask splintered like tempered glass.

  Her golden eyes brimmed with a wetness that wasn’t performance.

  —I… —a thread of sound— I can’t lose you, Silas. Not to her. Not to anyone. I can’t afford to be weak.

  Her laugh came out like shattered glass:

  —I’m Lux out there. The fantasy everyone wants. But you… you’re the only one who calls me Anabeth. Only you…

  Silas closed his eyes, breathed in her perfume—now burning more than soothing.

  His hand found hers. He squeezed, not gently, but with a soft, aching fury.

  —Don’t do this again —he murmured—. If we’re going to be something… don’t use me in your games.

  Ahnna only nodded, trembling slightly.

  She didn’t promise anything.

  She couldn’t.

  A click.

  One single click was enough.

  The hallway security camera captured everything:

  — Lyss colliding with Silas.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  — Ahnna appearing between them.

  — Ahnna kissing Silas on the cheek.

  — Lyss’s expression: hurt, furious, shining like a storm warning.

  They added soft music, a golden filter, and the voice of the late-night host:

  “Trouble in the diplomatic paradise? Is Seravenn hiding romantic tensions behind its divine representatives?”

  It was edited.

  Distributed.

  Viral in minutes.

  By the time Lyss and Neyra step into the Pendelton…

  all of New Althameria will have already seen it.

  The door of the vehicle closed behind us with a soft thud that sounded like being sealed in.

  The engine purred, sinking us into a soundproof bubble of white leather and tinted windows.

  Beside me, Neyra held her satin bag as if it were a trophy… or a trap wrapped in black ribbon.

  She glanced at me from the corner of her eye, trying to read my silhouette in the dim light, searching for the right words without daring to touch them.

  The lights of Aurelis slid across her face, across mine—flashes from a city that only knows how to feed on living flesh.

  I didn’t speak.

  I didn’t really breathe.

  My jaw was so tight that a dull pain climbed up my temples and burst behind my eyes.

  Neyra tested her voice carefully, like someone trying the temperature of water before stepping in:

  —Lyss… it wasn’t that bad, you know? You shouldn’t let—

  I didn’t let her finish.

  I turned my head, locking my gaze onto hers.

  Silver eyes. Beautiful. Now just as contaminated as mine.

  —Don’t talk about what you don’t understand, Neyra.

  My voice was so cold I saw her chin tremble slightly, as if she wanted to answer but didn’t know from where.

  The rest of the ride passed in silence.

  Only the hum of the tires, the expensive perfume still clinging to my skin, and the growing certainty that all of this… was only the beginning.

  When the Pendelton came into view through the windshield, my tongue finally loosened.

  I reached for Neyra’s free hand and took it gently.

  I hated myself for the icy tone from before.

  I whispered, voice trembling just a little:

  —I’m sorry, Neyra.

  She didn’t say anything.

  She just pressed my fingers back with a small, steady gesture that meant more than any words could.

  I inhaled deeply.

  And let the sentence fall—half bite, half spark landing on a fuse:

  —Let that idiot do whatever he wants.

  A laugh without laughter, just venom scraping my throat.

  —I don’t care.

  I turned toward the window, watching the skyscrapers devour the moon as if they were hungry for something I still couldn’t name.

  —I’m going to enjoy myself.

  The limousine stopped in front of the Pendelton, swallowed by a swarm of flashes, shouts, and questions I couldn’t even process.

  Beside me, Neyra still clutched her satin bag as if it could shield her from any of this.

  All I heard were buzzing fragments:

  —“Is it true Lux stole Seravenn’s sculptor?”

  —“How do you feel seeing them together?”

  —“Lyss, look here!”

  Aurelis’s rotting laughter clawed at my ears.

  I didn’t think.

  I didn’t breathe.

  Blood Crown crawled up from the void in my belly—

  the beloved, cursed weight.

  In a single movement, I drew her out of my own body.

  The blade sang as it tore through the fabric and skin of my dress.

  I raised it above their heads.

  One frozen second.

  The whole world holding its breath.

  And then—

  An explosion of screams, flashes, gasps of hunger and delight.

  —SHUT YOUR DAMN MOUTHS!

  My voice split the night open.

  The sword trembled in my fist.

  They didn’t run.

  They didn’t even flinch.

  They applauded.

  As if my rage were entertainment.

  As if I were part of the circus.

  Humiliated by their joy, I forced the blade back into my body.

  The sacred burn curled through my insides, reminding me who I was…

  And what it cost.

  Neyra whispered my name, shaking, but I didn’t hear her.

  The penthouse door slammed against the wall.

  Velka and Caelia were standing in front of the television, mouths slightly open, watching my tragedy loop on-screen, dissected by smiling commentators.

  My heels struck the marble like whips.

  Velka opened her mouth:

  —Princess—

  I didn’t let her finish.

  I grabbed the crystal vase on the coffee table—

  the first thing I saw—

  and shattered it against the floor.

  The sound of breaking glass felt exactly like my patience snapping.

  Caelia jumped.

  Velka swallowed hard.

  My voice tore free, raw and ragged:

  —That rotten sack of flesh set me up!

  My lips trembled, and a hollow laugh escaped them.

  —Of course she knew. The glances, the invitation to pose like fresh meat… and then, the kiss she threw at Silas…

  My hands rose, claws carving fury out of the air.

  —Oh, Silas! —I spat—. The idiot saw a pair of huge tits and collapsed like a dog.

  Every word tasted like poisoned iron.

  —He replaced me with an empty shiny carcass… and this city celebrates it!

  Velka opened and closed her mouth, searching for a joke to soften the collapse—

  she found none.

  Then I saw the screen.

  My face, distorted by rage.

  Ahnna kissing him.

  Silas trying desperately to stop it, pleading eyes wide.

  Headlines spinning like knives:

  “Diplomatic Drama — Love Betrayal at the Heart of Aurelis?”

  I felt the fire surge from my feet upward, consuming everything.

  —She wants to play? —I hissed, half laugh, half venom—

  —She’ll see how I play.

  Suddenly, firm hands landed on my shoulders.

  The world spun, and I found myself face to face with Caelia.

  Her eyes —that impossible blend of ice and smoldering fire— cut straight through me.

  Her voice came out barely, a cracked whisper shaped by a worry so real it hurt:

  —Lyss… breathe. Please. Breathe.

  And something in me gave way.

  As if that word were a key, it pulled me out of the spiral I’d been drowning in.

  Everything collapsed onto me at once: my ribs, my tongue, my clenched teeth.

  I clung to her.

  I held her like I hated her and loved her at the same time…

  and let out a silent scream against her neck.

  I didn't cry out of sadness.

  I didn’t cry because of Silas.

  I didn’t cry because of damn Ahnna.

  I cried out of sheer frustration.

  Out of rage that no longer fit inside me without tearing me apart.

  I felt Velka move in, then Neyra.

  Their arms, their hands, their bodies circling around me, containing my trembling with their own.

  We weren’t goddesses.

  We weren’t diplomatic symbols.

  We weren’t relics for Aurelis to toy with.

  We were four broken bodies trying not to let the city grind us down in a single bite.

  The clip ended and restarted.

  Again and again.

  Lyssandra Velcrux.

  Her torn dress.

  Her split skin.

  The sword rising from her abdomen like a crowned blasphemy.

  The flashes.

  The screams.

  Glory and humiliation braided into a single spectacle.

  Orion D’Helios did not look angry.

  He did not look surprised.

  He did not even look disturbed.

  Standing with his sleeves rolled up and his blazer discarded, he watched the footage as if studying a performance he didn’t yet fully understand, but already knew he could turn into a strategic advantage.

  His reflection multiplied across the dark windows of the 100th floor—shattered fragments of a mind already moving invisible pieces.

  A call came in.

  The name flashed:

  Queen Sheraphine Vaeloria — Seravenn.

  With a smooth gesture, he accepted.

  —Your Majesty —he said, his voice polished enough to cut stone—

  I see your daughters have delivered a far more interesting spectacle than the one you described in your report.

  A pause.

  Not provocation.

  Invitation.

  “Explain.”

  Sheraphine Vaeloria held a glass of wine in a gloved hand so tightly that the crystal vibrated with her pulse.

  Behind her, a vast window revealed the blackness of her capital—calm, perfect, indifferent to the tremor sliding down her spine.

  Her voice, when she spoke, was refined ice:

  —President D’Helios… Seravenn was unaware that young Velcrux would reveal that weapon in public. The blade was not part of any protocol. And my Council… was unaware she could manifest it at all including me.

  That was her public truth.

  Her private truth—that she had known about the sword long before—did not cross her lips.

  Orion smiled.

  —Your Majesty… —he repeated, almost with professional affection— Your Majesty.

  He took his seat, leaning toward the window like a Roman emperor contemplating the circus he’d just set ablaze.

  —I do not intend to ruin your internal narrative. In fact… —his eyes lit with dangerous interest— it is exquisite. The entire world is talking about your delegation. Your country. Your power.

  Sheraphine did not reply.

  But her gloved hand tightened around the glass.

  Orion continued, the tone of a man who already knew the board was tilting in his favor:

  —But you understand that my trust now carries a price.

  When New Althameria requires something from Seravenn… I expect no obstacles. Let us consider it… an exchange of favors. A diplomatic courtesy, now that we have shared such a revelation. Agreed?

  Silence.

  The Queen drank the rest of her wine in a single swallow.

  The burn slid down her throat like a bitter confession.

  She could not refuse—not after her most dangerous jewel had been exposed before millions, uncontrolled.

  —Agreed, President D’Helios —she said with the dignity of someone signing a sentence she fully intended to overturn one day—.

  Seravenn will comply.

  Orion ended the call first.

  He set the phone down on his desk as if it were hot to the touch.

  Then he rose, looking out over the city from above.

  In his mind, the piece was already sealed:

  When Seravenn’s hope becomes a problem… I will collect my debt.

  Sheraphine Vaeloria lowered the hand holding her wine glass.

  She didn’t let it fall.

  But the faint trembling of the crystal would have betrayed any other woman.

  Not her.

  The shadows in her office shifted as three figures stepped into view:

  Sael.

  Myra.

  Venesse.

  All three remained silent.

  All three had heard the call.

  All three had seen the sword.

  The Queen drew a slow breath, pulling her mask of cultivated ice back into place—the same one that had kept her unbroken for decades.

  —Speak —she commanded, without turning.

  Propaganda never slept.

  —Your Majesty… this is a controllable disaster, but only if we act before dawn. Seravenn’s image is being devoured across every platform. They’re calling the sword “divine armament,” “forbidden invocation,” “blood miracle.” I need clear directives.

  Her voice was steady, but her fingers trembled around the tablet she held.

  —This is not merely a media issue —she corrected gently—. New Althameria may request a formal briefing. Other nations are demanding access to the full recording. Your Majesty… the cooperation treaty forbids undeclared weaponry on allied soil. We need an official position before Orion establishes his.

  The Queen closed her eyes for a single second.

  Only one.

  But Myra noticed.

  Always last.

  Always with a voice heavier than any army.

  —My Queen… —she said, stepping slowly toward the window— what that child showed today… hasn’t been seen in generations. My girl… she didn’t even know what she was holding. Nor how the world will look at her now.

  Sael swallowed hard.

  Myra lowered her gaze.

  Sheraphine kept her spine straight.

  Impeccable.

  Untouchable.

  —We did not know she was capable of such a manifestation —she lied.

  Venesse lifted her eyes toward the Queen.

  deeply concerned.

  —Majesty… my little girl shouldn’t have revealed her weapon like that. She shouldn’t have faced a ravenous audience alone. Magical Girls can endure much, but they should never do it without guidance.

  That my little girl struck Sheraphine like a funeral bell.

  She gave no reply.

  —Your Majesty, the headlines demand context. If we don’t offer a narrative, Aurelis will shape one for us. And Orion has already hinted he expects… cooperation.

  The Queen finally turned.

  Her gaze was a moonless ocean.

  —Seravenn will not yield ground.

  Not today.

  Not tomorrow.

  Not to Orion.

  Three silences answered her:

  Sael: fear.

  Myra: calculation.

  Venesse: sorrow.

  Sheraphine lifted a hand, slicing through any attempted reply.

  —Leave me.

  They bowed.

  Sael exited first.

  Myra followed.

  Venesse approached with slow steps, touched the Queen’s shoulder—

  a gesture not seen since Sheraphine’s childhood—

  and whispered with a softness carved from love and worry:

  —My Queen… protect her. She is only a girl. And the world does not forgive girls born wearing crowns.

  Sheraphine did not move.

  Venesse left.

  When the door closed behind her, the palace fell into silence.

  A hallway screen continued playing the scene on loop:

  Lyssandra Velcrux.

  The blood.

  The sword rising.

  The scream.

  The flashes devouring the fate of a ni?a who had no idea what monster they were shaping her into.

  One second.

  Two.

  Three.

  Venesse clenched her jaw.

  Not in anger.

  In fierce, aching love.

  —Fuck…

  It was all she could manage.

  A tired prayer from a nameless mother who had just watched one of her girls be marked by the entire world.