Ayla stirred first, eyes fluttering open to the gilded ceiling of the throne antechamber.
She sat up slowly. "Mythos…?"
"Relax," his voice echoed softly. "You're safe. For now."
Beside her, Sebastian groaned, rubbing his forehead. "Why do I feel like a volcano with a migraine?"
Then he looked up—straight into the towering form of King Eldric, who stood with his arms crossed and an unreadable smile.
Sebastian screamed.
Not a subtle shriek—a full-throated panic screech.
"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH—KING—KING—HOLY—FUCK—I DIDN'T—PLEASE DON'T KILL ME!"
He dropped to his knees, hands up in surrender, bowing so fast he smacked his forehead against the marble floor.
"I—I don't know what happened, sir! I swear! I didn't mean to—she kissed me—I mean—not like that—and then the whole place blew up—my hair's redder now—PLEASE SPARE ME, I'M TOO WEAK TO DIE!"
Eldric's deep laugh shook the room. Servants lining the walls chuckled softly behind gloved hands.
"I'm not going to hurt a friend of my daughter," Eldric said smoothly, his voice warm as honey.
Sebastian blinked. The gears in his brain clicked slowly.
"…Wait." He turned his head. Looked at Ayla. Back at the king. Back at Ayla.
Then his eyes went full saucer-mode.
"WAIT. AYLA—YOU'RE THE PRINCESS?!"
Everyone froze.
"Oh. My. GOD. THE PRINCESS KISSED ME?!?"
His nose bled on the spot.
He fainted again.
This time, Eldric didn't laugh.
His eyes glowed—just slightly—and with a soft pulse of royal aura, Sebastian's body jolted upright like a resurrected marionette.
"Wake up, son. We're not done talking."
Sebastian gasped back to life, knees wobbling beneath him, his body still jittery from the burst of the king's aura.
Sebastian gasped. "I'm… alive???"
The king stared at him, arms folded, his presence suffocating and absolute. The smile from earlier was gone—replaced by the burning gaze of someone who ruled dragons, nations, and fear itself.
Sebastian swallowed, eyes darting around at the knights and attendants watching from the shadows. His lips trembled.
"I… I didn't mean to—sir, I didn't know she was your daughter! She didn't say anything! I didn't even touch her, I swear! I mean, yeah, she kissed my forehead but that wasn't—"
"Kissed you?" the king repeated, voice sharp.
Sebastian froze. "No! I mean yes—but not like that—it wasn't romantic—it was magical or something, I think she gave me hellfire or… gods, please don't execute me."
"Silence." Eldric's voice cut like a blade, and the entire room held its breath.
Ayla stood behind one of the throne room's tall columns, arms crossed, watching quietly. Her expression unreadable. Mythos spoke softly in her mind:
"He's loyal. His heart did not waver once."
King Eldric stepped forward slowly. "From the moment you touched my daughter's essence, your life changed, boy. That is not something I take lightly."
Sebastian stiffened, clearly trying not to throw up.
"Tell me everything," Eldric commanded. "From the second you met her—until my knights picked your flaming corpse off the street."
Sebastian blinked fast, then nodded, stammering. "Y-yes, Your Majesty. It started when she walked into my store. She asked about tech and I offered to help with her device—she was nice, quiet even. Then she went to get food and I told her about the bullies… and—"
Eldric raised a hand. "Their names."
Sebastian gulped. "Jorgudan and his boys. They've been stalking my deliveries for weeks. I've been starving, afraid to restock."
The king's brows rose slightly.
"I tried to swing on him," Sebastian continued quickly, "but I'm… I'm not a fighter. She protected me. She fought like a demon, or—no, not like a demon. She fought like she belonged on a battlefield. I've never seen anyone move like that. She saved me."
The king said nothing.
"She healed them after," Sebastian added softly. "Right after almost killing them. Like… like she didn't want to. Like something was wrong, and then she fixed it."
The king's gaze shifted toward Ayla, who avoided his eyes. She looked back at Sebastian, lips parting slightly, as if seeing him for the first time through a new lens.
Eldric's voice returned—softer this time, yet somehow colder. "You speak of my daughter like you admire her."
Sebastian paused. Then answered, "I do."
The king's face betrayed nothing. Then, he slowly leaned forward.
"No student survives without a scar," he said grimly. "But you'll be the first."
Sebastian blinked. "What… does that mean?"
"You're going to Valeford Academy," the king declared. "Three days from now. You will accompany my daughter."
Sebastian's jaw dropped. "I-I'm not even an Essence user—wait, am I? I don't know what's happening anymore!"
"You'll learn," Eldric said. "And if I find that you're using her, manipulating her… even unintentionally—"
The air thickened as the king's Flux stirred, reality bending at the edges.
"I'll burn your soul out from the inside, and leave only your name behind as a warning."
Sebastian went still, barely breathing.
Then Eldric stepped back and clapped once.
Instantly, the tension disappeared. The knights moved, the air cooled, and the king smiled as if he'd said nothing threatening at all.
"Now then," he said warmly. "You must be exhausted. Someone show this young man to his guest room. Feed him. Let him rest."
As Sebastian was led away, still stunned, the king looked toward Ayla once more. He didn't smile this time.
"We'll speak again soon, daughter," he said. "Enjoy your last days of peace."
Transition to the Throne Assembly Chamber
The palace corridor lay unnaturally quiet. Gone was the usual echo of diplomatic boots and servant chatter. In its place, only the soft hum of sunlight filtering through stained glass and the distant chime of a tower bell.
A maid approached Ayla with a tight posture and eyes respectfully lowered. She bowed quickly.
"His Majesty requests that you wait here. He'll retrieve you personally."
Before Ayla could ask why, the towering obsidian doors ahead unlocked with a solid click.
They opened inward.
King Eldric emerged alone, his coat jet black and laced with golden thread, pauldrons gleaming under the light. His presence said everything—regal, unreadable, impossibly calm.
He didn't speak.
He simply reached for Ayla's hand.
She hesitated—then took it.
He turned without a word and led her away from the main hall, toward a seemingly blank stretch of wall carved with subtle runes. With a twist of an ancient torch bracket, a hidden panel slid aside, revealing a spiral staircase winding up into shadows.
They climbed.
No guards. No whispers. Just the quiet sound of their footsteps and Ayla's thudding heart.
At the top, another door. A narrow one, tall and inlaid with deep obsidian mirrors on either side. The reflections weren't perfect—distorted slightly, as if they showed not just her body but her feelings: anxious, tense, wild.
She didn't like looking at it.
The King pushed the door open and began walking down the narrow, dimly lit hallway that lay beyond. Then, without warning:
"You're reckless."
Ayla glanced over, defensive. "They were going to rob him."
"And so you almost killed three children of other nations—on your first day out." His voice remained even, but every word hit like a blade.
She froze mid-step.
He turned to face her, features dark and unreadable.
"Do you think you're untouchable because of what's in your blood? Because you don't understand your own power yet?"
She stayed quiet.
He stepped closer.
"You've forgotten almost everything about who you were. And yet still, I see it… in your posture, your anger, your eyes. You're not a child anymore. But you're not a soldier either. You're a princess."
Ayla clenched her jaw. "I didn't ask for that."
"Neither did I. But we wear the crowns we're given."
He turned and began walking again.
"I know you're not thinking clearly. Your emotions—your memories—they're a storm. You're mixed blood, and more than that, you were never meant to be ordinary. But that doesn't mean you get to act like a wild thing."
They stopped before a heavy crystal door lined in darksteel.
"You will go in that room," he said firmly, "You will apologize to the boy you nearly broke, and to his father—who is one of my closest allies. I haven't even told him you're coming. He doesn't know who you are. No one does."
Ayla's expression tightened.
He leaned in, lowering his voice.
"If you pull something like this again, I will call in the royal instructors for formal princess training. I don't care how you feel inside." He eyed her sharply. "I know you're a boy at heart. But you're a girl in body, and you will act like it."
She turned her face away, cheeks hot—not from shame, but from the pressure of being everything at once.
He stepped back, softened just a little.
"Your strength is obvious. But power without grace is a declaration of war."
Then, gesturing toward the door, he added one final note:
"Now go. Be introduced. Show them why they should fear and love you in equal measure."
And the door slowly opened to reveal the nobles beyond.
The massive obsidian doors groaned as they opened inward, pushed by two armored dragon knights clad in silver-violet cloaks. Beyond them, a majestic chamber unfolded—oval in shape, with ceilings that seemed to stretch endlessly upward, painted with a celestial mural of twin moons circling a golden sun.
Ayla walked beside her father, King Eldric, his grip on her hand steady but not forceful. The marble beneath their feet shimmered with thin streams of essence, forming elegant, ever-moving sigils that danced beneath each step. Rows of crystal windows let daylight pour in, casting prismatic streaks across the floor.
At the far end of the chamber stood the Thrones of Dominion—a semi-circle of ornate seats, each carved from a different elemental stone. They rose in tiered formation, facing the center of the room. Occupying them were the monarchs of each major nation: kings, queens, rulers of ancient bloodlines and broken lands alike.
Some whispered among themselves at the sight of the young woman entering at Eldric's side—slim, unfamiliar, poised with quiet power.
But one figure didn't whisper.
A loud scrape rang out as a chair was shoved back.
A young man with a bruised face and bandaged arms shot to his feet, pointing at her with wide eyes.
"THAT'S HER DAD?!" Jorgudan blurted.
The room went dead silent.
Ayla blinked, her hand still in her father's. Her face didn't betray any expression—but her brow arched just slightly.
King Eldric didn't stop walking. "Eyes forward," he murmured to her calmly. "They already expect a show. Don't give them more than you must."
As they reached the center dais, a knight stepped forward and struck the marble floor with the butt of his halberd.
"Announcing: His Majesty, King Eldric of the Firmamental Reach… and the one under his protection—Lady Ayla."
A wave of murmurs followed. Most had never heard of Ayla. None had seen her before today. And certainly, no one expected her to be escorted like royalty by one of the strongest kings present.
Eldric gave a small bow toward the other rulers, then released Ayla's hand with a nod. "Stay behind me," he said, stepping forward into the ring of thrones.
Jorgudan hadn't sat back down. His fists were clenched. His father, sitting tall beside him, shot him a sharp look but said nothing yet.
Ayla remained composed, chin slightly lifted, posture unshaken. Though her stomach twisted inside, her face held nothing but a cool, indifferent calm.
They had no idea who she was.
Not yet.
But the room was starting to feel it—the pressure that followed her, subtle yet unshakable. The sunwheel etched faintly on her back pulsed beneath her skin like a sleeping god.
And all the rulers, though seated upon thrones forged by their ancestors, began to wonder just what kind of girl had arrived in their midst.