he black obsidian car bearing the silver crescent of House Rotschy disappeared down the gravel road, its presence lingering like a shadow that refused to lift. Amelia Amberhart stood still for a moment, her golden eyes locked on the faint trail of dust it left behind. The echo of Naoko Rotschy's words still rang in her mind—quiet, cold, and terrifying in their indifference.
Then, as if reclaiming her poise, Amelia turned, heels clicking with aristocratic finality, and stepped into her own vehicle. The Amberhart family car was pristine white with streaks of gold along the doors, a roaring phoenix emblazoned on the hood—a symbol as old as the fire that ran through her veins. The interior smelled of polished leather and jasmine, her signature scent. Red-and-white velvet adorned the seats, luxurious but strict—just like her.
"Take me home," she commanded curtly, settling in and resting her chin atop her interlaced fingers as she stared out the tinted window.
The driver, a seasoned servant of the Amberhart line, said nothing. He knew the look in his lady's eyes—one of thought, calculation, and looming purpose.
As the scenery blurred past, Amelia's mind roamed far beyond the golden countryside of her family estate. Her thoughts clung stubbornly to Naoko. That woman, that monster in a velvet dress, had walked into the sacred house of the gods with all the reverence of a queen inspecting a cattle barn. She had trampled on a fallen holy text as though it were a leaf in her path, her silver hair catching the sunlight like a blade catching fire, her cold silver eyes staring at nothing and everything. She was the embodiment of divine defiance, the woman who had killed an angel, who had slain a god. A cursed miracle.
And yet... how powerful she had become.
"How far would one go, if they had nothing left to fear?" Amelia whispered to herself.
She wasn't afraid of Naoko. Not in the way others were. Phoenixes did not fear the moon—they burned brighter in its shadow. But what she did feel was respect. Not for Naoko's arrogance, nor her choices, but for the power she wielded. The divine blessing of Uranos, the shattered skies, the title whispered behind closed doors: *Godkiller*.
As the car pulled through the wrought golden gates of the Amberhart estate, Amelia's eyes narrowed slightly. Her estate—grand and glorious—seemed to welcome her return with the gentle rustle of leaves and the faint chirping of enchanted birds in the garden. But her thoughts were far from peaceful.
What if she could forge a link between her house and the elusive, enigmatic House Rotschy?
House Rotschy had never once involved itself in politics. No alliances, no treaties, no interference. They were like a black hole—silent, unseen, and infinitely dangerous. Amelia had never considered such a path before, but now… after that encounter… she saw a glimmer of something new. Opportunity. Power. A shield against the cold, calculating reach of House Frost, her family's eternal rival—the masters of ice, manipulation, and masked cruelty.
A political link to the Rotschys could shift the world's balance.
As she stepped into her manor, servants bowed low and opened the crimson doors. Her heeled steps echoed on marble floors as she moved through the grand hall, up the spiral staircase with its carved phoenixes, until she reached her private office.
She closed the door behind her.
The crackling fireplace bathed the dark wood in amber hues. She sat down in the high-backed chair behind her desk, removed her gloves one finger at a time, and stared at the flames—silent. The thoughts churned like magma beneath her composed exterior.
*Rotschy blood... united with Amberhart fire.*
And only one way to bind them.
Her fingers reached for the intercom crystal. A gentle shimmer ran through it as it activated. Her voice was soft, but firm.
"Rina. Come to my office. Now."
**Minutes Later**
The door opened with a whisper.
In stepped Rina Amberhart.
The embodiment of her bloodline's brilliance and pride.
Her hair blazed like wildfire, cascading in untamed waves down her back, each strand alive with a copper-red inferno. Her golden eyes shimmered like molten metal—sharp, radiant, and full of unspoken rebellion. She wore a flowing white and crimson dress embroidered with flame motifs that hugged her tall, elegant frame. Around her neck, a delicate phoenix pendant gleamed, its wings outstretched—an heirloom passed down through generations.
The scent of rosewood and amber trailed behind her.
"You called, Mother?" she asked, her voice smooth and even, though not without tension. Rina had inherited her mother's poise, but she burned with a spirit all her own.
Amelia gestured to the chair opposite her. "Sit."
Rina sat gracefully, one leg crossed over the other, golden eyes narrowing just slightly. She could feel it. Something was different today. Heavier. Colder.
Amelia looked at her daughter for a long, quiet moment. Evaluating. Calculating. Admiring.
"You've grown into a beautiful woman," she said at last. "Strong. Clever. Dignified."
Rina's brow arched. "Thank you. But flattery is rarely your style."
Amelia folded her hands atop the desk. "Today, I am not merely your mother. I speak to you as head of House Amberhart."
The air tightened.
Rina didn't speak. She didn't move.
Amelia continued, her voice sharp, precise. "A proposal has been arranged. Not for politics, but for legacy. For preservation. For ascension."
The silence cracked between them like a dry branch underfoot.
"You will be engaged to Jien Rotschy."
Rina froze.
Time stopped.
For a moment, the room seemed to pulse with heat—real or imagined, she couldn't tell. Her hands trembled in her lap, though she clenched her fingers to stop it.
The name echoed in her skull. *Jien Rotschy.*
The boy from the shadows. The ghost prince. Son of the godkiller.
Her breath caught, not out of awe, but confusion. Disbelief. A sharp chill ran up her spine. "What…?" she whispered.
Amelia remained calm. "The engagement has not been made public yet. This is not up for debate."
"You're… marrying me off?" Rina's voice cracked—not with weakness, but with the weight of betrayal.
"This is not a marriage. It's an alliance. An alliance with House Rotschy—"
"Who don't even *do* alliances!" Rina shot to her feet, fire blazing in her eyes. "They don't care about anyone but themselves! He—he's *Rotschy*! You can't be serious!"
Amelia didn't flinch. "He is more than that now. You've seen the world, Rina. You know the enemies we face. The Frosts are growing bolder. We need strength."
"You want to use me."
"I want to protect you. Our legacy. Our house. And no alliance will protect you more than this one."
Rina turned away, struggling to breathe. Her hands trembled. Her voice dropped, soft and broken. "You could have at least asked me…"
Amelia's tone softened just slightly. "I'm telling you now. Before anyone else. Because I respect you, Rina. But this decision is final."
Silence.
Rina stared out the window, the red sunset lighting her hair aflame.
Beneath her golden gaze, tears welled—but did not fall.
Fire did not cry.
Not yet.
.....
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