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Chapter Text

The Solver Domain’s royal palace was a place of contradictions. Beneath its glittering chandeliers and walls of polished obsidian, there lingered a tension that no amount of finery could hide. Uzi tilted her head back, glaring up at the nauseating grandeur of the ballroom ceiling, carved with celestial constellations. It felt less like a celebration and more like a cage.

She fidgeted with the edge of her fitted formal tunic, hating every bit of it—the stiff fabric, the suffocating rules, the fake smiles plastered on every face. Her fingers itched for the familiar weight of her sword, but tonight, the blade was tucked away in the castle armory.

“Uzi, stop sulking,” Nori murmured beside her, her sharp gaze cutting through the noise of the room. “You’re representing Copperhold. Try to look like a princess, not a petulant child.”

Uzi rolled her eyes but straightened her posture. “I don’t see why we’re even here. Everyone knows this whole thing is a farce.” She lowered her voice. “The Elliots hate us. Why would they want peace now?”

Nori’s expression didn’t waver, but a shadow of concern crossed her eyes. “Hate or not, the Elliots are dangerous, and war would only make things worse. If there’s a chance to stop it, even a slim one, we must take it.”

Across the room, the Elliot family stood in a cluster. Queen Louisa and King James, resplendent in their royal attire, exuded an air of authority that made Uzi’s stomach twist. Their daughter, Tessa, stood slightly apart, looking awkward in a golden gown too big for her small frame.

Uzi studied her for a moment. Tessa wasn’t what she’d expected. She had imagined someone haughty and cruel, a miniature version of her parents. Instead, the girl looked…normal. Nervous, even. Their eyes met briefly, and Tessa gave her a tentative smile. Uzi looked away, unsure how to respond.

“Cyn’s here,” Nori muttered. Her tone was clipped, her body tensing beside Uzi.

Uzi’s gaze shifted to the figure gliding toward the Elliot monarchs. Cyn, the royal advisor, moved with an eerie grace. Her dark robes seemed to ripple unnaturally, and her smile was a touch too wide, her eyes too knowing. Uzi’s grip tightened on her tunic. Cyn was the real reason she didn’t trust this so-called peace.

The advisor leaned in to whisper something to Louisa, her expression unreadable. Whatever she said made the queen’s lips press into a thin line, and Louisa glanced briefly in Uzi’s direction.

“Why do they even listen to her?” Uzi muttered under her breath. “She’s creepy.”

Nori didn’t answer immediately. When she did, her voice was low and sharp. “Cyn has power, Uzi. More than you can imagine. Don’t underestimate her.”

Before Uzi could respond, a servant announced the start of the evening’s negotiations. The music faded, and the crowd’s murmur died down as the two families moved toward the long table at the center of the room.

“Remember,” Nori said quietly as they walked. “Stay calm. Watch. Listen. Let Khan speak.”

Uzi nodded, but her gut churned. Something about this night felt wrong, and she wasn’t sure it had anything to do with the gilded walls or the oppressive atmosphere.

As she took her seat across from Tessa, Uzi couldn’t shake the feeling that the girl wasn’t the real threat in this room.

It was the shadow standing behind her.

The side chamber was no less grand than the main hall, though its smaller size made it feel more personal. A table of dark wood, inlaid with silver filigree, awaited them in the center of the room, flanked by high-backed chairs with velvet cushions. Candles flickered in crystal sconces, casting a soft glow.

Uzi slumped into her chair with a huff, eyeing the ornate place settings like they were mocking her. “Well, this is cozy,” she muttered.

Tessa hesitated before sitting down across from her. “I think it’s nice,” she said softly, her hands fidgeting with the edge of the tablecloth. “Less…intimidating.”

Uzi arched an eyebrow. “Intimidating? This? You should see Copperhold’s royal hall. It’s basically one giant sword collection. Now that’s intimidating.”

Tessa blinked, then gave a small laugh. It wasn’t forced, like so many of the polite chuckles Uzi had heard tonight. It was quiet, genuine.

For a moment, Uzi almost smiled. Then she remembered why they were here. “So,” she said, leaning back in her chair, “what exactly are we supposed to talk about? World peace? Trade routes? How much we hate these stupid parties?”

Tessa frowned slightly, her brows knitting together. “I don’t hate them. They’re important. I mean…if this works, maybe we won’t have to fight anymore.”

Uzi snorted. “Yeah, sure. And maybe the Elliots will stop looking down on us long enough to see we’re not the bad guys.”

“That’s not fair,” Tessa said, her voice quiet but firm. “My parents—” She stopped herself, her expression conflicted. “They’re trying.”

Uzi opened her mouth to retort, but something in Tessa’s tone gave her pause. The girl wasn’t lying. If anything, she seemed…earnest. Naive, maybe, but not malicious.

Before Uzi could figure out what to say, the door creaked open. Cyn stepped inside, her presence as sudden as a shadow.

“Forgive the intrusion,” Cyn said, her tone dripping with warmth. “I only wanted to ensure everything is to your liking.”

Uzi’s stomach tightened. Cyn’s smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“It’s fine,” Tessa said quickly, though she looked nervous.

Cyn nodded, her gaze flicking briefly to Uzi. “Good. After all, this discussion is the first step toward something far greater. I’m certain you two will find common ground…in time.”

The way she said it made Uzi’s skin crawl. She wanted to snap back, but Cyn was already retreating, the door closing softly behind her.

Tessa glanced at Uzi, uncertainty clear in her expression. “She’s just trying to help,” she said, though it sounded more like she was trying to convince herself.

“Sure,” Uzi muttered, her eyes fixed on the door. “That’s exactly what she’s doing.”

Cyn moved through the main hall with practiced ease, her dark robes trailing like whispers behind her. The clinking of glasses and polite laughter provided a pleasant symphony to mask the underlying tension. She thrived in moments like these. The threads of her plan were already in place; now all she needed to do was pull.

She approached King James and Queen Louisa, who stood together at the head of the negotiation table. Their posture was regal, their expressions carefully neutral, but Cyn could see the cracks beneath. Years of war had worn them thin. They were desperate to secure their daughter’s future, and desperation made fools of even the wisest rulers.

“Your Majesties,” Cyn said with a slight bow, her voice smooth as silk. “Forgive my intrusion, but there is a matter of some importance I wished to bring to your attention.”

James raised an eyebrow, clearly annoyed. “We’re in the midst of negotiations, Cyn. Surely it can wait.”

Cyn’s smile widened ever so slightly. “I wouldn’t trouble you if it were not urgent. It concerns…Copperhold.”

That caught their attention. Louisa’s gaze sharpened, and she exchanged a glance with her husband. “What about Copperhold?”

Cyn took a step closer, lowering her voice. “I have reason to believe their intentions here tonight may not be as sincere as they claim. My sources suggest they have…contingencies in place, should these negotiations fail.”

James frowned, his hand tightening on the edge of the table. “Are you accusing them of preparing for war even as we negotiate peace?”

“Not quite,” Cyn said, her tone measured. “But I believe they’ve brought something—or someone—dangerous with them. Perhaps as leverage.”

Louisa’s lips thinned. “And you’re only telling us this now?”

“My apologies, Your Majesty,” Cyn said, bowing her head. “I only uncovered this information recently. I thought it best to verify it before bringing it to your attention.”

Her sincerity was impeccable, her concern so perfectly feigned that even the skeptical King James seemed to waver.

“What do you propose we do?” Louisa asked, her voice laced with suspicion.

Cyn’s smile returned, small and calculated. “Allow me to investigate quietly. If there is no threat, then Copperhold need never know we doubted them. But if there is…” She let the sentence hang, the implication clear.

James hesitated, his gaze flickering to Louisa. She nodded, and he sighed. “Fine. Do what you must. But keep this discreet, Cyn. We don’t need any unnecessary chaos.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Cyn said, bowing deeply. “You have my word.”

Cyn glided through the servants’ corridors, the smile on her face now cold and predatory. The Elliots were so easy to manipulate, their trust so fragile that even a whisper of doubt could send it shattering.

In the kitchens, a trio of her loyalists awaited her. They were dressed as servants, their expressions grim but determined.

“Is everything prepared?” Cyn asked.

The tallest of them nodded. “The wine has been laced, as you instructed. It will take effect within the hour.”

“And the evidence?”

“Planted in the Copperhold entourage’s quarters. It will point directly to them.”

“Good.” Cyn’s eyes glinted with satisfaction. “Ensure the guards find it at the right moment. We need the timing to be perfect.”

The servants nodded and hurried off to carry out their tasks. Cyn lingered for a moment, savoring the weight of the moment. When the king and queen fell, chaos would erupt, and in that chaos, she would step forward as the guiding hand.

The Elliots would look to her for leadership, and Tessa…sweet, impressionable Tessa…would be hers to mold.

Cyn turned and began making her way back to the main hall. She still had a role to play, after all, and the night was far from over.

Nori had never trusted Cyn. There was something about the woman—her calm, almost too-perfect demeanor, her ability to blend in so effortlessly—that set Nori’s teeth on edge. It wasn’t just Cyn’s sinister smile or the way she always seemed to know more than she should. It was the coldness beneath it all, the calculation in her every move.

And then there was the matter of the Solver magic. Nori was no fool; she could feel it, a faint but unmistakable aura that clung to Cyn like a second skin. It was subtle, like a ripple in a still pond, but it was there. Solver magic wasn’t just rare; it was dangerous. If Cyn held it, she wasn’t just a royal advisor—she was a power in her own right.

As the negotiations wore on, Nori’s suspicion grew. Cyn moved with such ease through the room, her every word laced with intent, and Nori couldn’t shake the feeling that the peace talks were nothing more than a distraction. A distraction for what? Nori didn’t know, but she was certain something was amiss.

Her gaze flicked toward Uzi, who was sitting across the room at the side table with Tessa, looking as uncomfortable as Nori felt. She hated how distant her daughter seemed tonight, how out of place in this glittering, suffocating world. Nori had never wanted this life for her. The royal duties, the false politeness—it wasn’t for someone like Uzi. But there was no turning back now.

A flicker of movement caught Nori’s attention. Cyn had left the room under the pretext of making arrangements for the younger princesses, but Nori hadn’t missed the way her eyes had lingered on the table where the Elliots sat, deep in conversation. Something wasn’t right.

And then, as if the universe had decided to confirm her suspicions, the subtle tremor in the air shifted. Nori’s breath caught as she felt it—a slight pulse of Solver magic, followed by a sudden surge of energy.

The first sign of trouble came almost immediately.

King James choked, his face going pale as he gripped the edge of the table. Louisa was beside him in an instant, her hands shaking as she reached for his arm. The servants around them sprang into action, but the damage had already been done.

Nori’s heart skipped a beat. The unmistakable scent of poison lingered in the air, an acrid, metallic odor she had been trained to recognize. The wine.

She didn’t wait for anyone to react. Nori was already moving, pushing through the crowd toward the Elliot’s table, her eyes scanning for any sign of the source. Cyn’s absence was deafening, and in the growing chaos, Nori’s worst fears were coming to fruition.

“Poison!” someone shouted, and the room erupted into a frenzy.

Nori’s eyes darted around, and she saw it—a faint but telling trail of magic leading away from the poisoned wine, like a strand of dark thread woven through the chaos. Solver magic. Cyn’s mark.

She moved faster, shoving past guests who had begun to panic, her eyes locked on the door that Cyn had exited through just moments earlier.

Nori’s thoughts raced as she bolted down the hall, her breath coming in sharp bursts. The realization hit her like a slap to the face. Cyn hadn’t just poisoned the wine; she had done it deliberately, knowing that it would cause a rift between Copperhold and the Elliots.

The scene at the table had been carefully orchestrated. Poisoning Louisa and James would throw everything into chaos, and without their leadership, Tessa—unprepared, vulnerable—would be forced to make decisions she wasn’t ready for. It was a perfect trap.

And worst of all, it was framed. She knew Cyn would have planted evidence implicating Copperhold, weaving a story that would make it look as though Uzi’s family had orchestrated the attack.

The worst part? It was working.

The sound of hurried footsteps behind her snapped her back to the present. She turned sharply, her eyes narrowing as two guards appeared in the corridor, their weapons drawn.

“Step away, Duchess,” one of them commanded.

Nori didn’t even flinch. She had no time for this. “Get out of my way.” Her voice was cold, but the authority was unmistakable. The guards hesitated, but when Nori moved again, they didn’t dare stop her.

She burst through the next door, heart pounding, knowing she was just steps away from the truth.

Cyn was waiting for her.

Nori had known she would be. The woman stood in the center of the private chambers, her back to the door, her long hair falling like dark silk down her back. She didn’t even turn when Nori entered, though she knew Nori had to have sensed the storm.

“It’s done,” Cyn said softly, her voice the same cold, venomous silk that Nori had come to dread. “Your precious king and queen will not be a problem anymore. And with the poison in their veins, their own daughter will do the rest.”

Nori’s eyes narrowed. “You think this will work? You think the Elliots will just roll over because you poisoned them?”

Cyn finally turned, her lips curling into a smile. “No. They won’t. But they will blame Copperhold. And they will want revenge. Tessa will lead them, and she will have no choice but to follow my guidance…and you know what they say about power. It’s easier to take than it is to give.”

Nori’s mind raced, the pieces clicking into place. “You’ve framed us. You’ve put everything at risk just to seize control of this throne.”

Cyn’s eyes gleamed. “I’m not interested in the throne, Nori. I’m interested in what comes after. I’m interested in the Solver.” She smiled again, this time a more genuine expression of satisfaction. “And that will be mine.”

Nori stood frozen for a moment, the weight of the situation sinking in. She had suspected Cyn’s ambition, but she hadn’t realized how deep it ran.

There was no stopping this now.

Uzi stood frozen, her eyes wide with disbelief as the events unfolded before her. It had started as a typical evening—an elegant gala, the polite clinking of glasses, the laughter of the aristocracy—but it had quickly spiraled into something darker.

The king’s sudden choking fit had been the first sign. Louisa, his wife, had screamed for help, but the damage was already done. The poison was fast-acting, and within moments, the great monarchs of the Solver Domain were collapsing in front of a room full of shocked onlookers.

Uzi’s heart hammered in her chest, her gaze flicking to her mother, who was already moving through the crowd with purpose. Nori’s sharp eyes had met hers for just a moment, but there was no time for a reassuring glance.

Then, everything began to spiral.

Tessa, sitting at the side table with Uzi, had started to panic. Her face had gone pale, her hands shaking as she clutched the edge of the table. “No—this isn’t happening,” Tessa muttered, her voice trembling. Her breath came in shallow gasps as the chaos around her grew.

Uzi wanted to reach out to her, to calm her somehow, but she was as trapped in the growing frenzy as anyone else. The room had exploded into chaos. Servants scrambled to assist the royal family, while the guests muttered in fear, unsure what had just happened. The guards had surrounded the fallen king and queen, but they were too late. It was clear: Louisa and James were gone.

And then, as if on cue, Cyn made her dramatic re-entrance.

Cyn appeared in the doorway, her steps measured and deliberate. The room seemed to still as all eyes turned to her. She stood at the entrance, framed by the light, a picture of calm elegance. She wasn’t flustered. She didn’t seem afraid. In fact, she almost looked pleased.

“Everyone,” Cyn called out, her voice smooth and carrying across the room. “Please, do not panic. This is not a coincidence. The poison was meant to strike at the heart of the Solver Domain—at your beloved rulers. And, I fear, we must consider the possibility that the Copperhold family is responsible for this treacherous act.”

A gasp rippled through the crowd, and Uzi’s stomach dropped.

She knew what was happening now. Cyn was framing them. Framing her family.

Tessa’s eyes widened, and she took a shaky step back from the table, her mind spinning. She looked at Uzi with growing suspicion, confusion, and panic. “What…what do you mean? What’s happening?” Her voice was barely a whisper, but the fear was undeniable.

Before Uzi could respond, Cyn took another step forward, her gaze falling onto the princesses with chilling precision. “We must act swiftly,” she continued, her tone heavy with authority. “The assassins from Copperhold have already infiltrated the royal palace, and now they’ve struck down the very people who sought peace with them. It is no surprise. I warned you of their intentions.”

Uzi felt her blood run cold. She wanted to lash out, to shout the truth, but Cyn was already in control. The room was on the edge of a knife, and Uzi knew they couldn’t stay.

Nori appeared then, her expression grim but determined, as if she had been expecting this confrontation. She moved swiftly through the crowd, her eyes locked on Cyn. The tension between them was palpable, and Uzi felt a chill run down her spine.

“You lie, Cyn,” Nori said, her voice ringing with authority. “This is your doing. You poisoned them and have framed Copperhold for it.”

But Cyn didn’t flinch. “You would say that, wouldn’t you, Nori? You’ve been protecting your family’s interests for years. But everyone can see the truth now.” She turned to the guards, her eyes flashing with menace. “The princesses of Copperhold are dangerous. They’ve come here to eliminate the Solver Domain, and now they’ve succeeded.”

The guards, hesitant but unsure of what to believe, remained at attention. They knew better than to make a move. Nori was a highly trained warrior, as was Uzi. Any rash action could lead to bloodshed—and they were not about to start a war in the middle of the gala.

Uzi felt her grip tighten where her own blade should've been, her magic thrumming beneath her skin, ready to defend if necessary. She could feel the eyes of the room on her, the judgment, the suspicion. This wasn’t just about the poison anymore—it was about something much bigger.

And Cyn had made her move.

Tessa, still reeling from the shock, turned to Uzi, her face stricken with confusion and fear. “Is it true?” she whispered. “Did Copperhold really do this?”

Uzi wanted to deny it, wanted to scream that it wasn’t true, but she knew the damage had already been done. Cyn’s words had planted a seed, and it was growing fast. Tessa, in her panic, would not be able to see reason for much longer.

Nori’s voice broke through the rising tension. “We need to leave, now. Before this escalates any further.”

Uzi didn’t need to be told twice.

Without a word, she stood and made for the exit, her heart heavy in her chest. The faces of the guests, the guards, the royals—they all blurred together as they hurriedly moved through the corridors. Her thoughts were clouded, her mind racing with the implications of what had just happened.

Her family had been accused of something they didn’t do, and now they had no choice but to leave. The peace they had come here to forge was gone, and in its place was a deepening chasm of distrust.

The moment they stepped outside, the cold air hit her like a wave, but it did nothing to clear her mind.

Uzi turned to her mother, her voice tight. “What do we do now?”

Nori’s gaze was cold and resolute. “We return to Copperhold. We regroup. But this isn’t over, Uzi. Not by a long shot.”

As they made their way back to their carriage, Uzi could feel the weight of the night pressing down on her. Cyn had made her move, and the war between their families had just begun...

Chapter Text

The echoes of clashing wood filled the training hall, a steady rhythm of release that had become second nature to both of them. Uzi gripped the wooden broad sword with both hands, her stance wide and grounded, a sharp contrast to her mother’s graceful movements. Nori wielded her wooden rapier with precision, her eyes trained and focused, always anticipating the next move, always one step ahead. It was a familiar routine, a way to clear their minds after the events of the gala—though tonight, the weight of it all pressed down on them harder than ever before.

Uzi swung, aiming low, her broad sword cutting through the air with a heavy thud as it met Nori’s rapier, blocking the strike with a deft flick of her wrist.

“You’re too angry, Uzi,” Nori observed, stepping back with a fluid motion, her eyes sharp but calm.

“I’m not angry,” Uzi grumbled, a fierce determination in her voice as she attacked again, pushing her mother back. “I’m… frustrated.”

Nori blocked the strike with ease, twisting her wrist to redirect Uzi’s sword, then swiftly stepped in to deliver a counter, but Uzi managed to parry it, her broad sword skimming past Nori’s blade.

“Frustrated?” Nori raised an eyebrow, circling Uzi. “That’s not the word I’d use.”

Uzi huffed, adjusting her stance and lunging forward again. “How are we supposed to just sit back and let this happen? Cyn killed James and Louisa, and now she’s using us as scapegoats!” Her voice trembled with a mix of fury and helplessness. “She poisons them, frames us for it, and now everything we’ve worked for is falling apart!”

Nori’s face remained unreadable, but her grip on the rapier tightened ever so slightly. She sidestepped another of Uzi’s strikes, her movements quick and practiced. “I know how it feels, Uzi,” she said quietly, her voice a calm counterpoint to Uzi’s sharp anger. “But you can’t let your emotions take control.”

Uzi’s wooden sword came down hard again, and Nori blocked with ease. “It’s not just emotions,” Uzi shot back. “It’s unfair! Tessa… she was already afraid of us, and now Cyn has her thinking we’re murderers! How do we fix that?” Uzi’s frustration bubbled to the surface, words tumbling out in a rush. “She’s taken everything from us, Mom! Everything!”

For a moment, Nori didn’t respond, watching her daughter’s eyes as if trying to understand the depth of her feelings. Finally, she parried Uzi’s next blow, then twisted the sword from her grip, sending it clattering to the floor. Uzi was momentarily thrown off-balance by the move.

“Because Cyn doesn’t play by the rules,” Nori said, her tone hard, the weight of her years of experience behind every word. “She’ll use anything she can to manipulate the situation, and right now, she’s using you. She’s turning the world against us. But we’re not powerless, Uzi.”

Uzi stood still for a moment, her chest heaving as she caught her breath. Her eyes met her mother’s, the weight of her anger slowly ebbing away, but the sense of injustice still lingered. “How do we fight back, then? We can’t just let her win.”

Nori’s face softened slightly, but her gaze remained intense. “We don’t have the luxury of emotions, Uzi. We play the long game. We outthink her. We wait for her to make a mistake. She will. She always does.”

Uzi frowned, still catching her breath, but the thought of Cyn slipping up gave her a small sliver of hope. “But what if she doesn’t? What if we’re stuck like this forever? What if we lose everything before we even get the chance to fix it?”

Nori’s expression softened further, and she took a step forward, placing a hand on Uzi’s shoulder. “Then we don’t stop fighting. But we have to be smart about it. I’ve taught you how to use your blade, how to fight with strength and skill. But this is a different kind of fight, Uzi. It’s a fight for the future, for Copperhold—and for the people who believe in us.”

Uzi looked down at the wooden sword in her hand, her mind racing. The weight of it felt different now. It wasn’t just a tool for physical combat. It was a symbol, something to wield when words failed, when the world turned against her.

“But what about Tessa?” Uzi asked quietly. “She was my friend, Mom. She’s not like her advisor… or at least, I thought she wasn’t.” The thought of Tessa being manipulated so easily by Cyn gnawed at her, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. “What if we’ve lost her for good?”

Nori’s eyes softened with an understanding Uzi hadn’t expected. “Tessa is young. She’s scared. But she’s not lost yet, Uzi. You still have a chance to reach her. But you have to be patient. Convince her that what Cyn is telling her isn’t the truth.”

Uzi’s gaze sharpened, a spark of resolve lighting in her eyes. “You’re right. She’s not lost yet. I won’t let Cyn tear us apart.”

Nori gave a rare, small smile and took a step back, raising her rapier again. “Good. Now, let’s finish this sparring session. You’ve still got a lot to learn if you’re going to take on Cyn and her schemes.”

Uzi nodded, a newfound sense of determination surging within her as she grabbed her wooden broad sword again. She was no longer just fighting for herself, for Copperhold—but for the truth. And she would not let Cyn win...

Tessa stood in the grand chamber, her fingers trembling as she touched the cold, metal crown that had been placed upon her head. The weight of it was heavier than she had ever imagined, far more than the physical gold and jewels that adorned it. No, this was the weight of responsibility. Of expectation. Of a future that now seemed uncertain, clouded with doubt and suspicion.

It had all happened so quickly. One moment, she was sitting at a table with Uzi, discussing their families’ futures, and the next—everything had changed. The Gala, the poison, the deaths of her parents—it was all a blur. But one thing had been painfully clear in the aftermath: the Solver Domain was in chaos, and Tessa had been thrust into the center of it.

She hadn’t even had time to grieve. There was no room for mourning the loss of her mother and father—only the cold, hard reality of a throne she had never expected to sit on. The only voice in the room now, the only guiding hand, was Cyn.

Cyn, her trusted advisor. Cyn, who had always been there, who had always known what to say, who had always made Tessa feel safe when she was uncertain. But now, as Tessa sat there, lost in the overwhelming weight of the crown, she couldn’t shake the nagging feeling in the back of her mind. Was Cyn’s counsel truly for her good, or was she manipulating her for some deeper, more sinister reason?

“Your Majesty,” Cyn’s voice cut through her thoughts like a blade, smooth and commanding, as always. She stepped forward, her expression one of practiced sympathy. “It is time for you to make a choice. You’ve inherited the throne by birthright. But now, you must act as the leader this kingdom needs.”

Tessa’s throat tightened. “I… I don’t know if I can do this,” she whispered, her voice small, unsteady.

“You can, Tessa,” Cyn said, kneeling before her with a gesture of great reverence. “You were born for this. You are strong, capable. Your parents were great rulers, but you have the strength to carry their legacy. But you must act swiftly. The Copperhold family, as we all know, has been a threat to the Solver Domain for years. They killed your parents in cold blood. You must avenge them. You must declare war.”

Tessa’s breath caught in her throat. War. The word tasted like iron in her mouth. It didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like something her parents would have wanted. They had always sought peace, had tried to create a future where both families could coexist. And now, with her parents gone, Cyn was urging her to tear that future apart.

“But… it doesn’t make sense,” Tessa murmured, looking down at the crown on her head as if she could find some answer there. “Uzi… Uzi wouldn’t do this. My parents didn’t believe they would either.”

Cyn rose, her hands clasped in front of her, a look of subtle sadness passing over her face. “Your parents were kind, Tessa, and that was their downfall. They underestimated Copperhold. They believed in peace, in diplomacy, but that naïveté has led to their deaths. The truth is, Uzi’s family is nothing but a snake in the grass, waiting to strike. They’ve killed your parents and will stop at nothing to destroy you.”

Tessa shook her head, the doubt in her mind growing with each passing moment. She had seen Uzi’s face at the gala, the fear, the confusion. She had known her for years. Uzi had been her friend. But Cyn’s words were so convincing. Every word felt like a dagger, twisting and turning inside of her. Was it possible? Could her friend really be a traitor?

“You have to do this, Tessa,” Cyn urged, her voice growing firmer now, her gaze locking onto Tessa with unyielding determination. “For the kingdom. For your parents. For your future. You cannot allow Copperhold to rise against you. You must crush them before they crush you.”

Tessa’s heart pounded in her chest, her thoughts racing. She felt like she was standing on the edge of a cliff, the wind howling around her, but there was no turning back. Not now. Her parents were dead. The Solver Domain needed a queen, and she was it.

And then, there was Cyn. Cyn, who had always been by her side, who had always known what to do. Cyn, who seemed to care for her more than anyone else.

Cyn smiled gently, almost maternally, her eyes glinting with a cold light. “Trust me, Tessa. You will be the queen your parents could never be. You will rule with strength, and you will protect your people. It’s time for you to take your place as their leader.”

Tessa swallowed hard, her vision clouded by conflicting emotions. She could feel her stomach tighten with anxiety. She wanted to believe Cyn, wanted to trust that she was doing what was right. But deep down, she still wasn’t sure. Still wasn’t sure if war was the answer. Still wasn’t sure if she had the strength to go through with it.

But then she thought of the crown on her head. Of the duty that came with it. And she remembered the look in her parents’ eyes when they had given her their blessing, when they had told her that she was the future of the Solver Domain.

“Alright,” Tessa whispered, her voice shaky but resolute. “I’ll do it. I’ll declare war.”

Cyn’s eyes gleamed with triumph. “Good. I’ll make sure the armies are prepared. You will be a queen to be feared, Tessa. You will make your enemies regret ever crossing you.”

As Cyn stepped away, Tessa’s heart ached with doubt. But she couldn’t turn back now. She had made her choice. The crown, the power—it was all hers. And now, she would have to live with the consequences.

As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, Tessa’s resolve only hardened. She had made her choice, and there was no turning back now. In the quiet moments, she often thought about her parents—how they would have reacted if they knew what she was about to do. They had always believed in peace, in diplomacy. But peace could not be achieved in a world that saw her as weak, as vulnerable. And so, she would no longer allow herself to be seen that way.

She was the queen now. And a queen did not bow to fear.

Cyn had told her that to truly lead, she would need strength—strength that went beyond the political games and the delicate dance of diplomacy. Strength that came from mastery, from control.

And so, Tessa did what she had to. She made the decision to train.

The first lesson had been simple enough. Cyn had provided her with a thin, elegant blade, one that seemed almost too small for her hand, but it was perfect for the delicate grip of a queen who had never before known the weight of steel. The first few strikes had been awkward, clumsy, and her hands had ached with the unfamiliar motion. But Tessa was determined. She could not afford to fail.

Her first teacher had been an older, grizzled instructor named Master Helios, a retired general of the Solver Domain army. His cold eyes had appraised her the moment she walked into the training hall, and he had said nothing for the first few moments, simply watching her with an intensity that made her skin crawl.

“Your Highness,” he finally spoke, his voice rasping like sandpaper, “do you know what it means to wield a blade?”

Tessa had stood tall, despite the nervous flutter in her chest. “It means power.”

Helios nodded, his eyes sharp. “Power, yes. But it also means sacrifice. You will bleed. You will suffer. And in the end, the blade will be all that stands between you and those who wish to see you dead. Now, show me your stance.”

And so, Tessa began.

The training was grueling, day after day, week after week. Her arms ached with each swing of the blade, and her hands were raw from the countless hours of practice. But slowly, as the months passed, she began to improve. She learned the art of balance, of precision, of reading her opponent’s movements before they could even make a move. She became faster, stronger, more confident in her strikes.

But there was still something missing.

Cyn had been right when she had said that Tessa’s lack of magic would be a weakness. The Solver Domain was built on magic, on the ancient power that flowed through the royal bloodline. But Tessa… Tessa had none of that. Her magic, the Solver magic, had not manifested in her veins, leaving her with only the blade.

But Tessa was not one to be easily deterred.

She began to study firearms, something that had long been considered taboo in the Solver Domain. Firearms were considered crude, beneath the elegance of a sword. But Tessa had no time for tradition. She needed a weapon that would level the playing field. And so, she spent countless hours learning the intricacies of pistols.

At first, the pistol was heavy in her hands, awkward to hold, the recoil jarring against her wrist. But like with the blade, she practiced. She learned to steady her breath, to focus her aim, to pull the trigger with deadly precision. Over time, the pistol became an extension of herself, just as the blade had. She no longer hesitated when she fired; each shot was calculated, measured, a reflection of her growing resolve.

As the years passed, Tessa’s body changed. The youthful softness of her face had been replaced by the hard edges of a woman hardened by battle. Her once-shiny, black hair had been pulled back into a tight, practical braid that kept it out of her face during training. The royal gowns she had once adored were replaced by training leathers, fitted for speed and agility. She was no longer the young, naive princess who had been crowned at thirteen. She was a queen, and she was a warrior.

In the training halls, she had learned not only how to wield a blade and a pistol but how to fight with a cold, unyielding resolve. She could strike in an instant, calculating every move, every gesture. And when she faced an enemy—real or imagined—she never hesitated.

She had become a force.

At twenty-nine, Tessa stood before the large mirror in her private chamber, staring at her reflection. She had changed so much over the years that she scarcely recognized the woman staring back at her. Gone was the soft-faced girl who had once feared the responsibilities of the throne. In her place stood a queen, her eyes hard and determined, her posture straight and proud.

In the corner of the room, her blade rested against the wall, and her pistol, now a second nature to her, sat in its holster at her side.

It was time.

The war that Cyn had urged her to begin all those years ago was now inevitable. The armies were prepared, the alliances made. All that remained was for Tessa to give the final command.

She was ready. Ready to lead. Ready to fight. Ready to avenge her parents and solidify her reign.

But as she reached for her blade, something gnawed at her. A flicker of doubt, buried deep in her heart, reminded her of the old Tessa, the one who had once called Uzi a friend, the one who had wanted peace.

Was this really the only way?

But the sound of soldiers’ boots marching outside her door was a reminder that the world did not wait for indecision. War was coming. And the woman who wore the crown had to be its ruler.

Tessa took one last glance at her reflection. She had chosen this path. Now, she would walk it with her head held high.

Chapter Text

Sixteen years had passed since the night of the gala, and the scars of that fateful evening had long since hardened into steel. The Copperhold castle stood resolute, a bastion of defiance against the ever-looming threat of the Solver Domain. Within its walls, Queen Nori moved through the corridors with the grace and authority of someone who had borne the weight of leadership for decades. Her golden eyes, sharp and unyielding, softened only when they rested on her daughter.

Uzi had grown into a formidable warrior and leader in her own right. The girl who once hid behind her mother’s shadow now wielded a sword and shield with the precision of a seasoned knight. The fire in her spirit, however, had not dimmed; it burned brighter, stoked by years of pain, loss, and resolve.

Nori, though proud beyond words, found herself caught between admiration and concern as she watched Uzi spar with the castle guards in the courtyard below. The clang of steel echoed through the air, mingling with the shouts of soldiers and the faint rustle of banners in the wind. From the balcony overlooking the courtyard, Nori smiled to herself.

“She’s ready,” Nori murmured, a rare softness in her voice. She allowed herself a moment to believe it—that Uzi could protect herself, protect their kingdom, even if the war Cyn had orchestrated decades ago continued to rage on.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the castle, Nori turned and made her way to her personal chambers. The halls of the Copperhold castle were quieter now, the distant sounds of the soldiers’ drills fading into the background. Her footsteps echoed against the stone walls as she walked, her mind drifting to strategies, alliances, and the seemingly endless battle to keep the Solver Domain at bay.

She never saw it coming.

The ambush was swift, precise, and merciless—hallmarks of Cyn’s influence. As Nori entered her chambers, the shadows seemed to ripple unnaturally, and before she could react, a gloved hand clamped over her mouth, stifling her shout. The Solver magic that coursed through her veins flared to life, but another assailant struck before she could summon it fully, a needle piercing her neck and flooding her system with an immobilizing agent.

The world tilted violently, and her vision blurred. Nori fought to stay conscious, fought to summon her magic, but her body betrayed her. She crumpled into the waiting arms of her attackers, who moved with an efficiency that spoke of long practice.

“Careful with this one,” one of the goons muttered, their voice low and gravelly. “She’s not like the others.”

“Doesn’t matter,” another replied, his tone laced with disdain. “Cyn wants her alive. She’s got plans.”

They hoisted Nori’s limp body and slipped out of the chamber, moving through hidden passageways known only to a select few. Their movements were silent, methodical, and utterly devoid of mercy...

By the time the castle guards realized the queen was gone, the attackers were already far beyond the walls, disappearing into the night like phantoms. The alarm bells rang out too late, their mournful toll spreading across Copperhold as Uzi raced into the throne room, her shield slung across her back and her sword still in hand.

“Where is she?” Uzi demanded, her voice trembling with fury. She grabbed the nearest guard by the shoulder, her golden eyes blazing. “Where is my mother?”

The guard shook his head, his face pale. “We… we don’t know, Your Highness. She’s gone.”

Uzi’s grip tightened, her nails digging into the man’s armor. For a moment, it looked as though she might strike him, but she released him with a growl and turned to the captain of the guard.

“Find her,” she hissed. “Now.”

The captain saluted, barking orders to his men, but Uzi didn’t wait. She stormed through the castle, her mind racing, her heart pounding. Cyn’s goons had dared to infiltrate Copperhold, dared to take her mother from right under her nose.

And she would make them pay...

Nori stirred awake to the cold, unyielding bite of iron against her wrists and ankles. The room was dimly lit, a damp, oppressive stone cell with faint traces of Solver-infused energy humming in the chains that bound her. She tugged experimentally, only to feel her magic recoil as if struck by an invisible barrier. A sharp ache blossomed in her chest; the chains were not mere iron but a twisted creation of Solver magic, designed to strip her of her power.

She gritted her teeth, refusing to show weakness. She had faced down armies, wielded magic that could tear through the strongest defenses, and outmatched the best swordsmen in the kingdom. This was merely a setback.

The faint sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor outside her cell. Nori lifted her head, golden eyes narrowing as the door creaked open. A familiar figure stepped through, bathed in the eerie glow of the Solver-infused bindings.

Cyn.

The so-called royal advisor of the Solver Domain had barely aged a day, her porcelain features as flawless and unsettling as ever. Her presence carried the weight of malevolence, a predator’s grace in every movement. She smiled faintly, the kind of smile that made Nori’s stomach churn.

“Queen Nori,” Cyn said, her voice a mockery of politeness as she stepped closer, her hands clasped behind her back. “Though I suppose ‘former queen’ is more accurate now, isn’t it?”

Nori met Cyn’s gaze without flinching, her voice calm but laced with venom. “Still clinging to that charade, are we? You’re no advisor, Cyn. Just a parasite wearing a crown’s shadow.”

Cyn’s smile widened, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Oh, how quaint. Even in chains, you try to play the hero. I suppose it’s endearing, in a way.” She leaned in, close enough that Nori could feel the faint, unnatural chill radiating from her. “But let’s not pretend, shall we? You’ve always known you’d end up here—beneath me.”

Nori stiffened, but she refused to break eye contact. “You can take me prisoner, Cyn. Bind me, mock me, parade me around like a trophy. But don’t think for a second you’ll win. My daughter will stop you.”

“Your daughter,” Cyn repeated, her voice dripping with disdain. She turned and began to pace the cell, her every step deliberate. “Ah, yes. Little Uzi. So much fire in that one, just like her mother. But fire burns out eventually, doesn’t it? All it takes is a little… guidance.”

Cyn stopped pacing and looked back at Nori, her expression twisting into something darker. “Do you think she’s ready, Nori? To take on the weight of a kingdom? To face me?” She laughed softly, a sound that made the chains hum ominously. “She’s not ready. She never will be.”

Nori’s jaw tightened, her fists clenching against the bindings. “You underestimate her. Just like you underestimate the will of the Copperhold. We’re not afraid of you, Cyn.”

Cyn tilted her head, studying Nori as though she were an amusing curiosity. “Oh, I’m not underestimating her. I’m simply waiting for the right moment to break her. And when I do…” She trailed off, her smile returning, more sinister than before. “You’ll wish you had never filled her head with those foolish notions of hope and honor.”

Nori lunged against the chains, the bindings crackling with Solver energy that sent jolts of pain through her body. She ignored it, her voice rising. “You won’t touch her, Cyn. Not while I’m alive.”

Cyn’s eyes gleamed, and she leaned in close again, her voice a venomous whisper. “Oh, Nori. That’s the idea.”

With that, Cyn straightened and smoothed her dress as if brushing away the encounter like dust. She turned to leave, pausing only to glance back over her shoulder. “Enjoy your stay, my dear queen. It won’t be long now.”

The door slammed shut behind her, and Nori was left alone in the suffocating silence of the cell. She exhaled shakily, her resolve hardening. Cyn might have captured her body, but her spirit remained unbroken. If she was to be a pawn in this game, she would ensure her sacrifice wasn’t in vain.

Her thoughts turned to Uzi, and a faint, determined smile crossed her lips. “Make me proud, my little firebrand.”

Cyn strode through the grand training hall of the Solver Domain’s palace, the rhythmic clang of steel echoing through the air. The walls, adorned with the banners of the royal family, cast long shadows in the flickering torchlight. Cyn’s gaze swept across the room until it settled on Tessa.

The young queen was a blur of motion in the center of the hall, her blade flashing as she fought off a circle of knights. Tessa wielded her saber with a practiced precision, and in her other hand, a sleek pistol barked intermittently, each shot perfectly timed to disrupt her opponents’ formations.

The knights were skilled, but Tessa was relentless. She parried, struck, and pivoted, her movements a dance of deadly efficiency. When one knight lunged, she sidestepped and disarmed him with a single fluid motion. Another came at her from behind, but she turned, firing her pistol with unerring accuracy. The knight dropped his sword, defeated but uninjured—a testament to Tessa’s control.

Cyn leaned against a pillar, watching the display with a faint smile. Tessa had grown into a warrior queen, her skills honed by years of training and the bitter resolve born from loss. The girl who had once panicked at the sight of her parents’ deaths now stood as a force to be reckoned with, her fury and discipline a living testament to Cyn’s careful guidance.

When the last knight yielded and lowered his blade, Tessa sheathed her saber and holstered her pistol. Her breathing was steady, her gaze sharp as she turned toward Cyn.

“Enjoying the show?” Tessa asked, her voice cool and confident.

Cyn pushed off the pillar and approached, her hands clasped neatly in front of her. “Immensely. Your Majesty’s prowess never fails to impress.” She glanced at the knights as they dispersed, some murmuring praise for their queen. “You’ve surpassed even my highest expectations.”

Tessa arched an eyebrow, wiping sweat from her brow with a cloth. “Flattery doesn’t suit you, Cyn. What do you want?”

Cyn chuckled softly, her tone light but her words deliberate. “Merely to offer guidance, as always. You are, after all, the queen. And with great power comes difficult decisions.”

Tessa’s expression tightened. “If this is about strategy, I’ve already approved the next move against the Copperhold. They won’t hold out much longer.”

Cyn shook her head, her voice softening. “It’s not about their defenses, my queen. It’s about their morale.” She paused, letting the weight of her words settle. “Specifically, about Queen Nori.”

Tessa’s grip on the cloth tightened slightly, but she said nothing, waiting for Cyn to continue.

“She’s a symbol,” Cyn said, her tone measured. “A beacon of hope for their people, and a rallying point for their soldiers. As long as she lives, they’ll fight with reckless determination, no matter the odds.” She stepped closer, her eyes gleaming with calculated intent. “But symbols can be… dismantled.”

Tessa frowned, crossing her arms. “What are you suggesting?”

Cyn tilted her head, feigning thoughtfulness. “A public execution. Not merely for punishment, but as a statement. Let the Copperhold see that their queen is powerless, that even their strongest can fall. It will break them, Your Majesty. The Copperhold will crumble under the weight of their despair.”

Tessa’s jaw tightened, her eyes narrowing as she considered Cyn’s words. “You want me to kill her in front of her people? To stoop to their level of barbarism?”

Cyn’s smile was small but insidious. “Barbarism? No, my queen. This is strategy. You are not executing a person; you are dismantling their will to fight. And in doing so, you save countless lives—on both sides. The sooner the war ends, the fewer soldiers and innocents will perish.”

Tessa turned away, her hands resting on the hilt of her saber as she stared at the training dummies lining the far wall. “She’s not just anyone. She’s… a mother. A warrior who fought for her people. She reminds me of…” She trailed off, shaking her head.

Cyn stepped closer, her voice low and coaxing. “She reminds you of what you could have been, had you not risen above your grief. Do not let sentiment cloud your judgment, my queen. You are not that frightened child anymore. You are a ruler, and rulers must make hard choices for the greater good.”

Tessa was silent for a long moment, her shoulders tense. Finally, she turned back to Cyn, her face set in a mask of cold determination. “If it ends this war, I’ll do it.”

Cyn inclined her head, a pleased smile curling her lips. “As always, your wisdom prevails, Your Majesty.”

Tessa’s expression flickered briefly—something Cyn couldn’t quite place—but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

“Make the arrangements,” Tessa said, her voice firm.

“Of course,” Cyn replied smoothly, turning to leave. As she exited the hall, her smile widened. Everything was falling into place...

The courtyard of the Solver Domain’s palace was packed with spectators. Nobles in their finery stood alongside armored soldiers, all gathered under the ominous banners that fluttered in the cold morning breeze. At the center of the scene, a raised platform loomed, its polished wood gleaming under the overcast sky. Upon it stood Tessa, clad in black and gold armor, her saber resting at her hip and her pistol holstered at her side. She was every inch the warrior queen her people admired—and feared.

Kneeling before her, bound and frail, was Nori. Weeks of captivity had stripped her of her usual strength. Her once-sharp features were gaunt, her skin pale from lack of sunlight. The chains around her wrists and ankles glowed faintly, still infused with the Solver magic that suppressed her power. Yet, despite her weakened state, her golden eyes burned with defiance.

The crowd murmured in anticipation as Tessa stepped forward, raising a hand to silence them. Cyn stood at the edge of the platform, watching with an inscrutable smile as the scene unfolded.

Tessa’s voice rang out, steady and commanding, as she addressed her people. “Citizens of the Solver Domain, today we take the next step toward securing our future. For years, the Copperhold has stood as a threat to our peace, their so-called ‘royal family’ defying the will of progress and unity. They claim honor, yet they harbor treachery. They claim strength, yet they rely on magic they cannot control.”

Her gaze swept over the crowd, her words measured and deliberate. “Queen Nori of the Copperhold is more than a ruler. She is a symbol—a rallying point for those who would defy us. But symbols can be shattered. Today, we show the world that even the strongest can fall.”

The crowd erupted into cheers, the sound like a rolling tide of approval. Tessa turned to Nori, her expression unreadable as she drew her saber. The blade gleamed in the gray light, sharp and unyielding.

Nori lifted her head, her breathing labored but her voice steady. “Do what you must, Queen Tessa. But remember this: you are no queen if you let her pull your strings.”

Tessa froze, the words cutting through her like a blade. She glanced down at Nori, a flicker of hesitation crossing her face.

Nori continued, her voice softer now, meant only for Tessa’s ears. “This isn’t strength. This isn’t justice. This is Cyn’s game, and you’re just another pawn. If you do this, you’ll never be free of her.”

Tessa’s grip on her saber tightened, her knuckles white as the weight of Nori’s words settled on her shoulders. For a brief moment, doubt clouded her eyes.

Cyn stepped forward, her voice low and persuasive as she addressed Tessa. “Your Majesty, this is no time for weakness. You are not a child clinging to the past. You are a queen. Finish this, and prove your resolve to your people.”

Tessa’s jaw tightened, her gaze shifting between Nori and Cyn. The crowd’s cheers grew louder, chanting her name, urging her to act.

Nori met Tessa’s eyes one last time, her expression softening. “You don’t have to be her puppet, Tessa. You can still make a choice.”

Tessa exhaled slowly, her hesitation evaporating as she steeled herself. She stepped closer to Nori, raising her saber. The crowd fell silent, holding its collective breath.

“For the Solver Domain,” Tessa said, her voice cold and resolute.

With a single, precise stroke, the blade fell, silencing Nori forever.

The crowd erupted in thunderous applause, but Tessa didn’t hear it. She turned, her face an unreadable mask as she sheathed her blade. Cyn approached her, placing a hand on her shoulder with a pleased smile.

“You’ve done well, Your Majesty,” Cyn said, her tone dripping with approval.

Tessa didn’t respond, her gaze fixed on the horizon. Deep in her chest, something heavy settled—a weight she couldn’t shake, no matter how loud the crowd cheered.

Chapter Text

Tessa exhaled a slow, unsteady breath, her chest rising and falling with the weight of it. Her hands trembled, slick with sweat, and the pistol at her side felt heavier than ever, as if it were dragging her down. The sword in her grip was no different—its edge clean, yet stained in a way that had nothing to do with blood.

A fresh drop hit the polished tile beneath her feet, stark against the pale stone. The sight of it twisted her stomach into knots. The execution had been swift, precise—just as Cyn had instructed. Just as she'd demanded .

And yet, Tessa couldn’t shake the feeling that something vital had been severed alongside Nori’s head.

She squeezed her eyes shut, but the image was burned into her mind—the way the blade had cut through, the way the body had crumpled, lifeless, before the entire kingdom. The roar of the crowd still rang in her ears, though she couldn’t remember if they had cheered or gasped. The moment itself had felt hollow, distant, as if she had been watching herself from outside her own body.

Tessa knew Nori hadn’t deserved this.

But Cyn… Cyn had made it sound so believable.

Every whispered word, every guiding hand, every assurance that this was necessary, that this was justice, had led her here. Cyn’s voice had been in her head, shaping her thoughts, her actions, until Tessa could no longer tell which were her own and which had been placed there.

She opened her eyes, staring at the bloodstains on the floor. It wasn’t much, just a few drops, but it may as well have been an ocean.

A queen shouldn’t hesitate. A ruler shouldn’t doubt .

But then why did it feel like something inside her had cracked?

The doors swung open without warning, the heavy wood groaning against its hinges. In stepped the captain of the royal guard—a fierce warrior who could have been mistaken for one of the fabled Amazonians. Her name had been reduced to a single letter, a tradition meant to protect those she held dear.

J’s bright hazel eyes gleamed behind the mask of her helmet, sharp and knowing. Without a word, she removed the polished metal, setting it down with a quiet clank before stepping forward. Her movements were slow, deliberate, as if approaching a wounded animal.

Tessa didn’t move as J closed the distance between them, wrapping her strong arms around her waist. The warmth should have been comforting. It was comforting.

But it wasn’t right.

“Tess,” J murmured against her shoulder, her voice barely above a whisper. “Are you okay?”

Tessa exhaled slowly, her gaze still fixed on the crimson droplets staining the floor. The weight of the execution, the weight of everything , pressed against her ribs like iron bands. She didn’t lean into the embrace, but she didn’t pull away either.

“I’m fine, J…” she said, but even to her own ears, it sounded hollow.

J sighed softly, shifting just enough to meet her gaze. “With all due respect, you’re not.” Her fingers brushed against Tessa’s hand, calloused but gentle. “You’ve got that look in your eyes.”

Tessa finally turned to face her, but she had no words. Because J was right. That look—the one filled with doubt, with exhaustion, with something dangerously close to regret—was there, plain as day.

And if J could see it, then how long before Cyn did too?

Meanwhile, across the kingdom—across the border of the Solver Domain and into the lands of the Copperhold—Uzi paced furiously, her boots digging into the stone floor with every step. The letter had arrived hours ago, yet the words still burned in her mind like a brand. The Solver Domain’s royal advisor had personally invited her to a gladiatorial trial.

A duel against the reigning queen.

A duel against the one who had murdered her mother.

Her hands trembled, fists clenching and unclenching as sparks of Solver magic flickered in the air around her, distorting reality in brief, violent pulses. The sheer audacity of it. A public spectacle, an arena drenched in blood, and they wanted her to play along? To fight for the amusement of the same people who cheered as her mother was executed?

A sharp crack split the air as her temper finally snapped. With a furious snarl, she lashed out, magic surging through her veins like wildfire. The nearest statue—a towering marble figure meant to symbolize the fragile peace between the two kingdoms—shuddered, then shattered into a storm of debris. Shards of stone rained down, clattering across the courtyard, the fractured remains of a lie.

Peace.

There had been no peace since the night Cyn painted the throne room red, since the Solver Domain’s advisor wove her web of deception and framed the Copperhold for regicide. Sixteen years of bloodshed, of territory lost and regained, of kingdoms on the brink. Sixteen years of hatred carved into history.

And now, Tessa wanted a duel.

Uzi took a shuddering breath, but it did nothing to cool the storm raging inside her. They wanted her to step into their arena, to play their game. She bared her teeth.

Before Uzi could lash out again, a firm hand landed on her shoulder.

Her entire body tensed, Solver energy sparking at her fingertips, but the familiar warmth of the touch stopped her just short of lashing out. She turned sharply, expecting another concerned noble, another weak attempt to placate her rage. But it was him.

Nickolas.

Golden eyes met hers, steady and patient, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside her. His blonde hair was slightly disheveled, as if he’d just come from training, and that ever-present gentle smile played at his lips. Normally, it would put her at ease, but today, it did nothing to cool the fire in her chest.

“Hey,” he said casually, like he hadn’t just walked into a storm ready to break. “Wanna spar?”

No probing. No unnecessary questions. No empty reassurances. Just the words she needed to hear.

Uzi exhaled sharply, her fingers twitching as she fought the urge to break something else. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to hit him or take him up on the offer, but the alternative was staying here, stewing in her anger, giving Cyn and Tessa more space in her mind than they deserved.

“…Yeah.” She finally forced out. “Let’s spar.”

Nickolas’s smile widened just slightly as he stepped back, rolling his shoulders. “Good. Let’s go break something that actually deserves it.”

Uzi wasn’t sure if he meant himself, the training dummies, or the entire damn castle, but she didn’t care.

At least it was something to focus on.

“So, like, remind me what your status is again?” Uzi asked, attempting to lighten the mood, though the fire of frustration still burned in her chest.

Nickolas chuckled, patting her shoulder in that easygoing way of his. “I’m the Prince of Ironvale, you know, the kingdom that supplies you with the absurd amount of shields you break.”

Uzi snorted, smirking despite herself. “Oh, right. Guess I should start sending thank-you notes or something.”

“You? Express gratitude? That’ll be the day.” Nickolas teased, flashing her a grin as they approached the sparring ring.

She immediately reached for her favored weapons—a one-handed broadsword and a shield, her tried-and-true sword-and-board combo. The moment her fingers closed around the hilt, though, Nickolas stepped in, placing a firm hand on her wrist.

“I think you should try something else,” he said, handing her a wooden two-handed greatsword.

Uzi blinked at the weapon like it was a personal insult. “The hell, dude?”

Nickolas only chuckled, folding his arms. “These things can be surprisingly maneuverable. You just have to be patient, learn to half-sword, maybe even try parrying attacks with the blade itself since, y’know, you won’t have that shield to bail you out.”

Uzi scowled, flipping the greatsword over in her hands. It was heavier than her broadsword, the balance all wrong compared to what she was used to. She tested a few swings, already feeling how sluggish her movements were in comparison. “This is stupid. My arms are gonna hate me.”

“Your arms will thank me when you’re not dead,” Nickolas shot back. He gestured toward the ring, stepping into position and drawing his own training weapon—a longsword, light and swift. “Come on, Uzi. Adapt or die.”

Uzi’s grip tightened around the hilt. If she wanted to stand a chance against Tessa, against Cyn, she couldn’t just rely on the same tricks over and over again.

Fine. Let’s see what this thing can do.

Uzi adjusted her grip, rolling her shoulders as she stepped into the sparring ring. The greatsword was heavier than she liked, and without her shield, she already felt exposed. But whatever—she’d been in worse situations.

Nickolas held his longsword loosely at his side, watching her with an easy smirk. “Alright, let’s go, princess.”

Uzi scoffed. “Don’t call me that.”

Then she lunged.

The moment she swung, she knew she’d messed up. The weight of the greatsword threw off her timing, making her strike slower than she intended. Nickolas easily sidestepped, flicking his blade against her exposed ribs. Not enough to hurt, but enough to make his point.

“First mistake,” he said, stepping back. “You can’t treat that thing like your broadsword.”

Uzi gritted her teeth, reset her stance, and tried again. She went for an overhead swing, putting her full strength behind it—only for Nickolas to step inside her guard, redirect her blade with his own, and smack the flat of his sword against her side.

She stumbled, barely catching herself. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“Not at all,” Nickolas said cheerfully. “You’re trying to brute-force it. A greatsword isn’t just a bigger version of what you’re used to. It’s about control, precision—”

“Shut up.”

Uzi came at him again, faster, angrier. She swung wildly, trying to overpower him, but her frustration made her sloppy. Nickolas dodged easily, parried when necessary, and landed light, taunting strikes on her arms and legs. Every hit stung—not from pain, but from sheer humiliation.

The crowd of onlookers—mostly Copperhold soldiers—murmured amongst themselves. Some stifled laughs. Uzi’s face burned with embarrassment.

Nickolas sighed, lowering his sword for a moment. “Uzi, stop fighting the weapon and actually use it.”

“I am using it.”

“You’re using it wrong .”

That did it. She gripped the hilt tighter and charged one last time, aiming to knock him flat. But before she could even complete the swing, Nickolas pivoted, kicked her legs out from under her, and sent her crashing onto her back.

The greatsword clattered beside her.

Nickolas loomed over her, grinning down as he rested the tip of his blade against her chest. “And that’s game.”

Uzi glared up at him, chest heaving, her pride aching more than her body.

Nickolas held out a hand. “Come on. Let’s try again— properly this time.”

Uzi scowled…but after a long moment, she grabbed his hand and let him pull her to her feet.

This wasn’t over.

“Alright, lesson time. Try half-swording,” Nickolas said, stepping back and demonstrating with his own blade. “Hold near the pommel with your non-dominant hand, then grip the blade with your dominant hand.”

Uzi’s brow furrowed as she watched him, the edge of the sparring blade glinting in the light. She scoffed under her breath and reluctantly mirrored his movements. The sword felt awkward in her hands. Gripping the blade like that—what was he thinking? In a real fight, that was the perfect way to slice open your own hand.

“This is stupid,” Uzi muttered, shifting her weight from foot to foot, feeling the awkwardness of the stance.

Nickolas chuckled, stepping back to give her space. “Try swinging it.”

“Are you serious?”

“Trust me.” He gave her a mischievous grin, almost like he was enjoying this.

Uzi huffed in frustration but gave it a shot. She swung the sparring sword with her new grip, awkwardly at first. The weight and balance were so different from her usual style that the motion felt almost foreign. But when the blade cut through the air, she felt more control than she expected.

It wasn’t the brute force she was used to. She couldn’t overpower her opponent with a swing like that, but with the right balance, she could guide the blade where it needed to go—faster, sharper, with more finesse. The sword moved almost like an extension of herself.

Her eyes widened a little as the realization hit her.

“Not bad, right?” Nickolas said, watching her carefully.

She didn’t reply immediately. Instead, Uzi swung again, this time with more confidence. She moved fluidly, taking a few more practice swings. The blade felt lighter, less awkward. She was starting to see what he meant—this wasn’t about swinging as hard as she could. This was about precision.

“That’s the idea,” Nickolas said, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “Now, let’s see if you can make it count in a fight.”

Uzi narrowed her eyes. “You’re not getting off that easy, you know.”

Nickolas chuckled again and dropped into his stance. “You’re still mad about the last match, huh?”

“Oh, I’m just getting started.”

Uzi’s grip tightened, not on the sword, but on the idea of proving herself. She would get this right.

Suddenly, Nickolas spun his sword in his hands, flipping it around so that he now held the blade by the edge, the pommel facing downward. The blade was now a makeshift bludgeon, its weight shifting in his hands as he grinned.

“This is called Mordschlag,” he said, his voice light and teasing. “It’s also known as the ‘death grip.’”

Uzi blinked, confused. The sword was meant to cut, wasn’t it? Holding it by the blade seemed more like something a fool would do. She tilted her head, not quite grasping the point.

Nickolas didn’t wait for her to respond. With a sudden, swift movement, he swung the pommel at her exposed flank. Uzi’s instincts kicked in, and she moved to parry the strike. Her arm, still adjusting to the awkwardness of the two-handed greatsword, felt clumsy at first. But then the half-swording stance he had shown her came into play. She adjusted her grip, steadying herself, and her body shifted with fluid precision.

The blow came in, but this time it was different. With the new stance, she effortlessly deflected the pommel, the flat of the sword meeting the strike with a solid, controlled block. Her parry felt smoother than the first attempt, though it still felt awkward and foreign to her, like she was still learning how to use the extra weight and adjust her stance in battle.

Nickolas nodded, impressed. "Not bad for a first try."

Uzi gritted her teeth, her pride still stung from the last round. She wasn’t about to admit that she was starting to get the hang of it. “Just a lucky block,” she muttered.

“Sure, sure,” Nickolas said with a smirk, shifting his weight and adjusting his stance. “But the trick is in the control. If you can handle the weight, you can turn this move into a hammer. The pommel can break bone. It’s all about focus, precision, and—”

Before he could finish the sentence, he swung again, this time with a little more force, testing her reaction.

“Catching your opponent off guard,” he finished, his voice almost playful, but his eyes never leaving her.

Uzi gritted her teeth as she quickly raised the greatsword to block the heavy strike. The blade met his with a solid, resounding clash, and she could feel the force of the blow rattle her arms. But this time, she was ready. The awkwardness she’d felt earlier was starting to melt away. She shifted her stance, adjusting the weight, letting the sword flow through her grip with more confidence.

“Shut up and fight,” Uzi growled, her frustration finally snapping as she let go of her pride. The inner tension that had been keeping her back loosened. She stopped overthinking every movement and simply adapted to the weapon.

In that moment, everything changed.

The greatsword felt lighter, like it was an extension of herself. The extra weight wasn’t an obstacle anymore—it was power. She swung the blade with deadly precision, using its full length, not just as a weapon to block but as one to strike. A powerful, wide arc from her side caught Nickolas off guard, his defense barely enough to deflect the blow.

Nickolas stepped back, eyes wide with surprise. "Alright, you’re getting the hang of it now."

Uzi’s breath quickened, adrenaline flooding her veins. She felt more alive than she had in a long time. There was no hesitation now. The sword became fluid in her hands, every movement more calculated. She used the weight to her advantage, swinging low to trip him, then quickly switching the blade’s position to catch him from above.

Nickolas, though skilled, was on the defensive now. He struggled to keep up with her.

"That's more like it," he said, a grin tugging at his lips despite the difficulty of keeping pace. “I think you're starting to understand.”

Uzi didn’t reply—she was lost in the rhythm of the fight. Her focus sharpened, her eyes narrowing on him as she prepared her next move. Every swing was a statement. And today, it was one she needed to make.

Then, with a fierce, aggressive swing, Uzi put all of her frustration and newfound skill into the strike. The weight of the greatsword came crashing down against Nickolas’s training weapon with a resounding crack. The force shattered the wooden blades, the upper halves splintering into pieces that scattered across the ground like jagged shards of broken promises.

Uzi stood there for a moment, her breath coming in heavy pants, her chest heaving with the intensity of the fight. She looked down at the remains of the sword in her hands, a satisfied smirk tugging at her lips as she let out a low chuckle.

“Well, isn’t that something?” she mused, her tone amused and almost disbelieving. She hadn’t expected the swing to be that strong, but now that the blade had shattered, she could feel a surge of power coursing through her veins. The frustration that had clouded her mind earlier was gone, replaced by something far more primal—confidence.

With a casual flick of her wrist, she tossed the broken greatsword over her shoulder, the wooden hilt spinning through the air before clattering to the ground behind her. She didn’t even bother to look back as she turned to face Nickolas, her smirk widening.

“That’s one way to end a spar, huh?” she said, her voice dripping with playful defiance.

“We aren’t done yet.” Nickolas snickered, a glint of mischief in his golden eyes. Without waiting for her to respond, he jogged off, disappearing for a brief moment before returning with two bo staffs in hand.

Uzi stared at him, a brow quirked in disbelief. “Um, what do you think I am, a monk?” she asked, her voice laced with irritation as she reluctantly accepted one of the staffs.

Nickolas simply grinned, his eyes twinkling with that all-too-familiar cheekiness. Without explaining a thing, he motioned for her to charge at him.

“Come on, let’s see what you’ve got,” he teased, clearly enjoying her discomfort. Uzi sighed inwardly, but at least she didn’t have to worry about her pride being bruised any further. With the sword and shield combo, she’d already given up a lot of ground. But now? Now, she was just playing along.

"Fine. Let's do this." She held the staff awkwardly at first, feeling its unfamiliar weight. But as she shifted her grip, the staff didn’t feel so out of place. It was solid, and its length could help her maintain distance. Still, this was going to be weird.

Uzi took a step forward, rolling her shoulder in preparation for the fight. Nickolas raised his staff in front of him, signaling that he was ready. But he didn’t move to attack right away. Instead, he waited, watching her closely.

“You’re gonna need to think faster, Uzi,” he said, as though reading her hesitation. “The staff’s all about control and distance. If you can’t get the timing down, you’re gonna get yourself smacked upside the head. Got it?”

Uzi glared at him, taking her stance more seriously now. “I’ll be fine,” she muttered, before charging at him with a sudden burst of speed.

Nickolas swung his staff with effortless grace, blocking her initial attack before swiftly sidestepping and tapping her on the shoulder with the end of his staff.

"You're slow, Uzi. You’ve got strength, but not enough finesse,” he teased, stepping back and holding his staff in a ready position again.

Uzi gritted her teeth, her grip tightening on the staff. This wasn’t going to be easy, but she was used to fighting through frustration.

Back across the border, Tessa prowled around the gladiatorial pit, her sabre glinting in the light, pistol holstered at her side. The arena, located deep within the Solver Domain, was renowned for its brutal matches. Tessa had spent the past sixteen years honing her skills, fighting some of the finest warriors from across the lands within these very walls.

But today, the pit felt different. Today, she wasn’t facing rival knights or foreign mercenaries. She was sparring against her own royal guardsmen.

The guards, clad in full plate armor that reflected the harsh sunlight, looked imposing. Tessa, however, was wearing something far lighter—a single shoulder pauldron, plated greaves, soldier's boots, and a gauntlet on her left hand, her dominant hand. Her attire was designed for agility and speed, traits she had spent years perfecting. She was light and fast, and that was what made her so dangerous, even against the heaviest of opponents.

The clank of armored footsteps echoed around the pit as her guardsmen circled her. They were big, strong, their weapons raised in challenge. But Tessa wasn’t worried. She knew their moves before they even made them. Their strength was their weakness—she could outmaneuver them, and she would.

"Ready, Your Majesty?" one of them called out, his voice muffled through his helmet.

Tessa gave a slight nod, her face hardening into a focused expression. She didn’t need words. It was time to show them how she earned the title of queen.

Without warning, she was off, her sabre flashing as she parried the first strike, then sidestepped the second, using the guardsman's own momentum to throw him off balance. She ducked under his sword and, in a smooth motion, disarmed him, sending his weapon skittering across the floor.

The guardsman grunted in surprise, but Tessa didn’t give him the time to recover. She spun, pivoting on her heel, and landed a quick strike to his exposed flank. He fell back, stunned, but still able to stand.

The other guardsmen hesitated for a fraction of a second, but it was all the time Tessa needed to advance, her sabre cutting through the air in a series of swift, precise movements. She danced around them with ease, avoiding the heavy blows they tried to land while delivering quick, calculated strikes of her own.

Her movements were a blur, a graceful blend of power and speed, her sabre a flash of silver in the sunlight. 

As the last of the guardsmen attempted a desperate lunge, Tessa ducked under his reach, slamming the flat of her blade into his chest with enough force to knock him off his feet. He hit the ground with a heavy thud, groaning in defeat.

Tessa took a step back, breathing heavily but in control. Her eyes swept over the remaining guardsmen, who were now looking at her with a mixture of awe and respect. They were good fighters, but against her, they were no match.

“We’ve trained well together,” she said, her voice calm despite the intensity of the match. “But remember—speed will beat strength five times out of ten. Never forget that.”

She lowered her sabre and turned, making her way to the edge of the pit. As she climbed out, the guards followed her with their eyes, each of them silently acknowledging that no one could match the queen in the pit.

Chapter Text

Tessa drew in a slow, steadying breath, her heart thumping against her ribs. She swung her sabre in a graceful flourish, the blade cutting the air with a sharp whistle. The crowd roared in approval, their cheers rolling over her like a tide. They were loving it, eating up her performance. They expected greatness, a spectacle worthy of their attention. But her confidence felt hollow, the weight of her own uncertainty anchoring her to the spot. She didn’t know if she could go through with it.

Her gaze flicked upwards, instinctively landing on Cyn in the stands. The royal advisor’s eyes gleamed, gleaming with an unsettling intensity. They were golden, glowing faintly with Solver-infused power, their cold, calculating stare pinning Tessa down like an insect under a magnifying glass. It made her skin crawl.

Despite the praise from the crowd, Tessa felt like the smallest, weakest version of herself in that moment. But she wasn’t weak. She wasn’t. She’d fought for years to be where she was—one of the best swordswomen in the entire kingdom, undefeated in countless duels. She knew she was a force to be reckoned with. So why, in this moment, with the roar of the crowd in her ears and the weight of the sabre in her hand, did she feel so… fragile?

It wasn’t fear. She didn’t fear fighting. She feared something else—the looming, invisible pressure from Cyn, the weight of expectation that was heavier than any blade she’d ever swung. The feeling that every move she made was watched, judged, and would be punished if it wasn’t perfect.

With a frustrated exhale, Tessa shook the thoughts from her mind and swung the sabre again, the arc of the blade smooth and practiced. But even as her body moved through the familiar motions, her thoughts were elsewhere.

She glanced at the gates. Uzi would be entering soon.

The stakes of this fight were more than just a simple duel. And she knew, deep down, that if Uzi bested her, it wouldn’t just be a defeat for her—it would be a mark of failure in the eyes of Cyn, the court, and herself.

I can’t let her win. I won’t let her win.

But no matter how much she told herself that, Tessa couldn’t shake the feeling that with each passing moment, she was sinking deeper into a role she hadn’t chosen—a puppet to Cyn’s whims.

With a sharp, almost bitter sigh, Tessa turned her attention back to the arena. The sounds of the crowd grew louder as the gate creaked open, the shadow of her opponent falling across the floor.

The gates groaned open with a thunderous creak, and the crowd fell into a hushed silence—one born not of respect, but of anticipation. From the dust-choked shadows stepped Uzi, her boots crunching against the stone floor of the pit. The air around her shimmered with heat and energy, the faint crackle of Solver magic licking up her arms like violet lightning.

A broadsword rested at her hip, the metal humming faintly, thirsty. Her shield was strapped firm to her left arm, battered but dependable—like the soldier who carried it. Copperhold steel clung to her form, trimmed in dark royal purples, the fabric catching the light with every measured step she took. She wasn’t fully armored—just enough to endure a blow, but light enough to dance, to punish mistakes the moment they showed themselves.

Tessa stood waiting in the center of the pit, framed by a shaft of golden sunlight that spilled in from above. Dust motes floated in the light like suspended ash. Her sabre was still in hand, lowered but alert, gleaming like quicksilver. The pistol at her side remained untouched. She watched Uzi closely, the weight of the moment thick in her lungs.

“Hello, Uzi,” she said, her voice steady, but not unkind. With a slow breath, she sheathed her sabre and holstered her gun, the metallic clicks echoing in the silence.

Uzi didn’t answer right away. Her eyes narrowed, rage burning behind them like wildfire behind a wall of ice. She raised her sword and struck the edge of her shield with it, the sharp clang erupting with a shower of purple sparks. The crowd gasped.

“Shut up and fight me!” she roared, her voice cutting through the pit like a battle cry.

Tessa’s eyes flicked to the stands where Cyn sat, calm and poised as ever. Watching.

Always watching.

Her fingers twitched near her hilt. She stepped forward, boots scraping across the arena floor. “Then come take your revenge, Copperhold.”

The wind howled through the open coliseum as the two warriors squared off, standing still for a heartbeat longer… and then the world exploded into motion.

Uzi charged like a bullet loosed from a gun, Solver sparks trailing in her wake like violet embers. Her sword hummed with raw energy, every crackle a promise of violence. She led with the shield, then pivoted, blade arcing toward Tessa’s side in a blur of steel and fury.

Tessa backpedaled, boots skidding through sand and dust. Her eyes, sharp and unblinking, tracked every movement with cold precision. She wasn’t reacting—she was analyzing. Memorizing. Waiting.

“You fight close,” Tessa murmured, voice steady even as she drew her sabre with a clean metallic hiss. “Up front. Aggressive. Just like your mother.”

Her blade snapped upward just in time to deflect a low swing aimed at her leg, the impact ringing through the pit like a bell. Sparks flew. Tessa twisted away, minimal movement, calculated retreat.

“I’ve studied your moves, princess,” she said, circling like a hawk. “You burn hot. Let’s see how long that flame lasts.”

Uzi didn’t answer. Her fury did.

She launched again, faster this time, the air around her charged with Solver static. Tessa narrowly avoided a jab aimed for her ribs, twisting her sabre to redirect it at the last second. Uzi followed with a brutal shield bash, aiming to knock her off balance, but Tessa slid low, letting the force pass above her head before springing up behind Uzi.

She’s relentless, Tessa thought. But not invincible.

Uzi spun around, eyes glowing, blade raised—she wasn’t just fighting. She was broadcasting . The rage, the grief, the ache of sixteen years of hate.

Tessa blocked a flurry of slashes, her movements tighter now, more focused. Each strike Uzi landed against her blade sent jolts up her arm, but she stayed composed, letting Uzi wear herself thin.

Above them, Cyn leaned forward in her seat, lips curled into a faint smile. Watching. Always watching.

“You hesitate,” Uzi growled, voice edged with static as she surged forward again. “Afraid I’ll kill you like you did her?”

Tessa’s blade caught Uzi’s once more, and for a moment they locked there, face to face. The crowd roared as the crackle of Solver magic licked the air between them.

“I’m not afraid of you,” Tessa said softly. “I’m afraid of what she turned you into.”

Uzi snarled and pushed harder, shoving Tessa back with raw strength—just enough to break the clash. She leapt back, breath sharp, magic still surging.

And now it was Tessa who advanced.

But Uzi did something Tessa didn’t expect.

She dropped —fluid and sudden—ducking beneath Tessa’s sweeping sabre with Solver-charged reflexes. In the same motion, she twisted and drove the pommel of her sword directly into Tessa’s knee.

Crack.

Tessa buckled with a sharp gasp, collapsing to one knee in the sand.

The crowd went dead silent, breath held. Cyn’s golden eyes narrowed, no longer curious—cold. Calculating. The royal guard along the edge of the pit stepped forward, hands tightening on the hilts of their blades.

Tessa didn’t even look at them.

She raised a hand and waved them off, still kneeling, her breath ragged through clenched teeth.

Uzi paced in front of her like a circling predator, the glow of Solver energy casting eerie purple flickers across her armor. Her expression wasn’t triumphant. It was furious. Controlled—but barely.

“Get up,” she snapped, her voice low and vibrating with static. “I’m not going to kill you while you’re down. I’ll kill you while you fight.”

Tessa didn’t respond. Not at first. She flexed her fingers around her sabre’s grip, grinding the tip into the earth to help push herself up, bit by bit. Every movement was a test of pain and will.

"You don't want a fight," she finally muttered. "You want revenge. There's a difference."

"Funny," Uzi spat. "You didn’t care about the difference when you pulled the trigger on my mom."

That one landed. Tessa’s jaw tightened. The cheers from the crowd hadn’t resumed—just murmurs now. Even they could feel the air turning sharp with something more personal than sport.

Tessa rose to her feet, just barely. She adjusted her stance. Not perfect—off-balance, slightly favoring her wounded leg—but her blade remained steady.

“Then come take it,” she said quietly. “Let’s see if you’re your mother’s daughter after all.”

Uzi screamed—not from rage, but from something deeper. Loss. Pain. The magic around her flared like a dying star.

She charged again.

Tessa saw the charge coming like a storm on the horizon—predictable, reckless, loud. A scream of rage more than a calculated move.

She pivoted.

Her sabre carved a silver arc through the air, clean and cold.

Steel met flesh. Energy met steel. A burst of blood and purple sparks lit the air as Uzi was cleaved across the side and hurled to the dirt with a hard, wet thud . Her sword clattered from her grip. Her shield hit the ground beside her, buzzing faintly before the Solver magic fizzled out with a dying whine.

The crowd gasped. The silence that followed felt like the world holding its breath.

Tessa didn’t gloat. Didn’t speak. She exhaled, heavy and grim, blood from her knee dripping into the sand with each limp forward.

“Take her,” she ordered the guards, voice flat but unwavering. “Confiscate her weapons. No damage—she’s to be healed.”

Two guards rushed to obey, hesitating only as they passed Tessa’s line of sight. Her expression brooked no questions.

“She deserves a fair fight,” Tessa muttered, more to herself than to anyone else, “once she understands restraint.”

She turned toward the exit of the pit, limping but proud, blade dragging a faint line behind her.

But behind her, a groan tore through the silence.

Tessa froze.

A low, electric crackle filled the pit—the sound of something waking up, something wrong. Violet sparks hissed off the ground, blood dissolving into glowing particles that hovered like embers on the wind. Uzi’s fingers curled into fists against the sand.

She rose slowly.

Shaking. Bleeding. Her armor scorched and cracked. One eye blazing unnaturally bright as Solver energy surged like static through her veins.

“Miss—she’s not stabilizing—” one of the guards whispered, stumbling back with hand on sword.

Uzi staggered upright, her breathing ragged. Solver tendrils flickered up her arms like veins of lightning, coiling, pulsing.

Tessa turned slowly, her sabre still gripped tight, her own blood dripping at her feet. “Don’t,” she said firmly. “You’ll only injure yourself more.”

Uzi’s glare could’ve shattered stone. “Why should I listen to you?!”

Tessa didn’t flinch.

“Because I’ve been in your shoes!” she snapped, her voice rising like thunder, echoing through the pit. “I’ve been blinded by rage. By grief. It doesn’t make you stronger—it makes you reckless.”

Uzi’s knees nearly gave out, but the Solver kept her upright, even as her body begged for rest.

“Just stop,” Tessa said, stepping forward, limping but resolute. “Let my people help you. You’ll get your fight—once you understand that real strength isn’t fury. It’s control. It’s knowing when not to strike.”

Uzi shook her head, teeth clenched. “You don’t know me.”

“I know enough to see a girl trying to win a war with pain.”

The guards watched, unsure whether to intervene—or run.

Tessa took another step forward, her sabre lowering slightly, her voice steady and fierce. “You’ve got fire. I admire it. But if you let it burn unchecked, it’ll get you killed.”

For a moment, Uzi froze—her body trembling with rage, fatigue, and something darker. Her breathing was ragged, the purple magic still crackling along her limbs, like volatile lightning ready to shatter everything.

Then, with a grunt of pain, she collapsed forward, face-first into the dirt.

The crowd gasped.

Uzi’s hands dug into the sand, her breath coming in sharp, pained gasps, but it wasn’t enough to stop the surge of energy writhing beneath her skin. She had pushed herself too far. Her Solver magic—wild and uncontrolled—dissipated in a spark of static before retreating back into her core, like a storm settling for the moment.

“Give her the best treatment you can,” Tessa ordered, her voice a cold edge of command, eyes narrowing as she looked down at Uzi. “Her magic will heal her faster, but make sure she knows she’s not a prisoner.”

Tessa turned her back on Uzi, walking slowly toward the edge of the pit where her guards waited.

As Tessa gave her orders, her gaze flicked up, landing on the royal advisor. Cyn. The woman who had orchestrated this entire mess. The woman who had murdered Uzi’s mother, shattered the peace between kingdoms, and watched Uzi burn with vengeance.

Cyn’s fists clenched, the veins along her arms bulging as yellow magic flickered like flame, dancing across her skin. The glow brightened, unstable, before she reeled it back in, forcing calm over her expression like a mask of ice.

Tessa’s eyes hardened. “You won’t have her, Cyn. Not like you had Nori.”

A tense silence filled the air. It was as if the entire arena was holding its breath.

The guards moved quickly to Uzi’s side, their motions careful as they prepared to heal her. One of them touched her arm, and the Solver magic flared, weaving through her wounds, mending what was broken, but Uzi still lay unconscious, the fire inside her momentarily snuffed out.

As the healing magic enveloped her, Tessa glanced once more at Cyn, but there was no fear in her gaze, only resolve.

Chapter Text

Tessa’s boots thundered against the cold stone pathways like the beat of war drums, each step jagged and uneven as her limp slowed her progress. She’d left her helmet behind a few doors ago — a symbol of strength discarded in frustration.

She stumbled into the castle’s vast courtyard, her breath ragged, eyes fixed on the towering statue before her. The ancient stone wyvern, Varkos — the colossal guardian said to have carved the very earth beneath the Solver Domain. Scales etched in granite, wings folded like thunderclouds, eyes aglow with faint residual power. Legend told that Varkos had bound the land’s gravity itself, holding the world steady against chaos.

“Tessa,” a voice hissed like a blade drawn in darkness.

Her heart jumped. Cyn emerged from the shadows, a tempest cloaked in royal robes. The air around her crackled with raw, yellow-hued Solver magic, flickering like wildfire trapped beneath ice. Her golden eyes burned with fury, hands trembling as if ready to unleash destruction at any moment.

“Tessa… What do you think you’re doing?” Cyn’s voice was low, venomous.

“I’m asking for help,” Tessa rasped, dropping to her knees before Varkos’s stone pedestal. Her voice cracked. “If you are real, I beg you—help me. Cyn… she’s… she’s tearing us apart.”

The courtyard grew still, as if the very earth itself held its breath. The statue’s eyes shimmered faintly, a slow pulse of ancient power awakening beneath the stone.

Cyn’s glare sharpened. “You dare call on old gods and ancient forces? Foolish girl.”

Cyn closed in, Solver magic crackling and snapping along her arms like restrained lightning. Her golden eyes gleamed with something far older and far colder than anger—something inhuman.

Tessa glared up at her, bloodied and exhausted, but no longer blind. The image of the loyal advisor—guardian of the realm—shattered. All that remained was a coiled serpent cloaked in silk and honeyed lies.

“You never had this kingdom’s best interest in mind,” Tessa spat, forcing herself to her feet. Her voice trembled not from fear, but from rage. “You’re a traitor. A parasite.”

In one swift motion, she drew her sabre and slashed for Cyn’s throat—a strike born of desperation, but sharp with conviction.

Steel met light.

Cyn raised her hand, palm open, and with a screech of bending metal, redirected the blade with a burst of kinetic force. Sparks flew. The sabre went wide.

But Tessa was not done.

In the same heartbeat, she drew her sidearm and fired point-blank.

The shot cracked through the courtyard like a thunderclap—striking Cyn’s kneecap.

The royal advisor staggered—but she did not fall.

With a snarl, she raised her hand again and backhanded Tessa with a pulse of raw energy. The queen’s body skidded across the courtyard stones, her head bouncing hard enough to leave blood behind.

“Apologies, Your Highness,” Cyn said, stepping forward, her voice as hollow as a crypt. “But it seems you’ve outlived your usefulness.”

She raised her hand, magic coiling around her fingers like glowing threads of fate, ready to end Tessa where she lay.

But the ground suddenly buckled.

A low, subterranean groan echoed beneath them. Dust sifted from the ancient cracks in the courtyard tiles.

Then came the sound—deep and seismic. Like the world itself had just exhaled.

The statue of Varkos pulsed.

Not with light.

But with gravity.

The weight of the courtyard intensified, pressing down like a mountain had decided to kneel. The energy rippling from the pedestal threw Cyn off-balance. Her spell fizzled in her palm.

“What—” she gasped, turning toward the statue just as cracks laced across its surface.

From deep within the statue, two molten amber eyes flared to life like twin dying stars.

The stone that had once entombed the ancient wyvern groaned, cracked, and split. Shards of granite shattered and fell in slow motion, gravity skewing around the awakening titan. The courtyard warped, stones lifting from the ground only to spiral midair, held aloft in a reverse gravitational pull that centered entirely around Cyn.

The world tilted. Time stuttered.

Cyn’s eyes went wide. She hovered several inches off the ground, her body twisting midair, hair suspended and wild, caught in the unseen force. The ancient power didn’t just repel her—it rejected her very presence.

“Damn you!” Cyn snarled, thrashing against the invisible pressure, her Solver magic bubbling like oil around her arms. Ribbons of golden energy coiled, threatening to unravel into something catastrophic.

But the dragon was fully awake now.

Varkos, the Stone-Born, the Gravemind of the Deep Roots, unfolded from his prison with the thunderous groan of a mountain cracking open. Wings of crag and ore unfurled, flinging debris as though brushing dust from his shoulders. His form radiated elemental gravity—not magic, not artifice—a law made flesh.

Cyn’s form blinked with golden light—once, twice—and with a howl of frustration, she vanished in a flash, teleporting away before the full weight of the wyvern’s judgment could fall upon her.

Silence returned, except for the deep pulse that emanated from Varkos’s chest—like the heartbeat of the world itself.

At the edge of the courtyard, Tessa lay unmoving, her body sprawled across blood-slicked stone.

The wyvern turned, eyes narrowing.

And then—impossibly—he knelt.

Massive claws dug into the cobblestone as he lowered his body until his great head came level with the queen.

The same force that had warped the battlefield now wrapped around Tessa, but instead of crushing her, it lifted her. Stone and earth rippled to cradle her body, vines sprouting and wrapping gently around her limbs to mend and hold.

She stirred.

Just barely.

Varkos settled fully onto the courtyard stone, the great slabs beneath him groaning under the shift in gravitational weight. Around him, the air bent—trees leaned unnaturally toward him, pebbles floated upward, then dropped. Gravity wasn’t broken.

It was listening.

Tessa floated gently to her feet, suspended as if cradled by invisible hands. When the force released her, she stumbled forward, catching herself against the warm, ancient stone of Varkos’ snout.

“Varkos…” she rasped.

Her wounds—deep bruises, fractured ribs, a bleeding lip—were gone. But in their place, something else surged beneath her skin. Not magic. Not strength. Weight. Pressure. Force. As if the world itself now paid attention to her.

The wyvern exhaled, a deep thrumming breath that vibrated through her bones. It sounded like a purring beast, content after centuries of stillness. But to Tessa, it wasn’t noise—it was communication. Thoughts slipped into her mind, ancient and heavy, like stone tablets pressed against her skull.

You did not command me.

You reached for truth.

You stood, even broken.

And so, you rise.

“I-I don’t understand…” she whispered, one hand resting on his scales. They were like obsidian carved by time, and warm with hidden energy. “You’re real. You’re actually real…”

Varkos gently nudged her upright again, encouraging her to stand tall. The thoughts came clearer now, like lines drawn in a storm:

Gyrokinesis.

The unseen weight.

The push and pull of all things.

Around them, the courtyard trembled—only slightly. Dust lifted. A guard’s sword, long discarded, clanged against the ground as it was subtly pulled toward her. Tessa blinked.

“…No way,” she murmured, raising a hand instinctively.

The blade twitched. Wavered in the air. Hung for a breath.

Then dropped.

Her hand snapped back to her chest, breath catching in her throat. She wasn’t a mage. She wasn’t Solver-marked. She was a warrior. Steel and grit.

But Varkos had rewritten that truth.

From the shadows of the courtyard, a whisper echoed. Not from Varkos.

But from Cyn’s voice, rippling on the air through lingering magic:

“That dragon won’t save you forever, Tessa. Power attracts power… and blood always answers blood.”

Tessa’s eyes sharpened.

“Then let it come,” she muttered, rising fully now, wind curling around her as if pulled by unseen pressure.

The thunder of boots on cobblestone shattered the stillness of the courtyard. Royal guards poured in, weapons raised, armor clinking, breath fogging in the tense night air.

And then they stopped.

Their eyes rose—wide, unblinking—as they took in the impossible sight before them.
The ancient stone wyvern… was breathing.

Massive wings curled protectively around Tessa like the drapery of a cathedral, his granite-like hide still flaking off in places, revealing scales that shimmered faintly with gravitational distortion—like light bending in a storm.

J stepped forward, visor up. Her spear quivered slightly in her grip.
“T-Tessa…” she breathed.

Tessa, still steadying herself against Varkos’ snout, didn’t flinch. The tension in her shoulders eased. Her fingers moved gently along the curve of his scaled brow—an unconscious gesture, reverent and familiar, as though she had known him all her life.

“He’s a friend,” she said, voice calm and clear. “You can lower your weapons.”

J hesitated. So did the others. One wrong move, one flicker of rage from the beast, and they’d all be crushed beneath their own armor. But the wyvern did nothing—only rumbled, low and deep, like the mountain itself exhaling.

“He’s real,” J whispered. “The stories were true.”

Tessa nodded, but her gaze had already drifted toward the castle walls, toward the places where shadows lingered and threats festered.

“Gather the war council,” she said at last, her tone ironclad. “We don’t have time to gape at legends. Cyn just declared war—and she’s going to make sure the other kingdoms think I did it.”

“But what are we supposed to do?” J asked, voice taut. “Copperhold and Ironvale already want your head.”

Tessa looked up at Varkos. The wyvern’s amber eyes pulsed once—like a falling star drawn earthward.

“We start by taking back control of the story,” Tessa said, her voice no longer shaking but honed like the edge of her saber. “Cyn thinks she has a weapon.”

Her gaze lifted toward the ramparts, where shadows gathered like waiting wolves. Torchlight danced across her features, casting sharp angles and firelight in her eyes.

“But now…” Her hand pressed gently against the massive snout beside her. “So do I.”

Varkos exhaled sharply, the force of it blowing dust across the courtyard. The sound he made was somewhere between a rumble and an indignant huff —like a cat offended by a bath. The air bent subtly around him, reality wavering with each breath.

Tessa let out a breathless, unexpected laugh. A queen's laugh, but still raw, still young.

“Alright, alright. Not a weapon,” she said, grinning as she patted his brow. “We’ve got an ally now.”

The ancient wyvern shifted slightly, lowering his head beside her as if to confirm it. To Tessa, his presence was no longer crushing, no longer overwhelming—it was grounding. A gravity she could lean into.

Behind her, J finally relaxed, if only a little.

“What now?” she asked, voice hushed, unsure if speaking too loud might offend the mountain-sized creature.

Tessa turned to her, her expression resolute. “Now? We make sure the world knows the truth.”

She looked to the sky, where the Solver banners still flew, tainted by Cyn’s deception. “The other kingdoms think I’m the aggressor. That I’ve sparked this war. We give them something that burns through the lies.”

J tilted her head. “Like what?”

Tessa glanced back at Varkos, who stirred—his wings flaring slightly, disturbing the dust and light with a gentle warp of gravity.

“A demonstration,” Tessa said, already forming the plan aloud. “A show of control. Of unity. If Copperhold and Ironvale are watching for a tyrant, then I’ll show them a queen.”

She paused, then looked to J again. “Get word to Uzi and Nickolas. If they want to stop this war, they’ll need to see the truth for themselves. Varkos and I will meet them halfway.”

“And Cyn?” J asked, grimly.

Tessa’s eyes narrowed. “She wants fire. I’ll show her what happens when she plays with gods.”

Chapter Text

Deep in the forest, something stirred. A chimera prowled low to the earth, sinewed muscle shifting beneath scorched fur and cracked scales. Its lion’s maw sniffed the mossy ground, the goat head snarled lowly at the trees, and the serpent tail lashed behind, hissing at the moonlight.

Then came a flicker—sickly yellow light arcing through the air.

Slice.

The beast didn't even have time to roar. Its body split cleanly, slumping into bronze dust before it hit the earth.

Cyn emerged from the shadows, her black robes dragging behind like liquid tar. Her eyes burned with the same yellow energy curling from her fingertips. Every step she took sent the forest bending away—branches twisting in pain, bark blackening where her presence lingered. The grass beneath her boots shriveled into ash.

“That damn dragon,” she spat, her voice warped by the echoes of too many stolen lives.

Of course it would awaken for her. For that brat .

Her lip curled as she stalked forward, casting volatile sparks into the air. Her magic flared again, uncontrolled, wild—tendrils of darkness reaching out, grasping at the world like claws.

“That dragon should’ve been mine… mine! She’s no match for it—Tessa can’t even begin to comprehend the kind of power it holds!”

She snarled, a blast of yellow magic erupting from her hand and searing a nearby tree in two. The trunk toppled, but before it hit the ground, it froze mid-fall—caught in a gravity snare. It hovered, suspended, slowly twisting as Cyn glared past it, eyes fixated on some imagined battlefield.

And then—

Smoke.

Soft at first, curling tendrils creeping between the trees, too controlled to be natural.

Cyn stiffened.

The forest went quiet. Even her magic recoiled, flickering down into her palms.

Then, from the smoke, a figure emerged—graceful, regal, and terrifying in a way that had nothing to do with brute force.

Circe.

A smile curved her lips, gentle like a dagger sliding between ribs. “Still throwing tantrums, my dear?” Her voice was silk over venom.

Cyn's rage faltered, shifting instead into something older. Something colder.

“…You,” Cyn growled, her tone suddenly defensive.

Circe stepped forward, the forest seeming to sigh in her presence. “That dragon was never yours. You don’t earn beasts like that. You command monsters. Like the one you just turned to dust.”

Cyn’s hand twitched, magic crackling to life again—but not as freely. Not without hesitation.

Circe’s smile vanished.

“Test me,” she said, her voice no longer soft.

The forest shuddered . Even the sky seemed to bend as her presence grew, eclipsing the fire Cyn held.

And for the first time in years , Cyn hesitated.

Because she remembered: Circe doesn’t just kill. She erases .

Circe smiled—slow, knowing, cruel.

She patted Cyn’s cheek like one might calm a hysterical child.

“Oh, my sweet little parasite,” she cooed. “Let’s not forget who gave you that pretty magic. I gave you the words that unraveled Zeus’s spine. I showed you how to silence gods.”

Cyn’s sneer deepened, but she didn’t move. Not yet. The forest around them wilted and twisted from her fury, branches blackening, moss shriveling into dust.

Circe’s eyes narrowed, voice still honeyed but sharp as broken glass.
“You were so desperate for that dragon. Varkos, was it?”
She tilted her head, waiting. Cyn said nothing.

“I asked you a question.”
Her tone dropped the pretense. It echoed, suddenly larger than the clearing— older .
“Why did you want that dragon?”

Cyn’s jaw clenched. Her fingers twitched with unstable energy.

“Oh…” Circe’s grin widened, wicked and triumphant. “You thought Varkos could stand up to me . You wanted a primordial beast to level the playing field. To take down little old me .”

She took a step forward. Then another. The trees behind her bowed without touching her.
“Well then. Hit me.”

Cyn blinked. The world seemed to tilt slightly.
“What?”

“Strike me down, girl. If you really believe you’ve outgrown your leash.”

The tension crackled. Cyn’s aura flared, tendrils of void-light coiling like living shadows.

And Circe’s hand moved.

Not fast. Not dramatic. Just a gesture . A flick, like brushing ash from a sleeve.

Cyn screamed as her magic shattered inward , yanked into her chest like fishhooks pulling back into flesh. She dropped to one knee, gasping, her form flickering between three overlapping hosts, each writhing in silent agony.

Circe crouched beside her, voice velvet and venom.
“Let’s not forget who you belong to, darling. You’re not a god. You’re not even free . You’re a story I haven’t finished telling yet .”

She rose, turned, and walked away. The forest mended in her wake.

Cyn stayed kneeling, one hand clutching her ribs, blood and light leaking between her fingers.

She didn’t dare move.

Before Circe vanished, she glanced back over her shoulder, her grin wide and dripping with smug triumph.
“Don’t forget... I know your true name. Cyn. ”

Then, like smoke caught on a sudden breeze, she was gone.

Silence fell—except for the faint, trembling whisper echoing in the darkest corner of Cyn’s fractured mind.
“Please... don’t make me fight anymore...”

The voice of the girl whose body Cyn had stolen, the girl who wore the name Cyn before her.

Cyn’s eyes snapped open. Her chest heaved. The magic she’d stolen felt like shards under her skin, tearing at the fragile barrier between her and this frightened host.

True names, Circe had said. They were chains forged in the deepest sorcery, binding a soul to its fate. And Circe held the key.

A low growl rumbled from Cyn’s throat, rougher than any machine’s gears.
“You think knowing my name means you own me? You’re dead wrong.”

But doubt crept in like poison.

What if the girl inside her was still there—still scared? What if the name Cyn was not a weapon she wielded, but a lock that could trap her forever?

The forest darkened around her, the shadows thickening into impossible shapes.

Because in this world—where gods had fallen and monsters walked like men— identity was the fiercest battlefield of all.

And Cyn was running out of time.

Chapter Text

Uzi’s boot slammed into the wooden door, splintering it slightly—just enough to echo her fury. She’d been locked in a windowless cell carved into the stone belly of the Solver Domain’s palace. No windows. No warmth. Only the ache of bruised pride and a vengeance that refused to die.

“I’ll kill her! I will ! You hear me?! I’ll kill her—!”

A voice interrupted her. Small. Fragile.

“Why’re you shouting?”

Uzi spun, hand already halfway to her blade before she froze.

A child stood before her.

No—not a child. A nymph.

Her skin shimmered faintly like moonlight reflected on still water. Her hair cascaded in pale coils, tangled with wildflowers and moss. But it was her eyes that pinned Uzi to the stone—deep and bottomless, as if the night sky had collapsed inward and taken root behind them.

“Wh-who…” Uzi breathed, her voice hitching.

“I’m Azure,” the girl said simply, fingers clasped in front of her tunic. “Momma told me to watch you.”

Momma?

Uzi’s blood turned to ice. She’d heard whispers—stories of a sorceress who walked among ruins and relics, who bent ancient truths into new weapons. If this girl called her “Momma,” then Uzi wasn’t just locked in a cell anymore.

She was in Circe’s web.

“Nymphs aren’t real,” Uzi said, more to herself than to Azure. “You’re not supposed to exist. You’re stories .”

Azure tilted her head. “So are dragons.”

A tremor rippled through Uzi’s chest—Varkos. Tessa. Nori.

She gritted her teeth. “Where’s your mother now?”

Before Azure could answer, the shadows near the far wall bled together—stretching, folding, smiling .

“She’s here,” came a new voice. Velvet-wrapped venom.

From the gloom emerged Circe.

Not stomping. Not striding.

Drifting.

She wore a gown spun from smoke and starlight, and her gaze—though warm when set on Azure—hardened into something ancient the moment it shifted to Uzi.

“You're loud, little one,” Circe said with a voice like a lullaby sung over a grave. “Loud… and ungrateful.”

Uzi squared her shoulders, masking fear with anger. “You think locking me up and sending your creepy kid to spy on me is going to make me forgive Tessa?”

Circe didn’t flinch. Instead, she walked past Uzi without even acknowledging the insult. She knelt before Azure, brushing a lock of hair behind the girl's ear.

“Did she scare you, darling?”

Azure nodded slightly.

Uzi’s heart stuttered.

Circe stood again—graceful, slow, coiled like a serpent in silk. The temperature in the cell dropped. The stones sweated cold.

“You upset her,” Circe whispered, voice thick with promise. “You spoke with no thought, and now my daughter is frightened.”

Uzi’s mouth opened—but no words came. Not for once. Not in the face of something like this .

Circe stepped closer, just enough that the scent of herbs and ozone invaded Uzi’s lungs.

“You’re alive, child of Nemesis, because I’ve allowed it. You breathe because my Azure has not asked for your silence. But one word—one sob—from her, and I will show you why gods trembled when my name was spoken.”

Uzi swallowed hard. For the first time since her mother died, she felt the burn of guilt deeper than rage.

“I... didn’t mean to scare her,” she murmured.

A pause.

Circe smiled.

But it wasn’t kind.

“Good,” she purred, her voice silken with danger. “Then you’ll do what I say.”

Uzi’s eyes narrowed, the weight of every insult she wanted to hurl pressing against her teeth. “And that is?”

“You’ll learn soon, child of Nemesis,” Circe said, with a smirk so cold it could’ve frozen a volcano mid-eruption.

Uzi stiffened. “Why do you keep calling me that? Who even is Nemesis?”

She took a single step forward—and Azure, barely perceptible, shifted back.

Uzi’s boot froze mid-air. Her breath caught.

“I—I’m sorry, Azure,” she said, quickly and sincerely. She didn’t need a vision or a prophecy to know what would happen if the girl so much as cried.

Circe’s expression didn’t change. But the room changed. The stone trembled beneath their feet. The air turned dense as fog before a storm.

“Sweetness,” Circe murmured as she crouched beside Azure, her gown pooling like ink. She wrapped an arm around the girl protectively. “Do you think she needs to be punished?”

Azure looked between them with eyes like dusk before nightfall. “N-no… she apologized…”

Circe’s face softened like melting wax under candlelight. “Of course she did. She’s learning. ”

She kissed Azure’s forehead, then slowly stood. When she turned back to Uzi, the mother was gone.

Only the sorceress remained.

“You have questions, blood-born of balance. You will have answers.” She circled Uzi slowly, the hem of her robe trailing like mist behind her. “But Nemesis does not answer to mortals. She punishes them. And you—well, little Uzi… your blood remembers what your mind cannot.”

Uzi clenched her jaw. “I don’t care about bloodlines. I’m not a pawn. Not for you. Not for Tessa. Not for anyone.”

“Good,” Circe said, her grin sharp enough to cut glass. “Stay defiant. It means you might survive what’s coming.”

“Which is?”

Circe paused at the cell’s threshold. Her shadow stretched unnaturally far.

“The world burns, Uzi,” she said, voice echoing like prophecy. “Empires will rise, fall, and rise again—on the backs of dragons, gods, and those who think themselves above judgment. You want justice for your mother?”

Uzi nodded, teeth bared.

“Then you’ll walk the path Nemesis carved. That is... if you’re strong enough to carry it.”

Without another word, Circe faded into the dark like smoke consumed by wind.

Uzi slumped onto the bench, adrenaline draining fast.

Azure remained in the doorway, fingers fiddling with a strand of her hair.

“Your mom’s intense,” Uzi muttered.

Azure smiled shyly. “She said you remind her of herself. But… younger. Less scary.”

Uzi managed a dry laugh. “Gee. Thanks.”

From the corridor above, bells began to toll—low, distant, like a heartbeat. War drums in the walls. A call to action.

Uzi stood, staring into the dark.

“…Fine,” she muttered. “Let’s go find out what this bloodline of mine is really worth.”

And in the flicker of a dying torch, her shadow seemed just a little heavier—like something ancient stirred behind her eyes.

Without warning, Uzi was yanked off her feet, Solver magic coiling around her limbs like invisible chains. She barely had time to curse before the world blurred. The stone corridors screamed past her in streaks of shadow and flickering torchlight. A final burst of force tossed her like a ragdoll—unceremoniously landing her in the heart of the Solver Domain throne room.

Her hands slapped against cold marble. She groaned, rolling onto her side.

Then froze.

Tessa stood at the foot of the throne.

No— before the throne, as if afraid to touch it. She wasn’t seated, didn’t even look at it like it belonged to her. The obsidian surface shimmered faintly with embedded Solver glyphs, still thrumming with residual power. But Tessa’s hand hovered just inches from it, not in reverence… but revulsion.

And that’s when Uzi noticed it: the sabre in her hand. It wasn’t just glowing—it was singing , vibrating with an energy Uzi had never seen her wield. Gravitic runes danced across its blade like tethered lightning.

Tessa had never used magic before.

“Stand,” Tessa said—firm, yet not without tremor. Her voice bore the edge of a soldier, but the heart of someone trying not to break.

Uzi sneered from the floor, blood still on her lip. “Why should I?”

Then something massive stirred behind the throne. The chamber’s temperature dropped and rose in the same breath. Marble cracked beneath a shifting weight.

And Varkos emerged.

The Stone-Born. Gravemind of the Deep Roots. His obsidian-scaled snout dipped into view, twin molten-amber eyes narrowing on Uzi. His breath washed over her like a storm—wet earth, smoldering stone, and the crushing pressure of an avalanche barely held back.

“Holy…” Uzi breathed, staggering to her feet, her defiance smothered beneath awe.

Varkos leaned in, sniffing once. Judging. Then rumbled—a sound that made her bones buzz.

Tessa stepped forward.

“Uzi…” Her voice cracked. “I know what I did. I blamed Cyn. I painted her as the architect of everything. And she was —gods, she was —but that doesn’t erase what I did. Varkos showed me that.”

She turned fully now, the Solver crown floating above her open palm—hovering with unnatural stillness, like even gravity hesitated to touch it.

Then she raised it.

And slammed it into the marble floor.

Gold and gemstone scattered like shattered stars across the polished stone.

“I’m no queen,” Tessa said, chest heaving. “I never was.”

Uzi stared. Speechless.

The throne room was silent—save for the soft, resonant hum of Varkos breathing.

Tessa took a step closer, the sabre still glowing, its hum fading into a whisper.

“I can’t undo Nori’s death. I can’t give you your mother back. But I can fight for something better now. Varkos didn’t choose me because I was a ruler. He chose me because I broke, and I stood back up .”

Uzi didn’t reply.
Not yet.

Her fists clenched at her sides, nails biting into her palms. Then, finally—
A breath. A whisper, like ash falling from her tongue.

“Cyn’s not the only one we have to worry about,” she said. “Circe.”

The name fell like a blade into the throne room.

Tessa stiffened as if struck. Her eyes widened. Her breath caught in her throat.

“The Olympian Killer?” she asked, voice barely audible over the hum of gravitic magic that still lingered in the air.

Varkos let out a low rumble, something between warning and confirmation. His molten gaze flicked toward Uzi, watching her with something that might have been concern—or fear.

Uzi nodded. “She came to my cell… brought a little nymph with her. Said I was a child of Nemesis . Whatever the hell that means.”

Tessa’s brows furrowed. “Nemesis? The goddess of retribution?” she repeated slowly, as though tasting a word she hadn’t used in years. “But that’s just a story. A name carved on ruined temple walls.”

“She wasn’t a story to Circe,” Uzi muttered. “She said it like it mattered. Like… it meant something about me.”

Tessa took a single step back, her gaze lingering on the shattered remnants of the Solver Domain’s crown—gold twisted, jewels cracked like bones left in the sun.
The crown that once meant power. Now it meant failure.

“The old gods,” she murmured, almost to herself. “They’re long gone. Buried with their temples… their myths… their wars.”

A beat of silence. Then—

No.

Varkos did not speak with a voice. He resonated .
The air thickened. The marble floor groaned beneath the pressure. His breath exhaled like a deep mountain storm rolling through a hollow canyon, and in its rumble came meaning.

Not gone.
Hiding.
Waiting.

Uzi turned sharply, staring into the molten amber eyes of the wyvern. Her jaw clenched, breath caught somewhere between fury and awe.
“What do you know?” she demanded.

Varkos did not answer in the way mortals did. Instead, he moved.

The ancient guardian rose with a shuddering grace, wings folding with tectonic patience. His great head turned—not to Tessa, not to Uzi—but eastward.

Toward Copperhold.

Then, slowly, with the subtle weight of fate itself, he lifted one wing and pointed .

Uzi followed his gaze with narrowed eyes. There, beyond the castle walls, past the frostbitten forests and snow-laced peaks, lay her home. Her blood. Her mother's grave.

Copperhold.

And below it—something far older than stone or steel.

The wyvern's presence pressed into her mind again. Not cruel. Not commanding. But insistent.

Beneath your bloodline’s bones…
Sleeps a god.
One who waits for your voice.
Free her.

Uzi blinked, sweat beading at her brow. Her heartbeat thundered, as if echoing a distant one buried beneath centuries of silence.

Then she turned. Slowly.

Her glare landed on Tessa.

“I’m not doing this for you,” she growled. “Don’t think for a second you’re off scot-free.”

She stepped forward, jaw tight, fingers twitching toward the hilt of her blade. “You killed my mother. Beheadings are hard to forget.”

Tessa didn’t flinch. Her eyes lowered, settling on the ruined crown at her feet—now a fractured reflection of the kingdom itself.

“I know,” she said softly. “And when this is over… I won’t run.”

Her voice carried no regal inflection. No command. Only weight.
And regret.

Uzi stared at her for a long, silent moment.

Then she turned, her coat snapping behind her like a battle flag. She strode from the chamber, passing beneath Varkos’ outstretched wing as if walking under the archway of some great cathedral.

The air shifted as she left.
Not with wind.
With gravity.
Something ancient had stirred—and now, it watched .

But Uzi paid no mind to the weight behind her. Her boots echoed like war drums across the Solver Domain’s polished halls. She marched toward the palace gates, a storm in mortal form.

That was when she heard it—hooves and bootsteps behind her, fast and deliberate.

She spun, hand instinctively reaching for the dagger at her side.

J stood a few paces back, reins in hand, her armor glinting under the torchlight like polished obsidian. The mare beside her was jet black, its mane braided with Solver ribbons, breath fogging the cold air.

“You’ll need this,” J said flatly, holding out the reins. “Cyn’s made travel between the kingdoms hell.”

Uzi hesitated, eyes narrowing. “Why should I trust you?”

J didn’t blink. “I’m not asking you to.”

Uzi snatched the reins from her hand. “Then why help me?”

J smirked faintly. “Because I don’t want to see the world burn either. And because unlike you, I have ridden a horse before.”

Uzi glanced at the beast, who gave an unimpressed snort and pawed the marble.

“Fair,” Uzi muttered.

J crossed her arms. “Where are you headed first?”

“Copperhold. There’s something under it. Something big.” She paused, then added bitterly, “Bigger than my grudge.”

J raised a brow. “We really are past the point of legends, huh?”

Uzi climbed into the saddle. “They’re not legends. Not anymore.”

She gave one last glance toward the throne—toward the echo of Varkos’ presence still pulsing like a deep drumbeat in the back of her skull. Then she snapped the reins.

The horse took off at a gallop, hooves striking stone like lightning against the earth.

J remained by the gate, her expression unreadable.

Then came a low growl from behind her.

She turned slowly to see Varkos rising again, molten eyes focused on the stormclouds gathering on the horizon. Not weather.
Fate.

“Guess you were right,” J muttered. “This isn’t the beginning of the war.”

She exhaled as thunder cracked in the distance.

“It’s the start of the reckoning.”

Chapter Text

The mare’s hooves pounded like war drums across the wild earth, sending up flurries of dust and dead leaves. Uzi gritted her teeth, her hands tightening around the reins as the wind whipped her hair back.

Varkos had pointed her homeward—toward Copperhold.
Toward answers.
Toward something buried.
But the road would not let her pass easily.

With every mile gained, something rose to meet her.
A rogue beast. A malformed chimera. A shrieking harpy with eyes like burning coals. Once, even a cyclops that tore trees from the ground like weeds.

Each time, Uzi fought.
And each time, she lived.
Bloodied, bruised, and breathless—but alive.

Then, as her mare slowed near a fork in the old trade road, she heard another rhythm of hooves cutting across the wind. Not hostile. Familiar.

She twisted in her saddle just as two riders emerged from the mist-choked woods.

Nickolas.

“I thought you were dead!” he barked, breathless and sharp, eyes wide with a blend of fury and relief.

Beside him rode a second figure—grinning like she'd never feared death in her life.

“Been a while, princess,” V said, raising a hand in a lazy, mocking salute. Her armor was scorched in places, her spear resting casually across her back.

Uzi let out a sharp breath. “V...”

Nickolas arched a brow at her. “You know this girl? She’s been tailing me like a shadow for miles.”

“She owes me a life debt,” Uzi smirked. “I saved her sorry ass three years ago.”

“Details,” V said with a shrug. “You looked like you were having fun so I figured I’d join the quest. That, and I heard you pissed off a god.”

“Which one?” Nickolas asked dryly.

Uzi didn’t answer at first. Her eyes drifted toward the horizon—toward the high cliffs of Copperhold where the sky churned and the winds howled like something long buried was finally waking.

“Not a god,” she muttered. “ The witch. Circe.”

V’s smirk vanished. Nickolas tightened his grip on his reins.

“No one’s seen her in centuries,” he said. “They said she burned Olympus.”

“They weren’t wrong.”

The silence that followed was heavy. Even the wind seemed to pull away, wary.

“So,” V finally said. “What’s the plan?”

Uzi glanced at both of them, her eyes smoldering like coals buried under snow.

“We find what’s beneath Copperhold. Whatever Varkos sensed—whatever’s still slumbering down there—might be the only chance we have to stop what’s coming.”

“And if it wakes up angry?” Nickolas asked, hand drifting toward the hilt of his blade.

Uzi’s smirk curled like the edge of a knife.

“Then we kill a god the old-fashioned way.”

That was when the wind shifted.

The sky, which had been a pale summer blue, dimmed to a haunted gray. A sudden chill swept through the trees, turning the breath in their lungs to frost. V flinched and rubbed her arms. Nickolas hissed under his breath.

Snow began to fall.

Summer snow.

Slow, deliberate flakes that shimmered faintly with unnatural iridescence. As if moonlight had turned solid and come to rest upon their shoulders.

Then came the voice.

High. Lyrical. Laced with mocking joy.

“Three little lambs, lost in the frost,
seeking old power for a battle not yet lost…”

All three jerked their heads up.

A woman hovered above the path—no wings, no visible magic—just suspended in the air like a painting come to life. She twirled once, skirts of translucent silk spinning with her, then hung in place like a star made flesh.

Her hair was silver, flowing like liquid metal, cascading past her hips. Eyes like shattered glass reflected too many colors at once, and her smile was wide, wild, and vaguely unhinged.

V instinctively reached for her weapon.

Uzi grabbed her wrist. “Don’t,” she whispered. “That’s not mortal.”

“Oh, how sweet! ” the woman giggled, drifting downward as though descending an invisible staircase. “The child of vengeance knows me.”

Nickolas narrowed his eyes. “Who—”

“I am the storm in the song,
the whisper where silence belongs…”
She landed lightly, bare feet not even disturbing the snow.
“...the mistress of lost tides and forgotten wrongs.”
Then she curtsied—overly dramatic, absurdly graceful.

“Calypso,” Uzi breathed.

“Keeper of Forgotten Magic,” Calypso said, rising and grinning wide enough to show too many teeth. “And you’re the tiny vengeance spark! Oh, Nemesis would be so proud if she wasn’t very dead.”

Uzi stepped forward. “Why are you here?”

Calypso tilted her head, hair spilling like mercury. “Because you’re here, little wrath-blessed candle. Because the bones beneath Copperhold are stirring. Because Circe is watching. Because the world is ending—but not quite yet. ”

She spun suddenly and tapped Nickolas’s chest with one long, claw-like fingernail. “And you! The brother-hearted shield. You’ll break before you bend.”

Nickolas blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t worry!” she chirped, twirling again. “You’ll survive. Mostly.”

V gritted her teeth. “Lady, do you ever say anything straight?”

“Oh, darling,” Calypso said with a smirk, “if I spoke plainly, you’d go mad. ”
Then she leaned in toward Uzi.
“You seek what’s buried, but forget what sleeps. The blood in your veins? It bleeds like prophecy.”

Uzi stiffened.

Calypso raised a single finger and drew a glowing rune in the air, golden and ancient. “Nemesis never had many children, but her wrath… oh, her wrath found its way into you. ”

“What do you want from me?” Uzi asked.

Calypso’s expression softened—just a little.
“Nothing… yet. But if you wake what sleeps beneath Copperhold, child, remember this—”
Her voice dropped to a silken whisper, somehow carrying more weight than a scream.
“Every gift has its price. Especially the divine ones.”

She began to rise again, arms spread wide like a marionette in a storm.
“I’ll be watching! Like a shadow in the waves,
like a heartbeat in stone,
like a whisper in the grave—”

“Let me guess,” V muttered, “like a riddle in a fever dream?”

“Exactly!” Calypso beamed, spinning midair. “You do listen.”

Then her smile twisted into something sharper.

“You clearly know how to do more than enchant with your voice, child of the sea.”

V blinked. “Excuse me—?”

Before anyone could react, Calypso blinked out of sight—then reappeared an inch behind V. No warning. No sound.

“Now now, little siren,” she purred, coiling her words like a serpent. “The only reason you’re on land is a funny one… You accidentally freed Scylla of all things.”

V jumped, whirling with her spear half-drawn.
“Scylla?! I didn’t—”

“Oh, but you did~” Calypso sang, wagging a silver-gloved finger.
“On a moonlit tide you sang so sweet,
She rose from dreams and left her seat.”
Then she tittered behind her hand. “You humans never read the fine print.”

“Wow, wow, siren?! ” Nickolas exclaimed, his eyes wide as full moons. “V, what the hell—”

“I’m not a siren!” V snapped, visibly shaken.

“Don’t worry,” Calypso cooed, circling her like a curious crow. “You’re not the bad kind. Just the kind who draws storms without meaning to. You hum in your sleep, did you know? Very… charming.”

V was trembling now, the confident sneer replaced with something brittle. Uzi stepped protectively in front of her.

“Enough.” Her voice wasn’t loud—but it was firm. Grounded. “What do you want from us, Calypso?”

The silver-haired woman stopped. Tilted her head. Then let out a long, wistful sigh.

“I want… to be wrong,” she said softly. “I want to be terribly wrong. About Circe. About the girl with fire in her name. About the world that keeps repeating the same bloody verses again and again.”

Her eyes locked on Uzi’s. In them was something deeper than madness.
A storm. A curse. A memory that refused to fade.

“Find what lies beneath your kingdom’s bones, little avenger.
But beware the truth that bleeds.”

And just like that—
She was gone .

No flourish. No snow. No rhyme.
Just vanished—like a dream you forget on waking.

The summer heat returned like a slap. Birdsong resumed, hesitant and unsure.

The three were left in silence.

“…So,” Nickolas finally muttered, “she was fun.”

“She was terrifying,” V said flatly, wiping sweat from her brow.

Uzi didn’t speak. Her gaze was distant, fixed on the horizon. Toward Copperhold.

Toward the answers buried in its roots.

“I don’t know what’s waiting down there,” she said at last, “but whatever it is… the gods feared it. And if Calypso's scared?”

She pulled the reins of the horse, making the mare turn back toward the direction of Copperhold.

“Then we have to reach it before Circe does.”

Chapter Text

So...I've stopped liking what I have so far with this story, I'm gonna discontinue it and restart! Hopefully crafting a better world and plot instead of this shoehorned mess!