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"You should have thought about that before stepping in."
Alex spun around, instincts flaring for half a heartbeat before recognition settled in. Elara stood near his bedroom door—or rather, she simply *was* there, as if she'd materialized from the morning sunlight itself. Her human guise was impeccable as always: auburn hair falling in perfect waves over her shoulders, her business attire crisp and professional despite the early hour.
"Can you *stop* appearing in my room suddenly?" Alex grabbed a shirt from the back of his chair, pulling it on with more force than necessary. "You know we have doors. And privacy. Two concepts that go really well together."
Elara's expression didn't change. She simply stood there, hands clasped in front of her, those hazel eyes—so carefully human yet holding depths of ancient wisdom—fixed on him .
"I use the doors when the matter is trivial," she said calmly. "This is not."
Alex sighed, running a hand through his still-damp hair as he moved to the kitchenette. He pulled a crisp apple from the fruit bowl and retrieved a knife from the drawer. The blade caught the morning light as he began slicing .
"Then what do you want me to do?" The words came out sharper than intended. He set down a perfect wedge of apple with more force than necessary, the cutting board absorbing the impact with a dull thud. "Stand by and let those drones kill hundreds of people? Let Vanko turn Monaco into a war zone?"
"Say that to the military families whose sons and daughters you killed at Alkali Lake."
The knife stilled mid-slice.
Alex's jaw tightened, his fingers flexing around the handle. "That's different—"
"Different how?" Elara's voice remained level, but there was steel beneath the silk. "Dead is dead, Alexander. A soldier's widow grieves the same as any—"
"They were inflicting pain on *children*!" The words exploded from him before he could stop them. Alex set the knife down carefully—too carefully. "I merely gave them a taste of their own medicine. And I don't have hate for humans in general, Elara. I have hate for the people who were manipulating things, who were—"
"Some of those soldiers may not have known what was happening in the lower levels." Elara took a step closer, her voice gentle but unrelenting. "Some may have been just following orders. Some may have been brainwashed, the same as Wolverine and Colossus were."
Alex picked up another apple slice, studying it like it held answers to questions he didn't want to ask. His voice, when he spoke, was quieter. Colder.
"That's how wars are, Elara."
He turned to face her fully, leaning back against the counter. The morning light painted half his face in gold, the other half in shadow.
"Without casualties, the other party doesn't bleed. And if they don't bleed, they don't stop." He gestured with the apple slice, a bitter smile touching his lips. "The best way to stop someone you don't even know from abusing their power is cutting off the power source itself. There are people manipulating things behind the scenes that even governments don't know about. Shadow players. Puppet masters. But when a wound is inflicted—when enough blood is spilled—*all* of them feel the pain. The good people and the bad ones. The knowing and the unknowing."
Elara's expression softened fractionally. "Then why did you stop?"
The question hung in the air between them .
Alex was quiet for a long moment, his gaze drifting to the window. Beyond the reinforced glass, Aethelgard's impossible architecture stretched toward the horizon—crystal spires and living wood structures housing hundreds of mutants he'd rescued from places like Alkali Lake. Children who should never have had to learn what fear tasted like.
"Because after rescuing so many..." He set down the apple, his voice barely above a whisper. "There were two paths. Fight, or grow."
He turned back to Elara, and something raw flickered across his features before the mask slid back into place.
"The ones I saved would grow up and become like me. Fighters. Killers, if necessary." His hands clenched briefly at his sides. "And that's the last thing I wanted for them. They deserved the chance to be *more* than weapons. More than walking trauma wrapped in superpowers."
He moved to the window, placing one hand against the cool glass.
"Killing another person inflicts wounds on your own hand too. On your kingdom. Your soul." His reflection stared back at him, young and old at the same time. "A nation—a *people*—in constant fight mode doesn't grow. It survives, maybe. But it doesn't thrive. Those kids deserve to thrive, Elara. To laugh. To be stupid teenagers worried about homework and dates instead of which government wants them in a cage this week."
The silence that followed was heavy with understanding.
Finally, Elara inclined her head slightly. "Why such philosophical questions this morning?"
Alex glanced at her sidelong. "You tell me. You're the one who materialized in my bedroom to play devil's advocate."
"I have to know and understand the king I serve." Her tone was matter-of-fact, as if this explained everything. Which, Alex supposed, it did. "Your actions at Monaco will have consequences. Political ones. Diplomatic ones. I need to know if they came from calculated strategy or..." She paused delicately. "Youthful impulse."
"Bit of both, honestly." Alex grabbed his phone from the charging station, checking the time. His eyebrows rose. "Shit, is it really—"
"You're getting late for college," Elara said, the faintest hint of amusement coloring her voice. "Your girlfriend Sarah has called you three times."
( IMAGE HERE OF SARAH )
Alex's entire body went rigid. His eye twitched—the same one that had been twitching at the ridiculous superhero names.
"She is my *friend*." Each word was enunciated with razor precision. "Not my girlfriend."
"Whatever you say, my king." Elara's expression remained perfectly innocent, but there was definitely a sparkle in those eyes.
"And stop with the 'king' thing." Alex grabbed his school bag, shoving books inside with unnecessary force. "I've told you a thousand times, I'm not—"
"Yes, my king."
"Elara—"
"Of course, my king. I shall endeavor to remember your preferences, my king."
"I swear to god—"
"Oops." The syllable dripped with faux innocence.
Alex stopped mid-rant, caught between genuine annoyance and reluctant amusement. He pinched the bridge of his nose, counting to ten in at least three different languages.
"You're doing this on purpose."
"I would never, my king."
"That's it. I'm implementing a 'no dryads before 8 AM' policy."
"A wise decision, my king. Shall I have it added to Aethelgard's constitutional amendments, my king?"
Despite himself—despite the nightmares, despite the news calling him "Metalhead," despite the philosophical debate about the cost of heroism—Alex felt his lips twitch upward.
"You're impossible."
"I am ancient, Alexander. I have earned the right to be impossible." Elara moved toward the door—the actual door, this time—pausing with her hand on the handle. Her expression softened, the teasing falling away to reveal genuine concern. "The girl, Sarah. She is persistent. Three calls before seven in the morning suggests either romantic interest or a legitimate emergency."
Alex's brief moment of levity evaporated. "Or she saw the news and wants to know if I know anything about the 'mysterious mutant' in Monaco."
"Does she suspect?"
"Sarah suspects *everyone* of everything. She's got a conspiracy theorist's mind in a cheerleader's body." He shouldered his bag, checking his reflection one last time. Presentable. Normal. Just another high school student. "But no, I don't think she's connected any dots. Mark would've said something if the rumor mill was churning in that direction."
"Then perhaps she simply wishes to speak with her friend." Elara opened the door. "Who is definitely not her boyfriend."
"Goodbye, Elara."
"Have a wonderful day at your academic institution, my king."
"I'm going to turn you into firewood."
"Empty threats, my king. We both know you need me far too much."
The door closed with a soft click, leaving Alex alone with his reflection, his thoughts about war and peace, and the uncomfortable truth that Elara was absolutely right.
About everything.
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[END OF CHAPTER]
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