I'm a selfish person.
When I see something in the hands of another, an item, a title, an identity, I cannot stand it. My stomach turns. My mind recoils. I despise it. I loathe the fact that someone else holds what I do not.
Not because I need it. Not because I am more deserving.
But simply because they have it, and I don't.
It's not about the thing itself. It never is.
It's about what it means to others. The admiration it brings. The reverence. The way people look at them with awe, as if they are divine, untouchable, something to be worshipped.
So I take it away.
That is the core of my ability. Singular in its form. Quiet in its reach. Known only to a few. Nicholas. Mirabel. Jennifer.
I do not wield it with pride. I do not claim justice. It is not my duty. Not my legacy. Not something grand to uphold.
It is simply what I do.
As Nicholas swung his sword, I watched him closely. In that motion, I saw a boy trying to be more. Standing tall with strength he had no right to possess.
He came in fast, blade sweeping low in a wide arc. I met it cleanly, the impact throwing sparks into the air. I used the force to pivot, letting the momentum carry me past him.
He responded quickly. Sharper than before. He ducked under my next strike, using the stone path to kick away and reposition.
That was good. He was adapting. Thinking.
But it would never be enough.
I took a step and disappeared.
The air warped, then stilled. I reappeared behind him, just as his body tensed.
He turned. Fast enough to see me. Not fast enough to stop me.
My blade neared his neck. He twisted with instinct, dodging just enough, his stance unraveling as he stumbled.
I raised my sword and brought it down with full force.
Before it could land, a burst of water erupted from his core, surrounding him in a protective current. The pressure knocked me backward and flung me across the path.
I hit the stone hard, skidding along the surface. My breath hitched but returned quickly. Pain sharpened my focus.
He was still moving.
When I looked up, I saw it in his eyes. A glint of warmth. Not arrogance. Not triumph. Something simpler. Something purer.
Joy.
He was happy. Not just because he had managed a counter, but because he had finally pushed me back.
There was pride in his posture. A subtle lift in his shoulders. A confidence I had never seen before. He stood like a boy who believed he had finally caught up to his big sister.
So I took it away.
His blade froze in mid-swing. His fingers twitched. His knees gave out, and he dropped to the ground with a breathless gasp.
I rose slowly, brushing the water from my sleeves with deliberate care.
"Nicholas," I said, my voice soft, almost kind. "You're still too weak. You continue to yield to my power."
He looked up at me with a weary grin, the strength already draining from his limbs.
"You're playing unfairly," he muttered. "You took it from me again…"
My Regalia reflects who I am. It echoes my envy. Every power. Every emotion. Every possibility laid out before me.
If I do not possess it, I can remove it. Erase it.
Even if it lasts only for a moment.
Even if all I steal is hope.
That is my blessing. That is my curse. That is the only redemption I have ever known.
"This world operates on power, little brother. If you have it, someone will always come to take it from you."
I slid my sword into its sheath and held out my hand to him.
"But do not worry. I will always steal it back for you."
He laughed, breathless but amused, as he accepted my hand.
"Comforting. Especially coming from you."
I helped him to his feet just as Mirabel approached, her laughter light and familiar as it echoed against the stone walls.
"You two caused quite the stir. Some of the guards thought we were under attack again."
Nicholas straightened and ran over to her, his smile widening.
"Ah, my love, you really should not worry so much."
Mirabel's eyes met mine. "You fought him?"
I gave a nonchalant shrug.
Nicholas jumped in, still grinning. "Before, I could barely move when sparring with her. This time, I actually managed a few proper swings."
Mirabel laughed and ruffled his hair with a smile. "That's good. You're improving."
She turned to me with a knowing look. Her eyes narrowed, playful and sharp. "Or maybe you're starting to go easy on him."
I walked past them, offering only a wave. "No. He has become quite skilled."
And I meant it.
But beneath those words, something stirred. Quiet and ugly.
I felt it between them. That warmth. That closeness. It lingered in the space between their bodies like a current only I could feel. A bond neither of them had to name aloud.
It ached in my chest. A dull, sour ache.
Love.
A thing I had never touched.
I wondered, just briefly, if I could reach out and take that too.
I turned back, raising my hand ever so slightly.
And then I felt it.
A force.
Vast. Old. Not just powerful, but sovereign. It pressed against my soul with such gravity that my Regalia quivered and then failed entirely.
My ability, denied. Unmade by something older than envy.
Mirabel looked over, her expression unreadable, her gaze piercing. Nicholas leaned in and kissed her cheek with casual affection.
She looked back at me, her eyes gleaming with something quiet and resolute.
She mouthed a phrase I could not hear, but understood all the same.
I chuckled under my breath and turned away, slipping back into the halls of the castle.
So your love cannot be stolen.
What a bold thing to claim.
So bold, in fact, that I almost believe it.
My footsteps echoed softly as I walked deeper into the corridors, the ancient stone carrying my presence farther than it should have.
Soon, I spotted Jen dusting off a large, unnecessary vase. One of those ornate relics that no one ever paid attention to.
Without a word, I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around her from behind.
"Ah, I haven't seen you in a while."
She laughed, leaning into the hug with a smirk. "Back to fulfilling your royal duties, Princess?"
I released her and rolled my eyes. "Hardly. I have always hated being a princess. I plan on joining the war."
Her smile faltered. She looked at me, long and quiet, with an expression that carried years of understanding.
"Really? You're just going to leave me behind?"
She exaggerated the sadness in her voice, puffing out her cheeks and widening her eyes in mock despair.
I hated when she did that.
I grabbed her cheeks with both hands and squeezed, distorting her face into something ridiculous.
"No, dummy. I plan on making you my personal guard."
Her fake pout cracked into a shaky grin, followed by a stifled laugh.
"You're joking, right? Nicky?"
I didn't answer. Instead, I slipped my arm through hers and began dragging her down the corridor.
"Come on, Jennifer. We have work to do. I cannot have my future guard looking like this."
She said nothing. She didn't resist.
Jennifer had always been capable. When we were younger, she matched me in every way. Blade for blade. Step for step.
But that changed.
Her family was exposed. Corrupt. Executed. All of them.
Except her.
A noble, cast from grace and left to rot in the margins of history.
I saved her. Used the only power I had. My title. My position.
It was all I could offer, and I gave it to her without hesitation.
Years later, when I abandoned that title and let Nicholas demote me to nothing more than a maid, I did not protest.
Even as my name was slowly erased from memory, I remained silent.
But Jennifer never forgot.
She never changed how she treated me. Never looked away.
She was my constant. My anchor. My proof that something I gave still mattered.
And if I was going to step into war and carve a new name for myself, I would need her with me.
"Nicole, you cannot still be hung up on that, can you?" she asked as we reached my door.
I stepped inside and closed it behind us. Then I turned to her with a smile and leaned in close.
"Now now, my little knight. You must not question your princess."
She gave me that tired, familiar look. The kind that spoke of long years and even longer patience.
"Maybe I should have run when I had the chance."
I laughed softly. "But you didn't. You always come back to me."