"I completely ignored the child," Veronica muttered, her voice fracturing slightly as she stared down at her small, fair-skinned hands. "I didn't necessarily bring any physical harm to her, but I never cared for her, regardless. And that cold indifference... it still haunts me to this day."
The wind howled a bit sharper across the high peak of the citadel, catching the silver silk of her hair. Antrea remained perfectly still, her dark eyes tracking the heavy, sorrowful shift in the Queen's demeanor. Up here, under the unyielding glare of the midnight moon, the royal facade was completely stripped away.
"For some reason, my treatment of the infant sparked a deep, burning hatred in Heka's heart for me," Veronica continued, her silver tail lashing once against the cold stone floor. "She violently took the child from the nursery and left the kingdom entirely. I didn't stop her. Why would I? In my twisted mind back then, I felt relieved. And besides, I was entirely sure Heka would bring Cyra up well. Whether she openly admitted to being interested in it or not, Heka always possessed a brilliant, razor-sharp eye for wealth and politics."
Veronica let out a long, weary breath that misted into the night air before dissolving into the darkness of the forest canopy.
"To be completely honest with you, Antrea... this is only the third time I am seeing Cyra since the day they left. Heka took her to the elven kingdom and practically forced those snobbish scholars to teach Cyra the ways of the world, making her study the bloody paths the other legendary Heroes took before her. I knew every detail because I secretly spied on them from time to time through my scouts."
She leaned her back heavily against the stone guardrail, a bitter, hollow smile touching her lips.
"The second time I saw Cyra was right here in this courtyard, when she was aggressively deported from the elven kingdom. She had literally blown away half of their majestic capital while fighting a rogue fiend. She was barely thirteen years old back then. When she stood before me in this palace, she didn't know how to treat me, and I... I didn't have a single clue how to treat her."
Down in the distant town square, the amber lights of the festival seemed to blur into a warm hum, a stark contrast to the freezing, isolated atmosphere of the high terrace.
"Eventually, Heka came back to the palace to retrieve her, dragging her off to that little village and the Adventurer's Guild she had successfully founded up West. But they didn't stay together for very long. I don't know the exact, messy circumstances, but Cyra eventually ran away from Heka's strict care and began voyaging the brutal world entirely on her own. I didn't hear a single whisper from her again... until a few days ago, when a royal courier delivered a letter stating she was coming here. And that she was bringing friends."
Veronica closed her eyes, the golden-trimmed red overcoat shifting around her small five-foot-two frame as she shook her head.
"I am entirely certain that the only reason she even considered coming back to this kingdom in the first place is because she literally had nowhere else to go. Due to an unfortunate, catastrophic turn of events... Heka died protecting Dan. And the village she had worked so damn hard to build up from the dirt was completely razed to ash."
She looked over at Antrea, her silver eyes shimmering with a profound, unvarnished pain.
"I'm just the second option, Antrea. If Heka were still alive and that village were still standing, I am positive that even now, Cyra wouldn't have ever entertained the idea of stepping foot in my domain. But because of the comfort of her friends—and probably something much deeper, something more personal—she is here. Right under my nose. Yet, we can't seem to meet eye-to-eye. She is actively avoiding me at all costs... and it pains me so incredibly much."
Veronica turned back toward the edge, her white canine ears pinning flat against her silver hair as she stared into the dark expanse of the night.
"She is filled to the brim with unchecked, volatile rage. Heka—the only true mother figure she ever knew—is dead, but Cyra is stalling. She hasn't retaliated yet. The monstrous Kins of the Sphere are directly responsible for her death, after all. But I am certain Cyra will not just charge into their midst blindly. Because beneath all that monstrous Hero strength... Cyra is terrified. She is extremely, biologically sensitive to dark energy. It is baked directly into her nature... and the Sphere is the absolute, pure embodiment of it."
"Why exactly are you telling me all of this?" Antrea asked, her voice cracking as she forced her gaze away from the twinkling city lights. "I mean... you don't even know me. And technically, I don't even consider Cyra a true friend. I'm just tagging along because—"
"Because you're desperately trying to enjoy the absolute last bit of time you have left on this earth?" Veronica interrupted softly, a bittersweet smile pulling at her lips.
Antrea's dark eyes instantly grew wide with total, paralyzing shock. She froze, the cold night air suddenly feeling heavy in her lungs.
"Though it is incredibly subtle, I see a quite a bit of Cyra in you," the small Queen murmured.
"How did you—"
"Your eyes," Veronica said simply, pointing a slender, fair finger toward her own brilliant silver irises. "Even though you are physically walking and breathing, you are giving off the exact, unmistakable vibe of a dead man. I see it all, Antrea. You are deeply terrified, intensely lonely, angry at the cosmos, and quite profoundly sad."
"Stop analyzing me!" Antrea hissed through gritted teeth, her knuckles turning stark white as she gripped the stone ledge. "What the hell do you even know about me anyway?!" she suddenly yelled into the infinite blackness of the night sky, her composure fracturing into jagged pieces. "The only person in this entire world who would ever be able to understand—" She abruptly bit her tongue, cutting her own sentence short as a specific, messy-haired boy flashed through her mind.
"Don't you dare try to mount your crushing anxiety onto Dan," Veronica warned, her arms remaining calmly crossed over her royal red overcoat. "Unlike you, Dan did not grow up surrounded by a toxic web of hatred. Quite the opposite, really. It's just that his entire world violently crumbled to ash around him in an Instant. But you... you are entirely different. Aside from the current crew you're traveling with... you were never truly loved by a single soul, were you?"
SNAP.
Something inside Antrea's mind completely detonated.
Her right hand shot out like a lightning-fast arrow. In a fraction of a second, her fingers clamped violently around Queen Veronica's throat. With a terrifying surge of raw, physical strength, Antrea lifted the monarch completely off the stone floorboards with a single hand.
Antrea's pupils were twitching rapidly, her long dark hair flaying wildly in the rising midnight wind. Above her skull, the space distorted as a dark, ominous halo flickered into existence, radiating a desperate, volatile energy.
"What the fuck do you know about me?!" Antrea screamed, thick, hot tears violently pouring down her face as she shook the small, five-foot-two sovereign.
Despite being suspended over a dizzying drop, Veronica's hands never once left her chest. Her legs dangled uselessly above the masonry, her oxygen cutting thin, yet her silver eyes remained completely level, staring deep into Antrea's shattered soul with an eerie, maternal calm.
"I will know... absolutely nothing... if you don't talk to me," Veronica said slowly, her voice unhurried despite the vice around her windpipe. "Discard your people... and finally live the damn life you actually want."
The words struck like a physical blow. Antrea's trembling fingers suddenly lost their grip. She let go of the Queen, watching her boots click back onto the stone. Antrea collapsed inward, her knees buckling as she crouched low onto the freezing ground, burying her face deeply into her lap.
"I am trying," Antrea whispered softly, her entire body shaking with violent, uncontrollable sobs. "I haven't set foot in my home dimension in a literal hundred years... but for some reason, I am still being sentenced to absolute death."
She gripped the fabric of her modern jeans, her voice rising into a breathless, panicked register. "What the hell am I supposed to do?! I can't outrun holy angels! All I can do is quietly bide my time until the executioners inevitably descend from the sky!"
She let out a ragged, broken gasp. "I have no past worth remembering. I am not going to sit here and start talking about my miserable infant days. But I hate it... God, I hate it so much! Why can't they just leave me the hell alone?!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, her muffled cries echoing off the ancient citadel walls as she curled tighter into herself.
Veronica stood frozen, staring down at the shattered, trembling form of the girl at her feet. For a long, agonizing minute, the only sound on the high terrace was the ragged pitch of Antrea's muffled sobs cutting through the whistling night wind.
Slowly, the small Queen turned her head back toward the black, uncaring sky. At times like this... I truly don't have a single word of comfort to offer, she thought bitterly.
But then, a sudden, violent fracture appeared in her own mind. An ancient, suppressed memory struck her with the force of a physical blow.
She saw herself. Decades ago, standing in the cold stone corridor of the lower palace. She wasn't standing tall like a sovereign; she was on her knees, desperately begging a young, fierce girl who held a quiet, mana-born infant tightly against her chest. She saw the girl ruthlessly turning her back on the throne, taking her first steps out into the rain.
Veronica's silver eyes opened slightly, a cold wave of realization washing over her fair skin under the moonlight.
Yeah... that's right. I lied to her just now, didn't I?
The realization tasted like ash in her mouth. She hadn't let Heka leave with a cold, detached shrug. She had brought herself to absolute ruin trying to stop her. I actually begged Heka to stay. But the memory had been buried so deep beneath layers of royal pride because she remembered her daughter's face far too clearly—the look of absolute, unadulterated loathing burning in Heka's eyes, and the biting, final words she had spat before vanishing into the wild.
"I am... a truly horrible guardian," Veronica muttered out loud, the confession slipping past her lips before she could stop it.
She looked back down at the weeping girl crouched on the masonry, her heart aching with a sudden, heavy resonance. Slowly, instinctively, Veronica reached out a slender, fair hand toward Antrea. Her fingers hovered in the cold night air, just an inch away from the girl's chaotic, dark hair, wanting nothing more than to smooth it down and offer the maternal warmth she had denied her own flesh and blood.
But her hand stopped just short.
The Queen froze. She slowly withdrew her arm, lowering her gaze to stare blankly at her own open palm under the pale moonlight. What right did she have to comfort a dying soul? She couldn't even save her own children from the dark.
Spiritual energy swirled beneath her royal red overcoat as she turned sharply on her heels. She began to walk away, her boots making no sound as she left the broken girl entirely alone on the summit of the castle, wrapped in the freezing midnight wind.
Yeah. I am a completely horrible guardian, Veronica thought to herself, her expression hardening into a mask of pure, unvarnished regret as she stepped through the grand archway and vanished into the shadows of the silent fortress.
....
The next morning arrived with a blinding, crisp clarity. The high courtyard of the beastkin palace was a wild, breathtaking expanse of ancient stonework completely conquered by nature. Massive, thick ivy vines—some as wide as a man's torso—snaked aggressively up the crumbling marble pillars, their deep green leaves glistening with the morning dew. Wild, vibrant flora burst through the cracks of the stone floorboards, filling the cool morning air with the sharp, sweet scent of overgrown moss and untamed earth.
"Let's absolutely have an outdoor picnic today, Cyra!" Queen Veronica suddenly yelled, completely shattering the morning quiet.
With the frantic, chaotic energy of a wild pup, the small five-foot-two monarch launched herself through the air and hopped directly onto Cyra's head. Her heavy, gold-trimmed red overcoat flapped wildly in the wind, nearly blinding the Hero. Cyra stiffened, instantly shifting her weight and steadying her footing so the tiny sovereign wouldn't come crashing down onto the stone.
"You are the literal Queen of this domain, you absolutely should not be behaving in such a manner," Haki said sternly.
The blindfolded warrior stepped forward with absolute, fluid precision, her slender arms shooting out as she grabbed Veronica by the waist and tried to drag her off Cyra's skull. But the small Queen dug her fingers in, fiercely refusing to let go, locking the two beastkin women into an intensely awkward, silent struggle right in the center of the yard.
A few yards away, Thranduil took a slow, elegant sip from his morning coffee, the bitter aroma cutting through the scent of the flora. His striking blue hair had been meticulously tied back into a sleek ponytail. His gaze drifted across the courtyard, landing on Antrea.
She was sitting cross-legged atop a massive, fallen marble pillar that was half-buried in a bed of ferns. She looked completely out of place in her strange, modern attire—wearing an oversized rugby shirt, a pleated skirt, and thick socks that covered the entirety of her bare legs. Her long, midnight-black hair had been beautifully braided back, keeping it out of her face as she intently stared down at a colorful comic book held in her hands.
Thranduil walked over, his boots clicking softly against the mossy stone, more interested in the bizarre book than her eccentric clothing choice.
"For a grand royal palace, don't you think the grand vines growing over literally everything is a bit of an overkill?" Thranduil asked the moment he got close.
"I am desperately trying to finish this series," Antrea muttered coldly, her dark eyes never leaving the illustrations as her thumb fluidly flipped a page. "Take your discussion somewhere else."
"You really don't have to be so chillingly cold all the time, you know," Thranduil sighed, shaking his head in mock disappointment.
With a sudden, blindingly fast flick of his wrist, he yanked the comic book straight out of her hands, dangling it just above her head with a mischievous grin. Antrea immediately lunged upward to snatch it back, but Thranduil's spatial magic flared. POP. He vanished into thin air, instantly materializing several meters away near the edge of the courtyard. He casually conjured a pair of thin-rimmed reading glasses from the bare atmosphere, settling them on his nose as he opened the book.
"What language is this even written in?" he asked, his blue eyebrows furrowing in genuine curiosity. "And the pictures are so extraordinarily detailed."
"Give. That. Back," Antrea growled, a dangerous, low vibration shaking her chest.
She lunged. She moved like a literal sniper bullet, fracturing the air behind her. Across the yard, Haki temporarily hoisted Veronica high into the air to keep her out of the crossfire as Antrea flashed past them. Everyone watched the chaotic transaction with mild, amused interest. But right before her fingers could clamp around his throat, Thranduil displaced himself again.
BOOM.
Antrea slammed into the empty space, her raw momentum leaving a small, smoking crater in the ancient stone courtyard. Up above, Thranduil materialized comfortably on a thick, overhanging tree branch, peering down at her with a smirk.
"When I finally get my hands on you, Thranduil, I am going to break your fingers one by one," Antrea growled, her dark hair flaring wildly around her shoulders.
Thranduil simply stuck out his tongue and leaned back against the bark, keeping his sharp eyes locked onto her frame, fully expecting her to suddenly warp space and appear right in front of his face. But the girl made absolutely no move whatsoever.
She just stood there in the center of the smoking crater, staring blankly down at her own feet.
The playful atmosphere in the courtyard suddenly began to evaporate, replaced by a strange, heavy silence. Everyone stopped what they were doing, watching her with deep curiosity. Thranduil's smirk vanished. He leaned down over the branch, his blue hair cascading forward. "Hey... is something actually wrong, Antrea?"
Antrea tried to leap space. A tiny, microscopic twitch of her fingers.
Nothing happened.
She furrowed her dark brows tightly, her mind frantically grasping for the familiar, cold tether of her spatial magic, trying to command the void to open. Still... absolutely nothing.
The realization hit her like a physical blow. Within seconds, her face went entirely, chalky pale, and a thick coat of cold sweat violently broke out across her brow. Her dark eyes darted frantically around the courtyard, looking at Cyra, at Haki, at the towering walls of the castle. She found her head spinning violently, a terrifying, suffocating wave of complete and utter helplessness washing over her soul.
Thranduil's heart dropped into his stomach. Realizing something was profoundly wrong, he vanished from the tree and reappeared right beside her on the gravel. "Hey, look... maybe I went a bit too far with my taunting," he said quickly, nervously scratching the back of his neck as he held out the volume. "Here... have your book back. Just... please don't hit me."
"Well, hey there everyone," came a calm, incredibly resonant voice echoing from the grand staircase.
The entire group violently turned their heads toward the massive, sweeping white stone stairs that led from the lower mountain pathways up into the palace courtyard.
Slowly ascending the steps was a boy with exceptionally fine, shimmering blonde hair. He possessed deep, brilliant blue eyes that carried the vastness of the sky, and a bright, genuinely cheerful smile was etched effortlessly across his handsome face. Cyra's wolf ears instantly perked straight up, pinning forward as her pupils dilated in absolute disbelief.
"Carl?" she asked, her voice cracking, completely unsure if her eyes were playing tricks on her.
"It's me, in the literal flesh," the boy laughed, his voice a warm, melodic chime as he finally ascended the final step, stepping fully into the sunlight of the courtyard.
He was clad in a breathtaking, magnificent set of heavy plate armor, the metal a pure, blindingly pristine white that seemed to absorb the morning sun. Tucked securely under his left arm was an ancient, leather-bound book and a tightly rolled scroll.
"But... how on earth is this even possible?!" Thranduil stammered, his coffee cup nearly slipping from his fingers as he stared in shock. "You shouldn't be here... You physically can't be here!"
"If you are all wondering exactly how I managed to successfully cross over..." Carl beamed, his blue eyes flashing with a brilliant, mysterious spark as he walked calmly toward the stunned elf. "...let's just say I had a little bit of help."
Behind them, Haki and Queen Veronica remained completely quiet throughout the entire ordeal, their instincts instantly sharpening as they stared at the unexpected intruder standing in their yard.
"You guys actually know him?" Haki asked, her voice instantly dropping into a tone like cold, unyielding steel.
"Yes!" Cyra yelled back, her tail twitching with a mix of confusion and relief. "He's a really good cook! He came directly from the world Areia was trapped in for a time—you know, the one with the demons and all."
Antrea didn't even look at the blonde boy as he approached. Her entire body felt like it was completely giving way from the inside out, the terrifying void where her magic used to be leaving her physically hollow. Carl walked right past her, stepping up to Thranduil as the two of them casually shook hands.
"Antrea, how has it been?" Carl asked sweetly, turning his head toward her. He reached out a gauntleted hand, casually intending to pat her head.
He never got the chance.
Like a silent flash of silver, Queen Veronica closed the distance, slipping right under Carl's extended arm. Her face was a mask of cold, indifferent fury, her small fist clenching as she poured raw, terrifying physical force into a single upward strike. Her knuckles collided with Carl's jaw with a deafening, explosive CRACK.
The sheer kinetic impact sent the armored boy launching backward like a cannonball, violently crashing straight through the thick forest canopy above, snapping branches and scattering leaves everywhere.
Veronica casually tore off her heavy royal red coat, tossing it into the dirt.
"You guys should be seriously mindful of who exactly you call your friends," Veronica muttered, spitting a glob of dark blood onto the gravel. A thin trickle of crimson was leaking down her fair lips from the sheer recoil of hitting his divine armor. "The bastard actively attacked my mind at the absolute last minute."
"Uh...?" Was the only broken syllable Thranduil could even utter, his hand frozen mid-air.
"Mom! He's our friend!" Cyra yelled, her wolf ears pinning back in pure rage. "Why the hell would you just do that?!"
"Antrea... shouldn't you be running right about now?" Veronica asked, completely ignoring her daughter as she locked her sharp silver eyes onto the petrified, pale girl.
"Can someone please explain what the fuck is going on here?!" Cyra roared, her aura violently flaring.
"How exactly did you know what I was going to do?"
The calm, melodic voice drifted down from above. Carl was casually walking back up the white stone stairs of the palace, his pristine white plate armor completely untarnished, behaving exactly as if Veronica hadn't just launched him clear through the forest canopy.
"Well, I know a predator going for the kill the absolute second I see one," Veronica said, a dangerous, sharp smile breaking across her fair-skinned face.
"Elf boy. Take that girl and get the hell out of here right now," Haki ordered coldly, stepping up to stand perfectly shoulder-to-shoulder with Veronica. Her slender frame was completely balanced, her blindfolded gaze locked onto the ascending armor. "Cyra, you're with us."
"You guys should really know that you are actively violating a heavenly rule," Carl said slowly, his bright blue eyes losing all their warmth as he stopped at the top of the stairs, adjusting the ancient book under his arm. "Would you mind stepping aside so I can simply do my job? You should all be well aware by now that she is a massive criminal in her own right."