Markov Estate – War Room Alpha
The walls were black stone, polished until they reflected everyone's eyes but no one's face.
Twelve long-backed chairs sat around a glowing table shaped like a ring. Symbols of all the ancient families were etched into the steel.
And in the center?
A single word.
Dominion.
Jay sat in the northern chair, hands steepled, suit collar perfect, mask of calm in place.
To his right sat Erina. Unreadable. Silent. Studying everyone like she already knew how they'd fall apart.
Across from him: heirs from rival families. Sons and daughters bred not just to inherit, but to outlive.
This wasn't a game.
This was the proving ground.
The Test Begins
Vincent Rahl—the estate's stoic butler and unofficial coordinator of elite trials—stepped forward and placed a sleek black briefcase in the center of the table.
He opened it.
Inside: twelve envelopes.
No labels.
Just thick, blood-red wax seals.
"Welcome," Vincent said. "Your test today is simple: survive."
The silence was razor-sharp.
"You each receive a problem. You may solve it through influence, deduction, sabotage, or... diplomacy."
Jay raised a brow.
"So, this is a quarterly game of cutthroat nobility?"
Vincent's eyes didn't blink. "It is an empire. Not a schoolyard."
He handed Jay his envelope last.
The Scenario: "The Thorn Treaty"
Jay read it once.
Then again.
A fictional nation. A rebellious faction. A deal on the verge of collapse.
One slip, and the country would fall into civil war.
His task?
Save it.
Or make sure no one else did.
Four Hours
Jay retreated to a separate chamber, lined with old scrolls and a digital terminal. He had access to files, history, possible allies.
But no real friends.
He ran the numbers. Found inconsistencies. A planted traitor among negotiators.
He paused.
He could out them—prevent bloodshed.
Or use them to collapse the deal, sabotage two other heirs' alliances, and rise to the top.
He stared at the blinking cursor on the decision screen.
What would Jay-from-school do?
Make peace.
What does Jay-of-the-Estate have to do?
Win.
He chose the second option.
And felt nothing.
Return to the Table
One by one, the heirs came back.
Some were proud. Some looked exhausted.
Jay entered last.
Vincent called his name first for summary.
"Resolved," Jay said calmly. "The rebellion overtook the capital. Casualties projected at 4,000. Resources diverted to a new loyalist council backed by House Markov."
A ripple moved through the table.
Erina raised an eyebrow.
"Brutal."
Jay didn't respond.
Vincent smiled faintly.
"Top marks."
Two heirs across the room sank in their chairs. They'd backed the former regime. Jay had quietly ruined them.
He won.
But it didn't feel like winning.
Post-Trial Silence
Later that evening, he returned to his wing.
Changed from his formal uniform into plain black sleepwear.
Stood barefoot in front of the mirror for twenty minutes.
Not checking his reflection.
Just… standing.
He remembered the aquarium.
Remembered Amaya's voice in the garden.
Sofia's jokes. Emma's coin.
The smell of cinnamon.
He remembered them.
But they didn't know this version of him.
And maybe they never would.
Erina Reappears
He found her waiting on the balcony again.
Same place. Different night.
She was barefoot now too. Holding a glass of juice.
"I watched your scenario unfold," she said.
"Did you enjoy it?"
"I admired it."
"But?"
"It was the right move. But not a kind one."
Jay didn't flinch.
"Kindness gets you voted out of these rooms."
"And when did you decide you wanted to stay in them?"
That silenced him.
She studied him quietly.
"You're not like the others."
"No."
"You're worse," she said.
And she smiled as she said it.
Jay didn't disagree.
Back in his private quarters, Jay opened his encrypted file again.
Not for estate records.
But the hidden one.
The one with school surveillance logs. Filtered pings. Yuki's data traces.
Yuki Dawson had covered her tracks well.
But the system didn't lie.
She was moving.
Assembling things.
Maybe she'd seen what he was beginning to see too.
That none of this—any of this—was stable.
That the throne everyone reached for wasn't just empty.
It was rigged to collapse.