"Stop touching the armor, Leo. You're going to knock it over."
"I'm not touching it, Maya. I'm inspecting the structural integrity of the... whoa!"
CLANG.
A suit of ornamental plate armor—likely worn by a duke three centuries ago—toppled forward, crashing onto the polished stone floor of the Great Hall. The helmet rolled away with a mournful rattle, spinning to a stop at the feet of a terrified serving maid.
Leo froze, his hands hovering in the air. "It... uh... it attacked me."
Arthur buried his face in his hands. "We've been guests for three hours. Three. Hours."
"Is everything alright?"
Erika appeared at the top of the stairs. She wore a simple, elegant day dress of pale blue silk, looking every bit the noblewoman she was supposed to be.
She looked at the scattered armor pieces. Then at Leo, who was turning a shade of red that rivaled a tomato.
"It was a trap," Leo squeaked. "For assassins. I disarmed it. You're welcome."
Erika laughed, a bright, genuine sound that echoed in the hall. "Thank you, brave Sir Leo. I shall sleep soundly tonight knowing the decorative suits can't harm me." She signaled to the maid. "It's fine, Martha. Have the guards set it back up. And bring our guests some lemon cakes in the garden."
She walked down the stairs, linking arms with Maya. "Come on. Before he tries to inspect the chandeliers."
They spent the afternoon exploring the castle. For Arthur, seeing his friends here was surreal. Leo tried to flirt with every maid he saw (and failed spectacularly). Maya was in heaven, running her hands over the ancient stone masonry and asking Erika endless questions about the castle's load-bearing arches.
"You know more about my castle than I do," Erika admitted as they walked through the Royal Gardens, a lush maze of hedges and fountains.
"My dad makes me read," Maya shrugged, though she was smiling. "History, architecture, engineering. He says knowing how things are built helps you know how to break them. Or fix them."
"Your father sounds wise," Erika said softly.
Arthur hung back, letting the girls talk. The hum in his blood was quiet, but the memory of last night still lingered. He looked toward the southern wall of the gardens.
There, standing alone by a crumbling section of the old fortifications, was Conrad.
He wasn't training today. He was staring at the stone, his hand resting on the pommel of the sword on his back.
"Go on," Leo nudged Arthur. "You've been staring at him like he's a god. Go talk to him."
Arthur rolled his eyes but walked over.
Conrad heard him coming. "Your friends are loud."
"They're lively," Arthur corrected, leaning against a tree. "Conrad... can I ask you something?"
"You usually do."
"Why are you here?" Arthur gestured to the castle. "I mean... you're strong. I saw you fight ten men without breaking a sweat. And last night... you talked about that sword like it's a god. With that kind of power, you could be in Synthetica. You could be a King in the Mirage. You could be rich."
Conrad turned slowly. His face was unreadable. "You think strength is currency, Arthur?"
"Isn't it?" Arthur asked. "In this world? The strong rule. The weak plow fields."
"That is the logic of tyrants," Conrad said darkly. "My ancestors... the first Guardians... they swore an oath to the First King of Ozyra. When he fell, and the world broke, they didn't chase power. They chose to protect."
He drew the sword.
Arthur flinched. In the daylight, the Sword of Bellona looked even more intimidating. The ripples in the black steel seemed to move.
"You asked about the power," Conrad said. "You failed to lift it because you do not know what it is. You think it is just a heavy bar of iron."
Conrad pointed the blade at the crumbling stone wall—a massive structure, five feet thick, built to withstand catapults.
"This sword," Conrad whispered, "is War. And War does not just cut. It unmakes."
His eyes glowed with a faint, crimson light. The air around him suddenly grew heavy, vibrating with a terrifying pressure. The veins in Conrad's arm bulged as he tightened his grip.
"Ten percent," Conrad gritted out.
He didn't swing. He simply thrust the tip forward, tapping the stone.
VOOOM.
There was no explosion. No flying debris. The massive stone wall simply... ceased to be. A ten-foot section of solid granite disintegrated into fine gray dust, collapsing inward with a soft sigh.
Arthur stared at the gaping hole. His mouth was dry. He had held that sword last night. If he had managed to wake it up... if he hadn't been ready...
"That," Conrad sheathed the blade, breathing heavily, "is a fraction of a fraction. And it strains me to my core."
He looked at Arthur.
"We do not serve for money, boy. We serve because if we didn't... people like me would be the monsters destroying the world, not saving it. Duty is the only chain strong enough to hold this sword."
Arthur looked at the dust settling on the grass. He realized then that he wasn't just learning to fight. He was stepping into a world where "strength" meant being a walking natural disaster.
Meanwhile, on a stone bench near the fountain, the mood was quieter.
Leo had run off to chase a peacock, leaving Erika and Maya alone.
"You look sad," Maya said abruptly.
Erika blinked, her royal mask slipping. "Excuse me?"
"I notice things," Maya said, tracing the rim of her goblet. "You smile a lot. You laugh at Leo's jokes. But when you think no one is looking, you look... lonely."
Erika stared at the water in the fountain. "Is it that obvious?"
"Only to people who look," Maya said gently. "You have a whole castle. But it feels empty, doesn't it?"
Erika sighed. She looked at Maya—this sharp, intelligent girl who felt like a kindred spirit. She had never had a female friend. The court ladies only wanted favor. The maids were paid to be nice.
"Can I tell you a secret?" Erika whispered. "One that could get me in trouble?"
Maya leaned in. "I'm good at secrets. Leo talks too much, but I'm a vault."
Erika looked around to ensure they were alone.
"I wasn't supposed to be Queen," Erika said softly. "I wasn't even supposed to live."
Maya's eyes widened. "What?"
"In the Royal Family of Aethelgard... there is an old, dark superstition. The Twin Ritual." Erika's voice trembled. "If twins are born, the younger one is seen as a bad omen. A drain on the magical bloodline. By law... the younger one must be sacrificed to the gods."
Maya covered her mouth. "That's barbaric."
"It is," Erika nodded. "Eighteen years ago, my mother gave birth to twins. Two girls. I was the second."
"So... you..."
"I was meant to die," Erika looked at her hands. "But that night... the assassins came. They killed my parents. Conrad saved us. He saved both of us. He couldn't bear to follow the ritual after so much death."
"So you have a sister?" Maya whispered. "Where is she?"
"Gone," Erika said, a tear slipping down her cheek. "Conrad sent her away. To hide her. To protect her from the nobles who would demand her death—or mine. She is the rightful heir. She was the firstborn."
Erika clenched her fists.
"And the worst part, Maya? My mother was powerful. She had Ancient Magic. But I... I have nothing. I can't cast a spark. I can't fight. I am a powerless girl sitting on a throne meant for my sister."
Maya reached out and took Erika's hand.
"You're not powerless," Maya said fiercely. "You have held this kingdom together for so many years at such a young age. You're kind, Erika. And in a place like this? That's a superpower."
Erika squeezed Maya's hand, a watery smile breaking through. "Thank you, Maya."
"If she's out there," Maya added, "I bet she's thinking of you too."
Erika nodded, looking north. "I hope so."
She didn't know how right Maya was. Far away, in the slums of Synthetica, a girl with Erika's face was currently hot-wiring a hover-bike, unaware that her sister was whispering her name to the wind.