"YOU'RE ALL JUST GONNA LET THIS HAPPEN?!" Jorgudan shouted, leaping from his seat. His finger shook as he pointed. "That's her dad! That's the Dragon King! You brought a—A girl like her into our circle without warning?!"
He kicked his gilded chair back so hard it slammed into a servant's legs. Gasps rang out. He threw his arms wide. "You expect me to just sit here and smile like she didn't almost kill me?!"
A blur.
A thunderclap crackled through the hall as King Vhorran of Krakkar—colossal even seated—reached across the space and backhanded Jorgudan with a single, open-palmed blow. The boy's body whipped sideways, tumbling into the edge of the royal banquet table. A hush fell.
Queen Kaelyra, his mother, didn't move. Her eyes remained downcast. A gentle sip of her moonflower tea, as though she hadn't seen her son spinning into embarrassment.
King Vhorran's voice was like granite breaking.
"That is my heir's problem. You are mine. And I raised no coward."
Eldric stepped forward at last, voice cool, weighty.
"For the record, she is my daughter."
And the air changed.
Murderous Flux leaked into the room like gas seeping through cracked walls. All the thrones, all the nobles seated, tensed at once. Some tried to hide it. Others stared, openly measuring Ayla's worth. A few looked afraid.
Eldric let it burn a moment longer.
Then he slammed his hand down on the long, obsidian banquet table, cracking the lacquer.
"Now that that's clear—" his voice sharpened, "—I have an issue to address."
He turned his glowing amber gaze to Jorgudan, still rising with blood on his cheek.
"You said… you'd 'fuck my daughter real good for a commoner'?"
Dead silence.
Jorgudan's mouth moved, but nothing came out.
King Cormoran of Eldora cleared his throat, deeply displeased. He glared at his son—not with sympathy, but scorn.
Queen Liv, regal and pale, spoke sharply.
"Let this be the last time a child of Eldora ever disgraces this court with such gutter tongue."
A nod from Queen Nani of Nimbusia, dark-skinned with silver dreadlocks. Her crimson gown shimmered like blood under candlelight.
"Children carry our names. That filth stains more than just your record, boy."
But then King Dravokh of Pelzak leaned forward, expression hard.
"Children do not define the will of their kings."
He cast a cold eye around the table.
"We may train them, we may raise them… but we do not always control what they become. Hold him accountable—but not us."
A brief murmur of agreement followed. The politics were heating.
Before the tension could deepen, a clear, elegant voice pierced the room.
"Darling, if I may…"
All eyes turned as Queen Zarelle of Raphyne rose from her silver blossom throne. Her beauty was surreal—shimmering wings of transparent velvet framed her tall form. Her golden eyes locked gently on Ayla.
"Your Radiance, Princess Ayla… I don't believe you realize just how breathtaking you are. I own the largest Essence-based beauty line across five continents. I would be honored if you'd be the face of our next celestial campaign."
Ayla blinked.
"…A model?"
Zarelle smiled, folding her hands gracefully.
"Not just a model. An icon. A symbol. Girls across the world would faint to see you in our mirrorglass dresses."
Ayla shifted uncomfortably. She hadn't even looked at her own face long enough to decide if she liked it. Deep down, Remus still hadn't caught up to what Ayla had become.
"…I don't know," Ayla muttered.
Zarelle chuckled lightly.
"Say yes. You don't have to love it yet. Just try it. The world deserves to see what power looks like."
King Eldric narrowed his eyes, slamming his head lightly into the palm of his hand with a groan.
"Enough of the perfume and posing—" he growled, then slowly stood.
"There's more in this room. Secrets. Shame. And it's time to drag them into the light."
His eyes locked on Jorgudan.
"You made my daughter bleed, threatened her life, and mocked her in front of commoners. If you're man enough to say those things in the dark—be man enough to face the fire, now."
The echo hadn't even finished bouncing off the throne room walls before Jorgudan stood up, smirking, brushing dust off his crimson robes with casual disrespect.
"Then give me the chance. Trial by duel. If I win… I don't have to apologize."
Gasps rose.
Queen Kaelyra of Krakkar crossed her arms, tilting her massive head with disdain.
"He just wants to get a good feel of the princess," she muttered aloud. "Didn't you say you'd fuck her good, huh? You pervert."
Laughter and sneers erupted from the nobles around the court. Several queens exchanged looks of disgust. The tension grew claws.
Jorgudan's mother, Queen Liv, lowered her gaze, pretending not to hear a word.
But King Cormoran—stiff and seething—rose slowly from his obsidian throne.
"That's enough bad talk about my son," he barked, glaring across the chamber. "He's a prince of Eldora. You all forget yourselves. He has the right to a duel. Let it be granted."
Eldric's face showed no emotion. But his eyes glimmered. He raised his hand.
A single maid stepped forward, delicate but radiating authority. She lifted her hands and channeled her Essence into a sweeping current.
Every loose object vanished.
Tables disappeared. Plates. Cups. Even the fire from the chandeliers flickered out into dust. The grand throneroom became a bare arena of divine marble and steel.
The kings and queens stepped back, making space.
Ayla entered the center without a word. Her eyes locked onto Jorgudan.
"Mythos," she whispered in her mind. "Don't let me hold back."
"Only when you're ready to destroy him," it purred back.
Jorgudan grinned like a spoiled lion, hands already sparking with violet flames.
"Hope you like it rough, princess."
"He's fast. But he's reckless. Let me guide you… I'll tell you what affinity to use before he even thinks to strike." Mythos Added.
The duel began with a clap of sound—Jorgudan surged forward, flame wreathing his right fist. Ayla sidestepped and raised one hand.
"Water, now."
A blast of condensed vapor erupted from her palm, extinguishing his flame just as he struck, causing his fist to skid off a dense mist shield. He stumbled, then snarled.
"Lucky trick," he hissed, leaping back.
He roared and summoned spikes of obsidian from the ground beneath her. Mythos again:
"Earth, fracture."
Ayla stomped. A ripple of golden energy surged into the floor, cracking the obsidian spikes before they could impale her. She backflipped through the falling rubble and landed in a spin, flinging a wind blade that tore a gash in Jorgudan's cloak.
The room gasped. One of the younger kings whispered, "She's not using incantations…?"
Queen Zarelle tilted her head, watching with fascination. "She's not even breathing hard."
Jorgudan wasn't done. He raised both arms and launched a bolt of red lightning—an ancient, forbidden affinity passed down from the vampire lords. Ayla's pupils thinned.
"Light. Split it."
Her hand raised instinctively, glowing with divine essence. The bolt shattered against a prism of gold that refracted and dispersed the strike harmlessly across the chamber walls.
Sweat beaded on Jorgudan's brow. "Why aren't you tired!?"
He launched himself forward with a primal cry, summoning chains of shadow to trap her ankles. He swung his blade—
"Now… Fire."
Ayla ignited, her body spinning with whips of flame. The chains melted, and her palm connected squarely with his chest—sending him flying backward, crashing against a support column.
His breath caught, and still, she didn't stop.
"He would have killed you. He mocked you. Finish him—" Mythos whispered.
Her rage surged.
Lightning danced across her arms. The marble beneath her feet cracked as her full aura began to flare—each affinity she'd used shimmering around her body: fire, water, earth, wind, light, and now darkness.
The kings and queens stood stunned. Queen Zarelle clutched her chest. "She's used… everything."
"And she's still holding back," murmured Queen Velmira.
Jorgudan struggled to stand, his lip bleeding. "I'm not done, bitch."
His body lit with red aura again—aiming for a suicidal rush.
Ayla didn't move.
The air around her crackled like divine judgment. Her hand raised, pulsing with a golden-black energy. She was about to bring it down—
When King Eldric appeared in a blink, his hand wrapping around her wrist with casual strength.
They disappeared.
And reappeared seated on his throne in an instant.
He chuckled, brushing dust from her shoulder. "Oh my goodness, girl. You need to stay calm in a fight."
She said nothing.
Everyone stared.
Even seated and stilled, Ayla's body radiated power like a forge. Her eyes didn't leave Jorgudan, who collapsed to his knees, coughing.
King Eldric leaned forward, eyes narrowing as he stared down the prince.
"You got your duel, boy. That's as close as you'll ever get to touching my daughter."
Silence fell again—until Queen Zarelle stepped forward with a little smirk.
"That was beautiful, darling. You have presence. Fire. I was going to wait till after the banquet, but I'll ask now—would you consider being the face of my EssenceGlow makeup campaign?"
Ayla blinked. "…Makeup?"
Zarelle leaned in, bright-eyed. "You'd be stunning. And honestly, you already broke the court. Might as well make a fashion statement too."
King Eldric groaned, dropping his head onto the table with a thump. "We just got out of a bloodbath, and you want to start a brand deal."
Before he could even laugh, Ayla vanished—teleporting from King Eldric's lap in a blink. The air shifted with a heavy pulse.
Without hesitation, she launched herself at Jorgudan. Her boot slammed into his chest, sending him crashing against the cold stone wall. The impact echoed through the grand hall.
Jorgudan barely had time to gasp before shadowy tendrils erupted from the ceiling, snaking down and wrapping around him, sinking him slowly into the polished floor as if the darkness itself wanted to swallow him whole.
The room fell silent, eyes wide and breath held.
Then, with a flick of her wrist, Ayla's hand glowed with swirling essence—the raw, crackling power of life and death. With a sharp cut, the blade of energy sliced clean through Jorgudan's neck.
Heads turned sharply as his body collapsed, lifeless, to the floor.
Gasps filled the chamber. Several nobles took a step back, shocked into silence.
But before anyone could react further, Ayla's fingers shimmered, weaving intricate signs in the air, and the severed head reattached. Jorgudan gasped, his eyes snapping open, whole again—fully healed.
The reprieve was brief.
Her eyes darkened, lips curling into a cruel smirk.
In a blur, she twisted the shadows again—this time engulfing him in thick tendrils that crushed and squeezed, bones cracking audibly beneath the pressure.
When she pulled back, Jorgudan's form lay shattered, blood pooling in the cracks of the floor.
But still, with another motion, she restored him—fresh and alive once more.
Jorgudan's breaths were ragged, panic setting in, but Ayla's fury had not yet waned.
Her hands glowed brightly as she summoned an element of essence, shaping it into searing blades. Without hesitation, she drove them through his chest repeatedly, his body convulsing violently.
As his form collapsed for a third time, the hall was thick with shock and horror as she healed him for the third time.
Then, suddenly, King Eldric and King Vhorran stepped forward, moving as one—commanding and forceful.
They grabbed Ayla before she could strike again, their strength easily overpowering her furious thrashing.
Pinned firmly to the ground, Ayla's breath came fast, eyes wild and glowing faintly with the remnants of her rage.
The nobles murmured amongst themselves, stunned by the sheer power she displayed—and the devastation left in her wake.
Queen Zarelle approached calmly, her finger gently tapping Ayla's temple as she whispered a command.
A soft wave of relaxation essence washed over Ayla, and the fire in her eyes dimmed, her breathing slowing until she snapped back fully to herself.
Silence settled.
"Are you alright?" Queen Zarelle asked, concern mingled with fascination.
King Eldric's voice was stern but tinged with pride. "Your strength… it is remarkable. But you cannot lose control like that. Not here. Not now."
The room buzzed as the nobles processed what they had witnessed.
One of the queens, nodding slowly, remarked, "Such power… and still so young. This kingdom may soon need to reckon with her."
Queen Zarelle, ever the businesswoman, smiled slyly. "Ayla, you owe me. Meet me at my hotel tomorrow morning—we have much to discuss."
With that, the meeting was abruptly adjourned, leaving whispers of awe and unease trailing behind as the lower nobles and kings and queens who had no other dealing with King Eldric filed out.
The final echo of departing nobles faded behind the grand gilded doors, leaving only the rulers, Ayla, and the heavy silence of aftermath.
Ayla stood in the middle of the throne room—barefoot, her clothes tattered, her chest still heaving from the fight. Stray strands of her silver hair clung to her sweat-slicked skin. Shadows flickered faintly at her fingertips, unwilling to leave her just yet.
King Eldric stood motionless on the dais, one hand on the hilt of his sheathed blade, the other clenched tightly at his side.
And then—
"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?!"
His voice boomed through the hall like a crack of thunder. The floor beneath Ayla's feet trembled with the sheer force of his fury.
She flinched.
"Three times?" he stormed down from his throne. "You killed that boy three times in front of kings, queens, nobles, and diplomats?! Ayla, I knew you had your mother's fire but you—!" He stopped in front of her, eyes glowing faintly with royal essence. "You let your demon side out. You. Lost. Control."
Ayla lowered her eyes, ashamed. "He deserved it…"
"I KNOW HE DID!" he bellowed, then paused, catching himself. He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling heavily through his nose. His voice lowered to a growl: "But you're not just anyone anymore. You're a damn princess of Draco. When you act, the world watches."
She looked away.
He grabbed her chin gently but firmly and made her look at him. "You don't get the privilege of being reckless anymore. You're not Remus now. You are Ayla. My daughter. The heir to the Draconian throne."
She bit her lip. "So what now?"
He crossed his arms. "Now? Now you're going to learn what that means."
She stiffened. "…what?"
King Eldric stepped back and pointed toward the throne.
"For the next three days—as long as you remain under my roof—you will be attending Princess Lessons." He raised a brow as her mouth dropped open in horror. "That's right. From 6 A.M. to noon. Every. Single. Day. Etiquette. Royal protocol. Manners. Dress training. Tea posture. Fan talk. I don't care if you hate it. I expect you to show up."
"Father—"
"And if you're late…" He leaned in closer, eyes narrowing. "You will be punished. By me. Personally."
Ayla stood there, wide-eyed. "That's child abuse."
He smirked. "That's parenting."
The corner of Queen Zarelle's lips curled as she watched with intense amusement from the sideline. "And don't forget," she added, winking, "you have a branding meeting with me first thing tomorrow afternoon after your lessons. 12:30 sharp. Can't wait to see you" she said as she waved her fingers.
Ayla muttered something under her breath.
King Eldric spun back toward her. "What was that?"
She straightened. "I said, 'Yes, Father.'"
He nodded once, firm and proud. "Good. Get cleaned up. Rest. You start at dawn."
He nodded once, firm and proud.
"Good. Get cleaned up. Rest. You start at dawn."
Ayla didn't speak. She only turned. Her legs were still shaking from the fight—whether from the heat of her own rage or the sudden crash of being subdued, she couldn't tell. Her father's order rang louder in her chest than it did in her ears.
She made her way down the corridor, barefoot, clothes torn and half-scorched, skin raw in places where her own affinities had seared too far. Two guards followed a respectful distance behind, heads bowed—not out of shame, but reverence. Or maybe caution.
In the silence, her fingers twitched. Shadow leaked from her nails like trailing smoke, dancing and vanishing just before it kissed the golden trim of the castle walls. She didn't feel tired. She felt wired. Terrifyingly alive.
Her chambers awaited with warm water and scented cloths, a maid too afraid to speak as she bathed the blood and soot off Ayla's skin. The water turned black. She stepped out of the tub still steaming.
She collapsed into her bed without drying off.
And for the first time in a long time, she dreamed.
⸻
She stood on clouds. No—clouds weren't this stable. They weren't supposed to hold the weight of someone who'd already slaughtered a noble's son three different ways and got praised for the style.
The Firmament was still and eternal. Stars pulsed in every direction. One heartbeat matched hers.
She wasn't dreaming this time.
She was here.
"So… you're finally lucid."
Ayla turned.
Natas stood to her left, lounging against nothing, pitch-black hair flowing like it had a mind of its own. His eyes burned with the same Hellfire she'd gifted Sebastian days ago, though she didn't know why that felt relevant right now.
Across from him stood the angel. She didn't have a name. Just a light—a blazing one. Wings folded in a calm that somehow burned hotter than any rage Ayla had ever felt.
They stared at her like two sides of the same blade.
Natas spoke again. "You weren't born in that world, Ayla. You were sent there. Hidden. Tucked into flesh not yours. That's why your soul rejects both Heaven and Hell."
The angel nodded. "You belong to the Firmament. You are not its child, but its consequence."
"What?" she asked.
"You're the balance," Natas said. "The war ends with you, or begins again because of you."
Then the dream… broke. Like glass.
And only one voice followed her into the waking world—
"It was real… and I was actually able to be there this time."
Mythos.
"I chose the right host in you Ayla. We're only just beginning."
⸻
🌅 Three Days Later
She woke up covered in sweat. Not from heat, but from truth.
Her eyes flicked to the left. Something was new.
A black crystal screen had been mounted across from her bed while she slept, its surface humming with faint electricity. It activated without touch.
Ayla.
There she was. On screen. Floating.
The image of a goddess—her long purplish-pink hair flowing like silken gravity, her skin radiant under an aura of golden shimmer, the mark of the Sunwheel faintly spinning behind her like a halo.
"For beauty that transcends bloodlines…" the voice said.
"Become who you were always meant to be."
Makeup flashed across the screen. Golden lips. Smoky eyes. A crown of essence light that wasn't in her hair when it was filmed.
It ended with her holding a small bottle toward the screen, her smile… divine.
Ayla sat up slowly.
Stared.
Her voice cracked.
"What… the fuck?"