The palace training ground was burning.
Not with war—but with the Empress's mood.
"Again," she said coldly, raising her hand.
The soldiers around her bowed low. "Yes, Your Radiance!"
They attacked—five elite knights charging at once, swords shining under the morning sun.
But Empress Myreiya did not move. Her long silken robes danced in the wind, deep red like spilled wine. Gold embroidery ran down her arms. On her forehead, the royal flame sigil glowed faintly.
She raised two fingers.
Fire burst from the ground.
The soldiers shouted and jumped back—but it was too late. The flames curled like snakes, surrounding them, burning close but not touching. Myreiya smiled lightly.
"Still too slow."
She waved her hand, and the fire vanished with a hiss. The soldiers dropped to their knees, sweating and shaking.
From the far corner of the courtyard, a slave was watching.
Silent. Silver-eyed. Young. Holding a tray of towels and water, like a common servant.
He had been there since sunrise. She had not noticed him until now.
But something about him made her pause.
He stood straight—not stiff, not scared. Just... steady. His eyes followed her—not in fear, but in thought.
She looked away.
She was not interested in the opinions of slaves.
"Bring the next wave," she ordered, stepping forward. Her silks swirled around her as she walked, each step strong and graceful.
This time, a magical beast was released—a training hydra, made of shadow and earth.
It roared.
The nobles at the edge of the courtyard backed away. Even the general looked nervous.
But not Myreiya.
She pulled her sleeves back. Her arms were glowing now—runes dancing over her skin like molten gold. She whispered a spell in an ancient tongue.
The air changed. Heat pressed down.
The hydra charged.
And Myreiya vanished.
In a blink, she appeared above the beast, floating. Her silks flared out around her like a storm cloud.
She raised her hands.
"Ashen Flame: Crown Breaker."
A column of fire fell from the sky, slamming into the beast. It howled, cracking and crumbling into dust.
Silence.
Then applause—polite and trembling.
She landed lightly. Not a hair out of place. The gold pins in her braid still shining.
Only one person didn't clap.
The slave.
He simply watched her, eyes calm, unreadable.
She walked toward him.
Everyone stared.
He lowered his head immediately, holding out a towel and a cool drink. She took the drink but didn't wipe her face.
Instead, she tilted her head. "What is your name?"
He paused. "Whatever Your Radiance wishes to call me."
A clever answer.
Too clever.
She smiled—but there was no kindness in it.
"I'll call you Mirror," she said. "Because you reflect what you think I want to see."
He nodded once. "As you command."
She stepped closer.
"You watched me very carefully today, didn't you?" she asked.
He said nothing.
"I hope you're not learning with the wrong intention," she said sweetly. "Because those who steal from me… burn."
Then she walked away, silks flowing behind her like fire trails.