I watched, a silent sentinel, as Londres's form sank beneath the glowing water. The spreading crimson cloud was a macabre blossom in the azure light. Arthur's smile, unwavering and serene, sent a cold finger tracing down my spine.
Damn. How can he look so… peaceful? Like he just handed her a cup of tea, not a death sentence.
My eyes flicked to Andromeda, standing rigid beside me. I'd expected some flicker of concern, a sisterly tension in her jaw, anything. But her face remained that perfect, aloof mask, utterly unreadable. The gothic angel, indifferent to the fall of her kin.
I really can't understand her.
Seeking any anchor, my gaze drifted upward to the Empress, ensconced on her obsidian throne. Her burning crimson eyes met mine, and for a fleeting second, something unspoken passed between us—a spark of predatory interest that had nothing to do with the ceremony. I quickly looked away, a faint heat rising to my cheeks. Tsk. Don't tell me she's… lusting right now? In front of everyone? I'm a minor, for god's sake!
"I wonder what ability the daughter of Isandar will manifest," mused a man with sharp features and short black hair, his red eyes gleaming with calculation. He looked no older than thirty, but in this world, appearances were deceiving. "Perhaps the Beast Taming legacy of her father?"
An elder with a waterfall of gray hair and eyes like dried blood shook his head. "Abilities rarely follow bloodlines so neatly. They are gifts—or curses—from the gods. Yet, if she does… another powerful Tamer would be a boon. Useful for dealing with those… pests in the northern wastes."
Isandar Tan Zalanta. The Beast King. A name spoken with reverence and fear. The Empress's younger brother, Londres's father, and one of the few beings in this world who could command creatures that drove entire armies to madness. Dragons, of course, remained the unconquered peak, but everything beneath… was said to be his dominion. I knew him only by reputation, a distant, titanic figure.
Then Alexandra's voice cut through the speculation, cool and authoritative. "I think she will follow her mother."
A ripple of tension passed through the hall. All eyes turned to her. How could they not? She was the one who had personally executed Londres's mother for treason a decade ago.
"Poison?" someone whispered, the word hanging in the air like a toxic mist.
"If the Empress says it, it must be so," another elder conceded quickly. "Her Eyes perceive what ours cannot."
The All-Seeing Eyes. Another facet of Alexandra's broken repertoire. Among their many powers was the ability to perceive the latent affinities slumbering within a soul, like reading the title of a book before it was opened. It was a talent that made her predictions near-infallible. There was, however, a singular mystery that bothered her—a blank spot in her vision. Me. When she looked at me, she saw not a hint of elemental leaning, not a spark of destined power. Just… void. It could mean I was destined for a rare, non-elemental Special-Type ability. Or, more likely in the eyes of the court, it meant I was destined for nothing at all.
We'll see soon enough, I could almost hear her thinking.
Minutes stretched, taut with anticipation. Then, a change permeated the air. It grew bitter, acrid, carrying a metallic tang that stung the back of the throat. The clear water of the pool churned, its color shifting to a deep, sickly green, bubbling violently as if boiling from within.
"No way!" a voice gasped.
"She truly did inherit the Poison Affinity… just like her mother."
"The Venom Goddess has smiled upon her!"
Poison. A fitting power for someone with her venomous tongue. Yet, undeniably potent. If she ever reached the heights of her mother, the legendary 'Touch of Death,' she would become a walking apothecary of demise, immune to all toxins.
Thick, emerald-green smoke began to roil from the bubbling pool, tendrils snaking hungrily toward the edges and the spectators.
Before the toxic cloud could reach the first row, Arthur merely flicked his wrist. The smoke dissipated into nothingness, erased from existence as if it had been a poorly rendered illusion.
A moment later, Londres broke the surface, gasping ragged, wet breaths. She looked utterly ravaged, her face pale, eyes wide with the lingering phantom of death. She had, quite literally, stared into the abyss.
"Congratulations on your Awakening, Princess," Arthur said, his smile never dimming as he extended a hand. He hauled her effortlessly to her feet. "You have manifested the Poison Affinity."
A proud, triumphant smile spread across Londres's face, pushing back the pallor of her ordeal. "Thank you, Uncle Arthur."
With a snap of his fingers, a large, plush white towel materialized and wrapped itself around her shivering form. She stepped out of the pool, the green hue already fading from the water as if absorbed back into her being. As she passed me to rejoin Andromeda, she leaned in, her voice a venomous whisper meant for my ears alone. "You see? This is the bloodline of royalty. Greatness awakens within us. This is no place for a commoner's aspirations. Save yourself the humiliation and bow out now."
The surrounding elders and officials murmured their praises, a chorus of approval for the royal blood.
I listened to her slander, my expression not shifting a millimeter. Only when she finished did I turn my head slightly, replying in a tone of bland indifference. "If telling yourself that helps you sleep at night, then by all means, believe it. I am but dust compared to such dazzling nobility."
Tsk. If only you could be as quietly insufferable as your sister, it would be a blessing. Internally, I was laughing. Externally, I watched a flush of fury darken her cheeks. She looked like a teakettle about to whistle. The urge to grin was almost overwhelming, but I mastered it.
Andromeda stepped forward next, her movements languid and precise. But before her foot could touch the water, Arthur snapped his fingers again. The last remnants of the viridian tint vanished, the water restoring itself to pristine, glowing clarity.
"Poison is a most… lingering guest, Princess," Arthur remarked, his smile gentle.
Andromeda gave a single, slow nod, as if the thought of walking into a pool of dissolved neurotoxin had only just occurred to her, and entered the water. I shook my head minutely. She really is an airhead wrapped in an angel's disguise.
The ritual repeated with eerie familiarity. Arthur's hand on her shoulder, the pale silver dagger materializing, its runes alight.
"Are you ready?" he asked, the same serene smile in place.
Andromeda, in her characteristic silence, simply nodded.
The thrust was a blur of motion—so fast, so surgically precise that for a second, Andromeda showed no reaction. Then, the delayed shock hit. A soft, wet splurt. Her body jerked. A choked gasp escaped her, a ribbon of blood tracing from the corner of her aloof mouth. Her eyes rolled back, and she fell backward into the water, a new cloud of crimson blooming around her.
Damn… there's no getting used to the sight. Or the idea.
The chamber held its breath, the air thick with collective expectation. I found myself theorizing. With that icy demeanor, maybe an Ice Affinity? Something cold and sharp.
The world, it seemed, enjoyed contradicting me.
After nearly ten minutes, the water began to stir. Not with poison, but with a deep, rhythmic swaying, as if stirred by an unseen tide. Then, it began to glow. Not blue, but a profound, majestic violet. The light intensified, flooding the great hall, painting every face, every golden ornament, in hues of royal purple. It was breathtakingly beautiful, a luminosity that felt both alien and sacred.
"Beautiful," someone breathed, the word a prayer.
I had to shield my eyes, the radiance becoming nearly blinding.
When the violet luminescence finally faded, leaving retinal ghosts dancing in my vision, I rubbed my eyes and looked.
The pool was gone. In its place was a shallow, dry basin, the water having vaporized into a fine, shimmering mist that now coiled lazily in the air. At the center stood Andromeda, her hands held slightly before her, palms up. Cradled within them, dancing with serene, deadly grace, were flames. But not the orange-red of common fire. These were flames the color of amethysts and twilight, swirling with an inner heat that made the air above them waver.
"N-no way… another Rare Affinity…" a woman's voice trembled with disbelief.
"And an evolved one!" a tall young man exclaimed, awe stripping the formality from his tone. "As expected of our imperial blood! She has been blessed by a Phoenix!"
Murmurs exploded into open discussion. Evolved Affinities were legends. Purple Fire was the sacred flame of the mythical Violet Phoenix, a creature of rebirth and incineration. To wield it was not just to command fire; it was to command a piece of celestial myth.
"If a Phoenix has truly blessed her… the potential for a future Bond…!" an elderly matriarch whispered, her wrinkled face alight with avaricious hope. "What a divine boon for the Empire!"
Andromeda had, without a doubt, hit the cosmic jackpot.
As I processed this, a sharp tap on my shoulder broke my reverie. What now? I turned, carefully keeping my face neutral.
Londres leaned in, her earlier fury replaced by a smug, gloating smirk. "Do you see now? The chasm between your dirt and our divinity?"
A vein throbbed violently at my temple. Fuck. I want to punch her so badly it hurts. I took a slow, invisible breath, quelling the surge of violence. "You talk too much," I said, my voice dangerously calm. "Just wait your turn."
I shifted my attention back to the spectacle. Arthur, still standing dry in the now-empty basin, offered Andromeda a warm, paternal smile. "Congratulations, Andromeda. You have awakened the Violet Phoenix Flame."
Any normal person would be weeping, laughing, shouting to the heavens. Andromeda merely gave a slight, regal nod, as if accepting a passed salt shaker. The materialized towel found its way to her shoulders, and she walked back, her bare feet silent on the marble, to stand beside me. The same aloof angel, now holding a fragment of the sun's death in her soul.
The hall erupted in respectful applause.
"Congratulations, Andromeda," I said, and I meant it. "A truly magnificent ability."
She acknowledged me with her customary nod.
Sometimes I wonder if she's secretly a mute, I thought. Our entire verbal exchanges since my arrival could be counted on two hands.
I was about to turn away when I heard it—a sound so soft, so airy, it might have been the sigh of the retreating vapor. A murmur, almost inaudible.
"I know you will do better…"
My head snapped to the right. "Did you just say something?"
I was met with her usual, emotionless stare, those lazy crimson pools giving nothing away. It was a look that plainly said, 'What are you talking about?'
Yeah. Must be the adrenaline. Tripping.
"Now," Arthur's voice, amplified and gentle, called the hall back to order. All other sounds died. "Last, but certainly not least… Young Master Lucas."
The shift in focus was a physical pressure. Every single crimson eye in the vast chamber locked onto me. The weight of their collective gaze was immense—a mountain of expectation, curiosity, disdain, and cold appraisal settling on my shoulders. Even the Empress, who had watched the preceding events with an air of bored sovereignty, now leaned forward slightly, her expression sharp and intent. I was an anomaly, a question mark in their ordered world. The pressure was no longer just spiritual; it was political, existential. It sought to crush me, to make me stumble on my way to the pool.
I took a step forward.
Then another.
My boots were silent on the polished floor. The fur-lined shoulder cape of my formal attire swayed with a grace I had practiced for hours in my room. Inside, a tempest raged. But I clung to a core of iron certainty.
They see an ant. A fortunate commoner who strayed into the lion's den.
I don't know why I am her but one thing is certain; I was not brought to this world, to this moment, to fail. I was sent. There is a purpose etched into my soul, a reason that transcends their titles and their bloodlines.
Let the pressure come. Diamonds are not formed in comfort.
I wasn't here to prove myself to these arrogant nobles. I wasn't here to simply survive. I was here to make a statement. A declaration that would one day reverberate through the foundations of this world.
I stopped before Arthur, clasping my hands behind my back, meeting his gaze steadily. He was a giant, but I refused to crane my neck submissively. My eyes tracked a detail I'd missed before: his immaculate white and gold uniform was spotless. Not a single drop of blood from the two princesses marred it. It was as if an invisible barrier separated him from the consequences of his actions.
Trying to be like Gojo Satoru, huh? The absurd thought was a flicker of dark humor.
I wondered, not for the first time, if he enjoyed this part of his duty. The smile never seemed to leave his face.
Another pale dagger coalesced in his hand. This one felt different. It felt… final. The blade that would seek the secret in my heart.
Arthur didn't ask if I was ready. He looked into my eyes and saw the resolve there, the settled calm of a gambler who has already pushed all his chips into the center of the table. He gave a barely perceptible nod.
I expect good things from you, his expression seemed to say.
His left hand came to rest on my shoulder, warm and heavy. The tip of the dagger found the spot over my heart, the runes on its blade beginning to glow with a cold, blue light.
Can't believe I'm actually doing this. Volunteering for a stab to the heart. My therapist in the past life would have had a field day.
Thrust. Splurt.
There was no dramatic wind-up. Just effortless, lethal precision. I looked down. The blade had vanished into my chest, buried to the ornate crossguard. For a heartbeat, I felt nothing but a strange, invasive pressure. The adrenaline, the training, it all conspired to create a buffer.
Then the buffer shattered.
Agony, white-hot and absolute, exploded from the center of my being. It was a pain unlike any training wound, deeper, more violating. It was the feeling of life itself being punctured. My breath hitched. A warm, coppery tide surged up my throat, demanding release.
I refused.
I clenched my jaw, swallowing back the flood. Only a single, thin thread of crimson escaped the corner of my lips, tracing a path down my chin. My face drained of color, but I kept my expression still, my gaze locked on Arthur's.
I gave a single, slow nod.
A spark of genuine, surprised admiration flickered in Arthur's golden eyes. He had seen seasoned warriors scream at this moment. I had not made a sound.
He released me, stepping back, leaving the dagger buried in my chest. I remained standing, swaying slightly but upright. The pool around my boots was rapidly staining a deep, arterial red.
"Huh… he didn't even scream," someone muttered, the shock evident.
"And he's still standing… Does he not feel pain?" a woman's voice wondered aloud.
Even Londres's smugness had vanished, replaced by wide-eyed disbelief. Andromeda, however, watched with that same, knowing calm, as if she had foreseen this tiny defiance.
The world began to narrow. The dagger in my chest dissolved into motes of light, its purpose fulfilled. My vision blurred at the edges, the vibrant colors of the hall leaching away into shades of gray. The spark in my own grey eyes felt like it was guttering, a candle in a rising wind.
But inside, a fierce, final smile bloomed.
I let myself fall backward.
The impact with the water was a shock of cold that was somehow warm, a blanket of numbness after the searing pain. It felt, absurdly, like being embraced. Like a memory of a mother's comfort from a life long gone.
The red water closed over my head. The sounds of the world—the murmurs, the dripping, the distant hum of power—muffled into nothingness.
The light from above fractured, dimmed, and was snuffed out.
Darkness, absolute and welcoming, swallowed me whole.
I died.