Elma stood before the massive front gates of the manor, her small frame swallowed by the oppressive silence of the estate.
In the distance, the muffled roar of the city reached them—a chaotic symphony of cheers, trumpets, and thunderous applause. The people of the capital were welcoming their soldiers home.
Christa stood beside her, a silver statue of aristocratic perfection. They were both draped in formal regalia; Elma's dress was a masterpiece of suffocating silk and stiff lace that felt more like a cage than a garment. Every breath was a battle against the corset-like cinching, a physical reminder of the "Silk" role she was forced to play.
They waited for an hour, the sun dipping lower, casting long shadows across the courtyard. Then, the gates groaned open.
Two silhouettes stepped through.
The first was unmistakable. Draped in golden regalia, Valerius Altheris walked in with a heavy, rhythmic stride. A jagged, vertical scar ran down his left cheek.
Beside him walked a man dressed in austere black, his frame just as massive as Valerius's. He had raven-dark hair and piercing blue eyes that looked like frozen lakes. His face was a mask of glacial indifference, a sharp contrast to the boisterous energy radiating from Valerius.
As they stepped onto the main path, the Alloys and guards lined the entrance in a synchronized salute.
The two men didn't slow down—until they reached the ten-meter mark.
Suddenly, the air thickened. She felt their weight, heavier than anything she had ever known, more crushing than Christa and Sable combined. Their presence didn't just overlap her domain; it threatened to extinguish it.
Her breathing broke into ragged heaves.
Valerius and the man in black stopped instantly, as if they had felt the same, their eyes locked onto Elma, pinning her to the spot.
"Not possible," the man in black whispered, his voice cold.
"Hahaha!" Valerius's laughter boomed. He slapped the man in black on the shoulder. "You learned how to shape your Aegis at this age, my daughter? I told you she was special, Varik!"
Elma exhaled slowly, her lungs finally finding room to expand.
He's just as gullible as ever.
Christa stepped forward, performing a perfect, formal curtsy. "Welcome home, Lord Valerius. And Strategoi Varik, it is a rare honor to host you within these walls. Thank you both for your service at the Shore."
Strategoi—
Valerius didn't wait for further formalities. He stepped into Elma's space, the scent of iron and salt clinging to his armor. He scooped her up into a crushing embrace. "You remember me, don't you, Elma?"
"How could she? She's four," Varik interrupted.
The walk into the manor was a blur of silver-clad guards and bowing servants. Soon, they were seated in the Dining Hall. The table was a spread of roasted meats, winter fruits, and heavy wines.
Elma found herself locked in a silent, recurring staring contest with Varik. Every time she looked up from her plate, those ice-blue eyes were there, dissecting her.
A Strategoi, like Fenric. Is Valerius one too? Their presence carries the same weight.
"Your old man was a nightmare, Varik," Valerius said, tearing into a piece of bread. "He kept questioning every decision I made at the Shore. To be honest, I never thought I'd make it back without breaking his skull."
"If you had," Varik said with a flat voice, "I would have to break yours."
Valerius let out another booming roar of laughter that made the silverware rattle. "Hahaha! You really think you can? You want another duel?"
"I think we're too old for such theatrics," Varik replied. His gaze flickered back to Elma, sharper than a blade. "You truly have a strange child, she doesn't resemble you at all."
You're stranger.
"She is stoic, indeed," Valerius agreed. "Quiet. Observant. Honestly, she's starting to act more like you than me." He paused, taking a long sip of wine before leaning in. "Speaking of which, how is your boy? You never mention him."
"I don't know," Varik replied. He set his glass down with a silent click. "It's been long since I last saw him."
"Well, I never understood you Thornes," Valerius grunted, leaning back as he gestured with a wine-stained finger toward Varik. "Never liked any of you either. Except for you, maybe—though you piss me off more than the rest sometimes."
"I wonder why," Varik replied.
Elma's eye twitched. Varik felt condescending, a silent glacier amidst Valerius's roaring fire.
Valerius took a napkin and dragged it across his mouth. He then threw a sharp, meaningful look at one of the maids. She bowed so low her forehead nearly touched the floor before scurrying out of the hall.
Beside Elma, Christa suddenly stood up. Without a single word or a glance at her husband, she retreated from the room, her silk gown whispering against the stone.
A moment later, four Alloys marched in, dragging a heavy, rattling mass of silver-grade chains. In the center of the steel was Nagin. The assassin looked pathetic, his once-feared presence reduced to a bruised, shivering wreck.
"What do you think?" Valerius asked.
Varik paused, his fork hovering for a second before he set it down. He looked at Nagin with the clinical detachment of a man inspecting a piece of spoiled fruit. "Just as I thought from the report," Varik said. "He is a Hephryx creation."
Elma's breath hitched at the name. They weren't supposed to just say it like that.
Valerius stood up, his massive frame casting a shadow that swallowed Nagin whole. He walked toward the prisoner, his boots heavy on the rug. "Is he still working in your lands?"
"No," Varik answered, returning to his meal. "He moved four years ago. He's working on some 'new project' now. Private funding."
Valerius stood directly before the chained Nagin.
"Who sent you?" Valerius asked. His voice unusually low.
"Don't bother," Varik said. "He won't speak."
Valerius reached out, his hand grabbed Nagin's head.
The sound was sickening: the wet, splintering crack of a skull being compressed like an eggshell.
Then, his head exploded.
Gore splattered against the pristine white tablecloth and the silver chains. The body slumped, a headless puppet in the grip of a giant.
Elma froze. The sight felt surreal. It was almost like she'd forgotten what people looked like on the inside.
Valerius turned back to Varik, wiping a fleck of dark blood from his thumb. "You know where he is?"
"No," Varik said, his eyes finally lifting from his plate. "But he's not stupid. I'll leave a message for him. He'll come to you within the next few days."
He's coming.
Hephryx, the name acted like a corrosive acid on Elma's mental defenses. Sudden flashes of the dark, cramped coffin, the sickly humid rot.
No. He can't take me back. Not now. Her thoughts scrambled for an anchor. Sable. Where is Sable? She still needs me.
She opened her eyes, gasping for a breath against the suffocating silk she was wrapped in. Varik hadn't moved. He was still staring at her, his ice-blue eyes boring into her skull.
Tsk.
The sound escaped her teeth. Elma didn't think. She surged her Aegis, a violent, upward kinetic thrust.
CRASH
The massive oak table flew toward Varik, rotating in mid-air. Plates of gold, crystal carafes, and half-eaten food were flung into the air like debris in a gale. Varik's dinner fell back onto his lap as the table frame nearly clipped his chin.
Silence returned, heavier than the table itself. Valerius slowly turned his head, his brows furrowed.
The guards didn't move. No one breathed.
"Stop looking at me," Elma said. Her voice was thin, but it vibrated with a cold, lethal frequency that had no business coming from a child.
Varik didn't wipe the wine from his face. He simply stared at the space where the table had been, then shifted his gaze back to the tiny girl standing amidst the wreckage.
"I withdraw," Varik said, his voice as level as a frozen river. "She's indeed just like you, Valerius."
Valerius's laughter started as a low rumble in his chest before erupting into another booming roar. He stepped behind Elma, placing a heavy hand on her shoulder. The weight of it was suffocating, yet strangely grounding.
"Hahaha! You hate that lifeless stare as well, don't you?" Valerius grinned down at her. "Too much Thorne-ice in the room makes anyone want to break something."
Why did I do that again? Elma thought, her heart hammering. She looked at her trembling hands. The clinical distance, the "Iron" logic—it had all failed her.
Elma reached for the collar of her dress, her fingers trembling as she clawed at the stiff, suffocating silk.
Valerius simply reached out with his massive, calloused hands, hooked them into the delicate lace of her neckline, and yanked.
He shredded the bodice down to the waist, the expensive fabric falling away in jagged ruins, finally giving her chest room to expand.
"There you go," Valerius grunted, tossing a scrap of lace aside as if it were a used bandage. "Can't imagine how anyone could breathe in that nonsense. From now on, wear whatever you want."
Varik adjusted his position in his chair, his gaze dropping to the ruined finery on the floor. "Are you serious? She is a daughter of a High House. There are... expectations."
"True power doesn't need expectations, Varik," Valerius countered. He looked down at Elma, his eyes alight with that terrifying, delusional pride. "A lion doesn't need to wear a crown to be a king."
Elma stared up at him, her chest heaving, the cool air of the hall washing her skin.
"I want wide dresses," Elma said. Her voice was small, but the intent was clinical. It was the first time she had ever asked for anything.
"Then wide dresses you shall get," Valerius answered, his grin widening.
Elma stood amidst the wreckage of the dining hall—the spilled wine, the headless corpse of an assassin, and the splattered remains of a Strategoi's dinner. A cold, grim satisfaction took root in her heart, spreading like frost.
Valerius is her greatest weapon. He is so utterly convinced that she's his "best achievement" that he would burn the world down to keep her comfortable.
She could do whatever she wanted. She could become the monster she needed to be, and he would simply call it "potential."
Elma turned her head, looking back at Varik. For the first time, she wanted him to watch. A light, predatory grin touched her lips, a silent acknowledgment of the power she now realized she held over the Duke.
Varik's face didn't change. His ice-blue eyes remained as flat and unreadable as a frozen tundra, but for a fleeting second, the air between them grew thin.
The Strategoi knew exactly what she was doing. And Elma didn't care.