The heavy, carved oak doors of Princess Viola's private suite closed with a soft, decisive click, cutting off the chaotic din of the palace corridors.
The air inside was instantly cooler, scented with the calming aroma of burning sandalwood and clean linen.
Just moments earlier, following the tense emergency conclave called by Hermes, Viola had been intercepted in the grand foyer by a cluster of her younger sisters.
Phoebe, her lavender-accented robes immaculate, her eyes downcast as always. Mirelle hovered nearby, her usual cheerful energy dimmed to something quieter, more uncertain. And Naomi stood at the back, her rose-accented robes pristine, her expression as deadpan as ever.
But Viola knew her sisters.
She could see the tension in Naomi's shoulders, the way Mirelle's fingers fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve, the slight tremor in Selene's lower lip.
"We need to talk to you, big sister" Selene said quietly. "Privately."
Viola studied them for a moment.
"Of course," she said, her voice warm. "Come with me. We'll talk in my quarters."
She led them through the palace corridors, her attendants—Heather and Afloc—falling into step behind her. The other princesses' attendants followed as well, a small procession of silent, watchful figures.
When they reached her quarters, Viola paused at the door.
"No one is to disturb us," she told her guards. "No exceptions."
"Yes, Your Highness."
She turned to Heather and Afloc. "Please prepare some snacks for my sisters and me. Something warm. And tea."
Heather glanced at the other attendants, her expression wary. Afloc's hand twitched toward his sleeve—a subtle gesture that Viola recognized as him checking for a hidden weapon.
She met their eyes and gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
'I'll be fine.'
They bowed and departed, though Viola could feel their reluctance like a physical weight. The other attendants remained, standing along the walls like silent sentinels.
Viola gestured to the seating area—a cluster of plush chairs arranged around a low table. "Please, sit. Make yourselves comfortable."
Her sisters settled into their seats, but none of them relaxed.
Viola took her own seat, crossing one leg over the other, her posture perfect. She folded her hands in her lap and waited.
Mirelle spoke first.
"It's about the throne," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "And about Hermes's proposal."
Viola nodded slowly. "I assumed as much."
"We don't want it," Selene blurted out.
The words hung in the air like a confession.
Viola didn't react. She simply waited.
"We never wanted it," Phoebe added, her eyes still downcast.
"We just... we felt like we had to. Father gave us all the tools, all the training, all the expectations. We thought... we thought we had to want it."
"But we don't," Naomi said flatly. "We never did."
Viola studied them. Her sisters—the ones who had always seemed so distant, so caught up in their own ambitions—were now sitting before her, vulnerable and afraid.
She could feel the fear in the room like a physical thing. Their attendants, standing along the walls, were tense, watchful. The other princesses' guards were Votaries—powerful enough to overwhelm Viola, who had almost no combat training.
But Viola was not afraid.
She was a royal of House Zeppelin. Her Flow reserves were vast—arguably the highest among her siblings. And her Arcane Eye... well, her Arcane Eye was something else entirely.
Wanting absolute privacy to speak candidly without the risk of eavesdropping, Viola let out a soft sigh. She reached out with her power, subtle and precise.
A distortion field bloomed around the room—invisible to the naked eye, sealing the acoustic and spiritual boundaries of the suite tight against the outside world.
And almost immediately, she felt it.
A presence.
Someone trying to scry on her.
Rivas.
She smiled thinly.
The rules of the world were clear: if you gaze at someone, they can gaze back. Rivas had made his move, and now he would pay the price.
She pushed back and the invisible scrying link shattered violently, sending a massive kinetic and psychic backlash straight back down the pipeline to whoever was spying on her. The feedback would have been painful—a sharp, brutal shock to his system.
'Serves him right.'
A knock at the door drew her attention.
"Enter," she called.
The pantry door clicked open, and Afloc and Heather stepped out carrying a silver tray laden with steaming cups of herbal tea and delicate pastries.
"Pardon the interruption, Your Highness," Afloc said smoothly, pausing near the edge of the room.
"I thought you should know... Lord Rivas was just outside in the corridor demanding an immediate audience."
Viola inclined her head. "I'm aware. It's not important."
Afloc offered a crisp nod. "Understood."
He and Heather quickly served the group and quietly retreated behind their prince like the other attendants.
Viola smiled at her sisters.
"Please, have some tea. The pastries are from the kitchens—they're quite good."
Selene reached for a pastry, but her hand trembled. She set it back down without taking a bite.
"We came to you because... because we don't know what to do," she admitted.
"Hermes's proposal... it scared us. And the way he talked about Raileigh..." She shuddered.
"We're afraid," Mirelle said, her voice small. "Afraid of what might happen if we don't choose a side. Afraid of what might happen if we do."
Phoebe nodded, still not looking up. "We don't want to be pawns. We don't want to be weapons. We just want to... live."
"Yesterday, when that Dukker boy—Elias—spoke out during lunch, something he said resonated so deeply with us. He pointed out the sheer absurdity of killing ourselves for a seat made of bones and blood." Naomi said, her deadpan facade finally cracking into a genuine, vulnerable expression.
"Some of our brothers—like Rowan and Orion—they don't want the throne just as Leon or Hermes."
"But Orion is someone who lives for thrill and seeks out excitement so he's probably joined them because he thinks it will be fun." Mirelle said
"Rowan is too timid and probably thinks joining with them is the only way and its been years but despite that and the fact that we're siblings I still can't tell what Bjorn is thinking."
"The only ones among all of us who truly want the throne and are ruthless enough to fight to the death for it are Leon, Hermes, Raileigh... and you, Sister." Phoebe added.
They all stared at Viola, a mixture of fear and lingering hope in their eyes.
"We would have gone to warn Raileigh... we know he has potential, and honestly, some part of us thinks it would be wonderful if he somehow survived this madness. But with all the others watching him, he's a walking target." Naomi said.
Viola listened, her expression thoughtful.
"Why did you come to me then? You must have realized I could easily take advantage of your vulnerability, use you as political stepping stones, and seize the crown for myself. You did say I am ruthless enough to take what I want."
Selene reached out, grasping Viola's hand tightly.
"Because out of all of us, you are the kindest, Viola. You have spent years quietly looking out for everyone—even covering up Hermes's and Leon's reckless blunders behind the scenes just to keep the family from tearing itself apart prematurely. We know about your Arcane Eye. We know what you've done."
Viola blinked. "You know?"
"We've always known," Selene said. "Well... we suspected. And our own contacts meant for the throne also confirmed your involvement. But we didn't want to say anything. We thought... we thought you might not want us to know."
Viola was silent for a long moment. Then she let out a soft, breathy chuckle, leaning back in her chair.
"I suppose I have been rather lazy about keeping my secrets hidden, haven't I?" she admitted.
"I thought I was being subtle."
Viola smiled, but there was something thoughtful in her expression. She looked at each of her sisters in turn—Selene, the youngest, trying so hard to be brave; Mirelle, usually so cheerful, now subdued and anxious; Phoebe, distant and melancholic, but kind; Naomi, deadpan and unreadable, but nervous. She let the gentle warmth of her smile wash over them, her eyes glowing with a quiet, revolutionary resolve.
"Let me tell you a secret, my sweet sisters: I do not want the throne either."
The sisters gasped in unison, stunned into absolute silence.
"You... you don't?" Selene asked, her voice barely a whisper.
"No."
"But you're the one who told me—" Mirelle started.
"I know what I said." Viola said firmly.
"If you ask me who truly deserves to sit upon that seat, it is Raileigh."
"Raileigh?" Naomi's brow furrowed. "You want him to have the throne?"
Viola nodded slowly.
"Raileigh is the youngest. He was born after all of us, after our father's first queen died. He grew up alone, without a mother, without allies. And yet... he's the one who challenged us all. He's the one who declared himself a contender. He's the one who awakened an Anomaly Trait."
She paused.
"He's also the one who's kind. The one who sees people for who they are, not for what they can do for him, a genuine heart, a moral compass that hasn't been completely rotted away by court politics, and a vision for a better future."
"But he's young," Selene protested.
"You're young too Selene, yet you both have time to grow and realize your potential."
"But as he stands right now—even with the assumed backing of the Dukker household—he is too isolated, too inexperienced to navigate the vipers' nest of the capital alone. He would be crushed by the greater opposition. I won't let that happen."
Viola leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her gaze locking onto each of them in turn.
"So I will take the throne."
Her sisters stared at her in utter bewilderment. "Sister, you just said—"
"Listen to me," Viola interrupted gently.
"I will claim the crown. I will absorb the political backlash, weather the storm, purge the corruption, and handle all the suffocating negativity of the court. And when the dust has settled and the kingdom is stable once more... I will willingly hand the crown over to Raileigh. He is a good man, destined to help bring a future we can only dream of, even if he was born a latecomer to the game. My true goal has never been to rule. It is simply to make sure no one else takes what's his and ensure that he never loses his way and follows the left hand paths."
Tears welled in Mirelle's eyes, while Selene let out a shaky, relieved sob. "And... and what about us, Sister?"
"Each of you has your own dreams, your own aspirations far away from this wretched palace," Viola said, her voice dropping to a tender, fierce whisper.
"I've watched you—all of you—for years. Selene, you love music. You want to compose, to perform, to travel the world and hear every song ever written. Mirelle, you love nature. You want to explore the forests, study the beasts, understand the world in a way no one else does. Phoebe, you love history. You want to write, to document, to preserve the stories of those who came before us."
She turned to Naomi.
"And you, Naomi. You love books. You love knowledge. You want to learn everything there is to know, and then learn more. You want to teach, to share, to inspire."
Naomi's deadpan expression cracked, just slightly.
"I want to help you realize those dreams," Viola said.
"Without the pressure of our bloodline weighing you down. Without the fear of being used as pawns. Without the constant, exhausting struggle for power."
Selene's eyes welled with tears.
"You... you really mean that?"
"I do and this extends to our brothers as well."
Without another word, Selene lunged forward, throwing her arms around Viola's neck. A second later, Phoebe, Mirelle, and Naomi joined in, burying their faces in her shoulders as a collective wave of overwhelming relief washed over them.
Right now, they were not Princes, not rivals, not pawns.
Just sisters.
Viola opened her arms wide, holding them close, a serene smile gracing her lips.
"There, there. Everything is going to be fine. Now do take your tea before it grows cold, and leave the rest to big sister Viola ok? I already have everything planned out."
*
The rooftop was chaos.
Elias—still in his Yako form—danced across the tiles, his chakrams spinning in his hands. Layl lunged at him from the left, her blade a silver blur. He deflected with one chakram and spun to meet Yulan's attack from the right, catching her spear with the other.
Clang!
Strapped securely to his back with shimmering chakram threads was an extremely grumpy, muffled, and furiously swearing Prince Leon, who was currently trying to headbutt Elias between bouts of muffled profanity.
"Hold still, you lunatic!" Layl snarled, her hook sword blade slicing through the air where Elias's head had been a moment before.
"I'm afraid I can't do that," Elias replied cheerfully, skipping backward to avoid Dmitri's swinging fist.
"I've got a prince to babysit."
"You're insane!"
"Probably!"
He kicked off the roof, using the density altering artifact on his other bicep to float. Layl , Dmitri and Yulan followed, their Flow-enhanced leaps carrying them higher.
He landed on a roof and the trio landed after him. The crowd of rioters moved with them, surrounding this new building and throwing things at the roof.
Layl charged and her attack phased through his misty form though he still had to sidestep to avoid the Prince getting stabbed. Layl steadied herself and turned to face him, raising her weapon. Dmitri and Yulan were standing on either side of him, ready to charge.
"Just surrender, Agent Orange!" Layl shouted over the deafening roar of the marching mob below, thrusting her blade forward.
"You're cornered!"
"Cornered? Me? Never!" Elias cackled in his theatrical, echoing phantom voice, spinning gracefully to parry Yulan's spear, a pudao.
"But you guys sure are ungrateful! Look at me, taking time out of my day to babysit a pompous royal and make sure he gets much needed fresh air and this is the thanks I get?"
"The Prince doesn't seem too fond of outings." Yulan said, tightening her grip on her weapon.
"Oh but I beg to differ. Look at him! He loves the view!"
"Mmph! Mmmph-ghh!" Leon yelled angrily against his gag.
" Dmitri took advantage and struck with the ball of his Kusarigama."
"Hey!" Elias yelped taking a step back as it struck the ground in front of him.
"Rude!" he folded his arms and looked away but just then, cracks spread out from the point of impact of Dmitri's weapon.
"Uh-Oh."
CRACK-BOOM!
With a terrifying lurch, the entire center of the roof collapsed inward.
"Whoa—!" Elias yelped, losing his footing as he and a screaming Leon plummeted straight down into the shadowy, dust-choked attic of the abandoned tenement building.
Outside the jagged hole in the roof, Dmitri cautiously stepped forward to the crumbling edge, peering down into the darkness to inspect the damage.
"Did we get him?" he called up.
Suddenly, a smoky, masked blur rocketed straight back up out of the hole like a launched torpedo.
Before Dmitri could even blink, Elias swung a heavy, Flow Infused cast-iron frying pan—looted from the attic kitchen mid-fall—with pinpoint accuracy, connecting squarely against the side of Dmitri's helmet with a resounding CLANG!
Dmitri's eyes rolled back instantly, his knees buckling as he collapsed unconscious onto the tiles.
"POP GOES THE WEASEL!" Elias yelled as he landed lightly on his feet beside the fallen Inquisitor, he struck a dramatic pose, pointing a finger upward.
Layl dove forward, her hands outstretched to grab him, but she only managed to catch empty air as Yulan frantically intercepted, grabbing the tumbling Dmitri before he rolled off the roof.
"Sorry about that, I'd love to stay and chat, but—"
Elias used the gravity altering band on his bicep this time and with his flaming chakrams soared back into the open sky, cackling merrily into the wind.
Having secured her fallen partner, Yulan spun the pudao once then pulled her arm back, and hurled it with terrifying, supersonic velocity straight at the retreating phantom.
The spear cut through the air like a streak of lightning before reaching Elias with a loud BOOM!