MILA'S CHAMBERS
At the center of the room stood Milani, her silver-edged robes shimmering like liquid as they pooled around her feet. Her fingers, slender and deliberate, traced the hilt of the dagger sheathed at her waist—a weapon as sharp as her ambition.
Across from her, leaning against a towering marble pillar, was Leviam. His battle-worn gauntlets were crossed over his broad chest, the scars from the Last War still visible beneath the dim light. They formed a lattice of pale lines against his dusk-colored skin, a map of battles fought and survived. His voice, rough with exhaustion yet firm with resolve, broke the silence.
"Yeah," he said, his deep tone carrying the weight of years of struggle. "After the war, we will tell them all."
Milani turned sharply, the jewels woven into her intricate braids catching the torchlight, scattering tiny sparks of gold and crimson across the walls. Her dark eyes, sharp and calculating, locked onto Leviam's.
"One more thing, Leviam," she said, her voice smooth but edged with something dangerous.
He raised an eyebrow, his expression guarded but curious. "What is it, Mila?"
Her lips curled into a smile—cold, deliberate, the kind of smile that belonged to a predator sensing weakness in its prey. "I want to be Queen."
For a heartbeat, the room seemed to freeze. Leviam's breath hitched, his chest tightening as if struck by an unseen force. The torchlight flickered violently, as though the very air recoiled from the weight of her words. He pushed off the pillar, his armor clinking softly as he straightened to his full height.
"What?" His voice was low, disbelief threading through his words. "That's impossible. You know that, don't you?"
Milani laughed—a sound like shattering glass, sharp and brittle. "Impossible?" She tilted her head, her braids swaying with the movement. "Nothing is impossible. All we need is to carefully strategize our plans."
Leviam dragged a hand down his face, his calloused fingers catching on the rough stubble of his jaw. He exhaled slowly, the weight of her ambition pressing down on him like a physical force. "It's not going to be easy, Mila."
"I know," she whispered, stepping closer. The shadows around them deepened, swallowing the edges of the room until only the two of them remained in the dim glow of the torches. "But we can make it happen."
For a long moment, Leviam studied her—the fire in her gaze, the unyielding set of her shoulders, the quiet fury that simmered beneath her calm exterior. He had fought beside her in the Last War, had seen the lengths she would go to achieve her goals. And now, standing before him, she was no longer just a warrior—she was a storm waiting to be unleashed.
Finally, he nodded. "Alright," he said, his voice steady despite the unease coiling in his gut. "Let's plan it out."
Milani's grin widened, sharp as the blade at her waist. "Agreed." She turned back to the arched window, where the distant spires of the Celestial Citadel pierced the twilight sky like jagged teeth. The rulers of the realm—Sted and Krelious—sat atop those towers, unaware of the storm brewing beneath them.
Milani's voice dropped to a venomous whisper, her fingers tightening around the dagger's hilt. "Just you watch, Sted. Krelious." The promise in her words was as deadly as any weapon. "I will bring you both down… and rule over everything."
To Be Continued.