Lilith
Holly Palace
Raider city
Ardonia Region
Kingdom of Ashtarium
December 7th 6414
The next morning, I found myself back in Greta's forge lab, a flicker of excitement warming my chest. It was a rare feeling—clean, untainted. I hadn't felt this kind of thrill since the first time I started learning Magic under Aeternum's guidance, when every spell was a revelation and every failure was still progress.
For a brief moment, I forgot the burning hatred simmering beneath my ribs. The grief. The guilt. The chaos. All of it faded into the background, eclipsed by the hum of possibility. Aeternum's voice had returned sometime during the night, quieter than usual—contemplative. It had spent hours trying to study Greta's prototype from within the Codex's internal dimension, examining it from every angle, running scan after scan.
But it was no use.
"There's a protective enchantment layered through its design," Aeternum finally admitted. "Subtle, clever, and deeply rooted. It's not just arcane encryption—it's reactive. It evolves when probed."
I smirked. Greta had warned me not to let the Codex study her work. I'd ignored her—naturally—but she'd anticipated it. She was several steps ahead, her playful act last night hiding the hand of a master.
"She's good," I murmured.
"She's better than good," Aeternum replied, sounding almost impressed. "She thinks like a smith, codes like a sorcerer, and hides her knowledge like a trickster god. Be careful."
"Oh, I will," I said, stepping deeper into the lab.
The forge lab was alive with quiet magic. The walls pulsed with the ambient thrum of stored energy, and shelves were lined with raw materials—mythic ores, crystalized mana, even bones from creatures I couldn't name. The centerpiece was an intricate anvil surrounded by a hexagram of glowing runes that shifted with the subtlest movements of the Forge's breath.
Greta was already there, ginger hair tied back in a loose braid, heavy gloves on, her coat slung across a nearby chair. She didn't look up as she worked a floating crucible over open flame, the molten core inside shimmering with a light not found in nature.
"You're early," she said, as though she'd sensed me the moment I entered.
"So are you."
"I live here," she replied, glancing at me with a crooked grin. "What's your excuse?"
"I was curious. And maybe a little eager," I admitted.
"Good," she said, turning toward a second workstation. "Because today, we start with the basics. No fancy enchantments. No Magic. Just heat, metal, and patience. If you mess up, the worst that happens is a minor explosion."
"Comforting."
She laughed. "You'll be fine. Probably."
As I stepped up beside her, the forge flared with a burst of light, and for a heartbeat, I felt like the person I used to be—before the weight of bloodlines, fate, and vengeance. Just a soul learning something new. And for the first time in a long time, that was enough.
Greta pulled out a long, narrow ingot of metal—an ore that glowed faintly, shifting hues between silver and blue. It wasn't infused with any enchantment, not yet. Just raw material. Pure potential.
"We're starting with this," she said, placing it on a worn stone table next to an anvil. "This is shimmer steel. A forgiving metal. It doesn't warp too easily, and it holds a shape well. Perfect for practice."
"Practice for what?" I asked.
She handed me a hammer.
"For hitting things. Gracefully."
I stared at the tool in my hand. It wasn't overly large, but its weight was real—balanced, solid. The handle was worn smooth from use. Greta pointed at the metal laid out before me.
"Your task is simple: I want you to flatten one side, shape the other into a taper, and keep the metal evenly heated while doing it. You'll be using physical force, not magic, so no shortcuts. No enchantments. Just rhythm, pressure, and control."
I raised an eyebrow. "You want me to hammer a bar of metal into shape… manually?"
Greta folded her arms. "Exactly. You don't learn the art by skipping to the runes and rituals. You learn it by understanding the feel of metal, the way it reacts to pressure, heat, and time. You have to hear it sing."
"Hear it… sing?"
"You'll know what I mean when you do it right."
I took a deep breath, picked up the metal with tongs, and placed it into the forge. Flames wrapped around it, and the shimmer steel began to glow with a molten blush. Greta nodded in approval, then stepped back.
"Now bring it to the anvil. One side at a time. Keep your strikes consistent. You're not smashing—it's a conversation between you and the metal."
The moment I struck the ingot, I understood what she meant. The first hit felt wrong—too heavy. The second was better. By the third, I felt the subtle give beneath the surface, the slight rebound of resistance. The metal pushed back, not harshly, but enough to let me know it was alive in its own way. I began to fall into rhythm. Heat. Strike. Turn. Strike. Reheat. Sweat gathered at the back of my neck. My arms ached. But I didn't stop.
Greta circled me slowly, hands behind her back like a watchful instructor. "Good tempo," she said, her voice smooth and calm. "You're not trying to overpower the metal—you're persuading it."
"How long do I have to do this?"
"Until it feels like second nature." She paused, then added with a smirk, "Or until your arms fall off. Whichever comes first."
"What!" I snapped, my excitement deflating like a popped balloon. I narrowed my eyes at her, realizing a bit too late that she'd tricked me into doing grunt work under the pretense of "Arcane Craftsmanship."
"Come on," Greta said, trying to suppress her grin. "It's a good exercise. Trust me. You'll thank me when you can forge blindfolded."
"Sure I will," I muttered, dragging the hammer back up and getting to work again.
Days passed in a haze of heat, ringing steel, and aching shoulders. I kept at it—heating, striking, turning, shaping. Over and over. Greta spent most of her time across the forge lab, hunched over her own mysterious project. Now and then, she'd stroll over, glance at my work, give a casual thumbs-up, and say something like, "Looking good!"
The problem was—I wasn't even sure I'd made any progress. The shimmersteel still didn't hold the taper right, and the edges always cooled too quickly. I was just barely keeping the shape together, and it felt more like I was wrestling the metal than persuading it.
I was half-convinced Greta was just humoring me.
But each time I thought about quitting, something stopped me. The rhythm. The feel. The silence between strikes. For once, my mind wasn't racing with vengeance or regret. Just the sound of steel meeting steel. Creation instead of destruction.
And maybe… just maybe… I was learning something. Even if Greta was still clearly enjoying herself a little too much at my expense.
By the end of the fourth day, my arms felt like lead weights. My hands were blistered despite the protective gauntlets, and sweat dripped steadily down my back. I raised the hammer one more time, struck the shimmering alloy, and set it gently down.
Before I could groan or curse or let my body slump into the nearest chair, I heard footsteps.
Greta.
She strolled over, this time not with her usual half-grin or sarcastic comment, but with a rare stillness in her expression. Her eyes lingered on the metal I had been shaping—a crude, unfinished blade, but one with a proper taper, smooth curvature, and clean structure.
"You're starting to understand the metal," she said, voice low and thoughtful. "You're not fighting it anymore."
I blinked, caught off-guard. "So… I passed your exercise?"
"No." She grinned, sharp and sudden. "But you're ready for something harder."
My shoulders slumped. "Of course I am."
"You've learned how to shape a flat bar and how to maintain rhythm without splintering the grain. Let's try something new." Greta said. She tossed me a fresh ingot and walked to a different workbench, pulling out a series of shaped templates—cones, spheres, cubes, even a few basic blade outlines.
"This," she said, pointing to a sphere template, "is your next challenge. I want you to heat and hammer that ingot into a rough sphere. It won't be perfect, but I want to see how well you manage symmetry."
"Symmetry with a hammer," I said. "Sounds like a joke."
"Only if you give up halfway," she replied, smirking.
And so the next phase began. Day after day, she introduced new shapes. Cones, rods, rings. Each one required different pressure, angles, and finesse. Greta guided without hovering, corrected without scolding.
"Don't angle your wrist like that—you'll chip it."
"See that line? That's where the metal's trying to resist. Don't force it. Shift your strike just slightly off-center."
Over time, the metal began to yield more easily. I started to feel the rhythm. I learned to recognize when I was pushing too hard or holding back too much. I messed up often, ruined more than a few attempts—but Greta never once snapped or mocked me.
One day, she placed a near-perfect sphere I had made next to one of her own.
"Not bad," she said, tapping mine gently with a metal rod. It rang with a clean, clear tone. "Still a bit uneven on the underside, but you're getting the hang of it."
"Seriously?" I said, staring at it like it was someone else's work.
She grinned. "Soon, we'll move on to channel slots and elemental veins. But for now, keep shaping."
I looked at the hammer in my hand. The heat of the forge. The metal cooling on the anvil. And for the first time in a long while, I felt like I was making something that mattered.
****
Ariella's POV
The morning after our dinner with Jack, Lil made an announcement over breakfast—she'd be starting Forgemastering lessons with Greta and would be spending most of her time in the forge lab from now on. She was calm when she said it, almost too casual, but I could sense the weight beneath her words.
I didn't know what had suddenly sparked her interest in becoming a Forgemaster, but deep down, I understood.
Father had always taught Lil how to fix broken things. Furniture. Weapons. Even wounded soldiers. Maybe this was her way of trying to fix something she couldn't touch—herself.
I hadn't brought it up, but I knew the whole situation with Jen was still gnawing at her. Even if she tried to act indifferent, it lingered around her like a quiet shadow.
Eduardo also excused himself. He said he needed time for introspection. I figured he wanted to learn more about his Divine protection—whatever Maveth had placed inside him.
That left me.
Ben had locked himself in Lil's Codex, pushing himself through the endless battle simulations Lil had programmed. He was growing stronger—determined.
And I was alone.
With nothing else to do, I found myself wandering into one of the manor's many training halls. I didn't know what I was looking for—peace, maybe. Control. A feeling of progress.
I stood at the far end of the chamber, the bow in my hands cool and familiar. Noct Aeturnum. The weapon Lil had given me. Its surface was still black-gold—quiet, dormant. Not the radiant crimson-gold it had turned when my Sin Factor awakened against the shadow entity.
Sanders had told me the Sin had fully awakened within me. And yet… I couldn't call it forth. Not again. No matter how many arrows I fired. No matter how long I trained. Nothing. I loosed another arrow. It curved through the air in a tight arc—an impossible shot from this angle—and struck dead center.
"Nice shot," a voice said behind me. Jack.
I didn't turn. My breathing remained steady, fingers gently tightening on the bowstring.
"It's an okay shot," I replied.
He chuckled softly. "Can't take a compliment, huh?"
"Any decent archer should've been able to make that shot," I said, lowering the bow. "The angle just needed the right breath control."
Jack stepped closer. "Sure. But the timing, the tension—your rhythm's better than decent."
I glanced at him. He was wearing that half-smile again, the kind that made it hard to tell if he was teasing or being sincere.
"Doesn't feel like enough," I admitted quietly. "I still can't summon the Sin Factor. It's like something's blocking me."
"Maybe you're trying too hard," he said. "Or maybe… it's not about summoning it at all. Maybe it's about accepting it."
I looked at him, then at the bow. Noct Aeturnum pulsed faintly in my hands, like it had heard him too.
"I have, though," I said, holding his gaze.
Jack tilted his head slightly. "Hmm. Okay. I'll help you."
"Help me?" I raised an eyebrow. "How?"
"I'll draw out your Sin," Jack said simply. "As a Kuria, I'm distantly related to the Ashtarmel line, you know."
"I'm aware," I said, crossing my arms.
"Then you also know that as an Elder Vampire of your lineage… I can reach into blood that's still in slumber." He stepped closer, lifting his arms. "It's possible for me to draw out your nascent abilities—if you let me."
Before I could answer, he spread his fingers.
A sudden jolt hit my chest—sharp, like a thread had been tugged from within. I gasped. A sting bloomed across my cheek, and a single droplet of blood floated up, shimmering with golden tint, as if lit from within.
Jack caught it in his palm. The moment it touched his skin, his expression shifted—serious, then intrigued. He raised it to his lips and tasted it.
His eyes glinted. "Hmm… interesting. Very interesting."
"What is it?" I asked, heart beginning to race.
He met my eyes. "I finally understand why your progress has been so slow… even with all the talent you have."
My breath caught. "What reason?"
"You've been cultivating on the wrong path," he said.
"What?" I blinked. "But I'm a body cultivator. That's what I've always been trained for. Physical motion, mana reinforcement—"
Jack shook his head. "That's only half of your foundation now. Before your vampirism awakened, sure—your body could only handle body cultivation. But you're not that person anymore, Ariella. You're Ashtarmel. You're Lionheart. You're Boundless."
His voice dropped, low and deliberate. "Your body isn't rejecting your training. It's starving."
"For what?" I breathed.
"Factor Path Cultivation," Jack said.
The words struck me like a pulse of light through fog. I had heard of it before—a path distinct from the Mana cultivation most Ascendants used. Factor Path cultivation wasn't about channeling mana or training the body. It was about nurturing the Essence Factor within you—the living core of your Ability Factor.
It was said that this essence could be cultivated, refined, and elevated just like mana or qi. A separate path, but one that could lead to the heights of Ascension—if you had a Factor worth evolving.
"You need to treat your Ability Factor like a living organ," Jack continued. "Feed it. Refine it. Harmonize with it. Make it more than an inheritance—make it you."
He stepped back, letting the words sink in. I lowered my gaze to Noct Aeturnum. The black-gold surface shimmered faintly, pulsing as if it had been listening the entire time.
And in that moment… everything clicked.
"Hm," Jack murmured, studying me with sharpened focus. "It seems your Sin Factor has undergone a drastic change."
I tensed. "What do you mean?"
"The essence within your blood has likely undergone a biological evolution—triggered by the fusion of bloodlines," he said. "Specifically, the Lionheart inheritance passed down from Marie Lionheart."
Guinevere Marie Ashtarmel. My mother. She had been born into the proud and relentless Lionheart martial clan, long before she met my father—a grieving widower still mourning the death of his first wife. Somehow, through shared wounds and quiet love, they found each other. He eventually turned her, binding her to the vampire bloodline. Centuries later… they had me.
Jack's eyes narrowed slightly. "Your Sin Factor of Radiance didn't just awaken—it merged. It's become part of your Lionheart bloodline factor, forming something entirely new. Something not seen before."
I stared at him. "How do you know all this?"
Jack tapped the side of his head, then gestured to me. "It's all in your Ethereal Gland. The information is encoded in your essence—your Factor signature. I'm a Kuria Elder, Ariella. I know how to read what most can't even sense."
"Ethereal gland?" I echoed, confused.
Jack nodded. "It's a metaphysical organ that exists somewhere deep in the brain—though it's not something you'll find on any anatomy chart."
He stepped closer, voice steady and instructive. "It's a specialized spiritual and biological structure, present only in beings with an awakened Ability Factor. Think of it as the interface between body, soul, and the cosmos itself. It's what allows cultivators—like you—to channel, refine, and evolve their unique abilities."
I listened, still processing.
"In short," Jack continued, "the Ethereal Gland holds the coded blueprint of your bloodline traits, your Ability Factor's resonance, and even dormant hybrid potential. Everything is stored there—written in essence and memory. And by tapping into it…" His eyes glinted with knowing, "I can read everything there is to know about your power."
He stepped forward and added, almost too casually, "I can also do this."
Jack reached out and tapped my forehead with a single finger.
A searing pain shot through my eyes. I gasped and stumbled, clutching my head as golden light erupted from behind my vision. My senses exploded—waves of stimuli crashing into me all at once. I could hear the soft hum of the mana currents in the walls, feel the subtle temperature differences in the air, taste the electricity of the light above us.
It was overwhelming.
But slowly—breath by breath—I adapted. The light dimmed, my vision clearing. The overload ebbed just enough for me to process what I was seeing.
I looked up at Jack—irritation rising in my chest—but the moment I laid eyes on him, the emotion froze.
He wasn't just standing there. He was radiating.
Bathed in light. Not just any light—deep light, threaded with colors I didn't have names for. I instinctively knew that if I stared too long, if I tried to peel back even one more layer, it would drown me in knowledge far beyond comprehension.
And it wasn't just him.
The entire room shimmered with flowing particles—like threads of light and sound made visible. No, not threads. Waves. Like time and space had started to breathe, and my senses had learned to listen.
My internal awareness had been amplified a thousandfold. My perception was no longer limited to sight or hearing—it was as if I could feel existence.
"What… is this?" I whispered.
Jack's tone shifted, gentle but reverent. "It seems your Ability Factor has taken a path unlike the rest of your family's. You're not just an Ashtarmel, or a Lionheart."
He met my gaze and gave a small nod. "You've awakened a Mystic Eye. Its name… is the Boundless Eye."
He stepped back, giving me space as the waves of perception settled into clarity.
"Your sight is no longer bound by time or space," he continued. "With the Boundless Eye, you can perceive the flow of spatial and temporal pathways—see how energy moves through reality, how cause and effect interlace."
I looked around the room, seeing more than just walls and light—I saw the fabric behind them.
"You can trace spiritual pathways, unravel energy structures, and even interpret the entire light spectrum—visible and invisible. Electromagnetic waves, particle shifts, even metaphysical signatures… they're all exposed to you now."
The chamber no longer looked like a room. It felt like I was standing inside a living equation. Reality had opened itself to me, and the Boundless Eye was my key. I felt like there was more I could do with these eyes of mine. Something deeper. Something… waiting.
The world around me shifted. It was subtle at first—like a breath being held. Then everything expanded. A second layer of reality unfolded, written over the first like a veil peeling back. I stood at the center of it all—like the eye of a storm.
In this layered space, everything felt tethered to me. The air, the energy, even the light. I wasn't just standing in this zone—I was ruling it.
"Impressive," Jack said, his tone both surprised and approving. "Your Mystic Eye isn't just a perception technique. It's a gateway. It allows you to manifest a Domain Technique."
"A… what?" I asked, even though I already knew. He was right. I had instinctively deployed a miniature domain around myself, birthed from the Boundless Eye—a unique expression of my Boundless Factor. A name echoed in my mind.
Endless Reign.
Jack had said that everything about my Ability Factor was stored in my Ethereal Gland. With these eyes… I could see into it. Navigate it. Understand it.
And now, I could manifest it.
Jack stepped toward the edge of the shimmering boundary I'd unconsciously created.
"Domain Techniques," he said, hands clasped behind his back, "are rare even among elite cultivators. They're the manifestation of one's core truth—a territory where your will reshapes reality to obey the laws of your Ability Factor."
I kept still, letting the space breathe around me. Everything felt sharp—obedient.
Jack continued, "Most Domains are cultivated over time. But some are instinctive—innate. Yours is the latter. The Boundless Eye didn't just unlock your perception—it unlocked your right to reign."
"So this is part of my Boundless Factor," I said, more to myself than to him.
He nodded. "Yes. And this Domain of yours... I felt it the moment it touched me. It's called Endless Reign, isn't it?"
I looked at him in surprise. "You felt that?"
"I did," he said. "It's not like most domains. It doesn't just warp space—it overrides limitations. I can tell. Inside this field, you're not bound by the same physical or metaphysical laws. You're rewriting the rules as you move."
I swallowed. "So... what do I do with it?"
A slow smile curved across his face. "You test it."
"You mean in a fight?" I asked, narrowing my eyes. "But with who…"
"Who else but me?" Jack said, grinning. "I'll only use my pinky finger. You? Use that shortsword on your belt and come at me."
My hand instinctively moved to the weapon at my waist, uncertain. Sure, I felt stronger inside this domain of light I had formed—Endless Reign—but strong enough to face Jack?
That was another matter entirely.
"I can see it on your face. Still scared," Jack said, amused. "Alright. I won't use mana, and I'll limit my physical prowess to match your current level. Fair enough?"
I exhaled, then gave a nod.
Jack raised his hand, extending only his pinky finger with casual precision. I drew the shortsword with a hiss of metal and dropped into a stance.
Then I leapt.
Power surged through me—not just physical, but complete. It was like the usual ceiling of my cultivation had cracked wide open inside the domain. I was faster, sharper—unbound.
My aura flared, and I activated my Sword Art: Heavenly Crimson Flash Sword Style.
My body blurred, momentum surging as the sword came down in a crimson streak—fast, clean, precise.
Jack barely moved.
With a flick of his pinky, he deflected the blade to the side. Effortless.
But my footing held. I pivoted, slashing again. Then again.
A barrage of strikes followed—clean arcs, red flashes, echoing with the pulse of my aura. But Jack remained rooted, calm, his pinky finger tracing parries through the air like an artist sketching lines on water. Each deflection shifted the trajectory just enough to neutralize the strike without breaking rhythm. He wasn't overpowering me. He was mastering the flow. And even within Endless Reign, I was beginning to see how wide the gap still was. With a casual push of his pinky, Jack sent me flying. The impact was brutal—I crashed through the floor, the stone shattering beneath me like glass.
Pain bloomed across my entire body. My muscles screamed in protest as I tried to move, my head spinning. Blood spilled from my mouth, hot and metallic, and I realized with a start that I was also bleeding from my eyes.
My domain—Endless Reign—flickered violently, then collapsed. The golden light dissolved, leaving only a hollow silence in its wake. The pressure in my skull was unbearable—like my brain had been set on fire.
"Ha! So there is a limit to how long you can use those mystic eyes," Jack called out, his voice echoing from above. "You've burned through your stamina. Your body can't sustain the eye any longer."
I clenched my jaw and shut the eyes down. The glowing light in my irises faded, and my indigo eyes returned to their normal state. Even that small effort made my vision blur.
"You've barely cultivated the eye," Jack said, stepping into view, hands still casually behind his back. "So honestly? Lasting two full minutes is impressive."
He knelt beside the crater I'd made, grinning. "That body cultivation of yours definitely pulled its weight. Without it, you'd have passed out halfway in."
"So how do I cultivate as a Factor Path cultivator?" I asked. My eyes remained closed—still aching from the strain—but thanks to my internal sight, I could still see the room's outline. Though... everything still felt slightly off-kilter, like my perception hadn't fully stabilized.
Jack stepped forward and gently tapped his finger to my forehead.
In an instant, a stream of information surged into my mind—precise, structured, and clear. A cultivation method tailored to me. I saw mental images, diagrams, even emotional anchors encoded into the technique.
"These are the steps you'll need to follow to cultivate your Ability Factor," Jack said calmly. "Everything you need is in there—your breath rhythm, your focus cycle, even the structure of your Ethereal Gland."
I took a shaky breath, absorbing it.
"Starting tomorrow," he added, "we'll train here—every day. We'll work on building your mental and physical stamina until you can hold your Boundless Eye open without burning out."
He turned to walk away, then glanced back. "Stick to the steps I gave you, Ella. Trust the process. If you do... your Factor will grow."
And for the first time since activating my eyes, I believed him.
-
Royal Palace
Pandemonium city
Hudsonia Region
Kingdom of Ashtarium
April 14th 6414
"She wants what?" Queen Marie—Ariella's mother and the reigning Queen of Ashtarium—demanded for the fifth time, her voice sharp enough to cut through marble.
"She's asked for Ella's hand in marriage," said King Rafael, reclining calmly on their grand bed as he flipped through a stack of political reports. His tone was almost too casual, as if discussing grain exports rather than his daughter's future.
Across the room, Marie stood at her ornate silver-gilded dresser, brushing her long golden hair with measured force. She had only just returned from the Kettlia Region, the northwestern territory ruled by her family. It had been her first visit to her mother in nearly five decades—a reunion long overdue.
Now, barely settled back into her chambers, she was greeted by this—the news that House Mircalla of Zellux had formally requested a marriage alliance involving her daughter.
Queen Marie wanted to burn Zellux off the map.
"Who does Patricia Mircalla think she is?" Marie snarled, her voice laced with fury.
A pulse of power radiated from her body.
In an instant, the air within the palace shifted. The temperature dropped. Curtains rippled without wind. Outside, the clear sky darkened—the heavens responding to the Queen's will, her aura stretching across the entire palace like a divine storm about to descend.
King Rafael glanced up briefly, still unbothered.
"I take it that's a no, then?"
Marie turned to face him, her eyes glowing with golden runic symbol. "No. It's an insult. A provocation."
"She couched it in diplomacy," Rafael said mildly. "A generous offer. Artifact access. Trade terms. Even subtle promises of peace."
Marie's jaw clenched. "What she offered was a chain."
Marie crossed the chamber with measured fury, her gown flowing like liquid gold behind her. She stopped near the foot of the bed, arms folded, jaw set. The storm outside had not passed—it hovered, restrained only by the edge of her discipline.
Rafael finally set his papers down and sat up, his expression thoughtful rather than rattled. "You're letting your emotions cloud the opportunity, Marie."
She narrowed her eyes. "I should be emotional. They dared to propose a marriage alliance like we're some lesser house waiting to be legitimized. Patricia Mircalla must be losing her grip if she thinks I'd hand over our daughter like a bargaining chip."
Rafael didn't flinch. "You see an insult. I see strategy."
Marie's voice dropped cold. "Explain."
Rafael rose from the bed, walking over to the window where the sky still swirled with traces of her aura. "Eduardo Gomez isn't just some forgotten grandson of Patricia Mircalla. He's the only viable link to Xibalba's inner sanctum. The Mircalla family has ties to the shadow clans that rule that realm—and Eduardo, whether he is talented or not, by blood holds sway over several merchant-blood sects along the Pillar Coastline."
"Xibalba isn't a land," Marie said flatly. "It's a serpent's den."
"Exactly," Rafael said, turning to face her. "And if we bring Eduardo into our fold through marriage, we tether Xibalba to Ashtarium. Trade routes, informant networks, Relic traffic. Not to mention what the boy might become if properly guided."
Marie's expression was unreadable. "You think you can reform a Mircalla child?"
"I think," Rafael said carefully, "that he's been ignored by Patricia long enough to seek a different legacy. One we can shape. And Ariella—strong as she is—might gain an unexpected ally if we train the boy our way."
Marie considered this, her aura beginning to subside, the sky slowly clearing.
"This would make Ariella a political cornerstone," she said at last, more to herself than him. "A unifier of old and new bloodlines. The Moonstone, the throne, and now the damned Southern land."
Rafael gave a slow nod. "Exactly. We've always known she was destined for more than just the crown."
Marie's voice sharpened again. "And what of Patricia's real aim? You think she wants peace? This could be her way of inserting a knife behind our curtain."
"Oh, it is," Rafael said. "But that's the game. We just make sure the knife is turned the other way before she gets the chance."
A silence settled between them, heavy but no longer hostile.
At length, Marie exhaled slowly and returned to her dresser. "I want to meet the boy before any decisions are made. And Ariella is not to know of this until I say so."
"Agreed," Rafael said, already reaching for a fresh report. "Rosa Mircalla and Eduardo arrive in two days. You'll have your moment."
"And Patricia?" Marie's reflection in the mirror smirked. "She'll get her reply... in due time."