"What. Are. You. DOING. HERE!?"

The voice was a thunderclap—violent, unrelenting. The loudest thing I had heard in ages. It crashed over me like a tidal wave, rattling my bones, leaving an uncomfortable ringing in my skull. I recoiled, pressing my hands over my ears, cursing my mother's genetics.

I might not have inherited the long ears of an Almiraj, but that's not where their real senses come from. And that... I had gotten in full.

Ugh.

Rubbing my temples—an unconscious habit I had noticed developing—I pushed myself to my feet and stepped outside.

The scene that greeted me was one of imminent bloodshed.

Morres, Temptation, and Ranah were all standing at the ready, weapons drawn, their stances radiating lethal intent.

Morres, ever the picture of composed aggression, spun a wind and fire wheel between his fingers, the gleaming metal edges catching the light, sharp enough to carve through flesh and bone with ease.

Temptation had... a lot of spears. Seventy? Eighty? The exact number didn't matter—what mattered was that they hovered around him like a personal armory, each one poised to strike at a moment's notice.

Ranah, ever the tactician, had deployed five hovering orbs, each equipped with cannons. A Machina system, no doubt. Note to self: Learn that.

And at the center of it all, unfazed, was the intruder.

A beastfolk. Tall. Furred. Predatory.

A creature that mirrored a panther, every movement exuding an effortless, lethal grace. It let out a low, warning growl, golden eyes locking onto me. Then, as if shifting between states of existence, the fur retracted, the primal form smoothing out into something far more human.

Barbra.

She smiled, sharp teeth gleaming, completely at ease despite the sheer number of weapons pointed at her. "You feel it, don't you?" she said smoothly, her voice laced with amusement. "I'm allowed here. Thanks to him."

She pointed directly at me.

Three heads snapped toward me, their gazes burning with outrage.

"WHAT DID YOU DO?!"

The words came at me all at once, the collective shout hammering into me like a physical force. I winced again, my heightened senses screaming in protest.

Domini above. This was not how I wanted to start my morning.

I took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of my nose. If I didn't keep my cool, this conversation was going to spiral into something unbearable.

"First off… I never asked for any of you to train me." My voice was calm, but the weight behind it was firm. "And frankly? You all haven't."

The words lingered, hanging over them like a blade.

Ranah's lips pressed into a thin line, Morres crossed his arms, and Temptation remained unreadable, though his floating spears shifted, their arrangement subtly tightening.

"Second," I continued, "you've all gone out of your way to keep me away from Solomon's Gate. Why? I'm going to figure that out. Whether or not you want me to."

Silence. A flicker of something crossed Temptation's face. Concern? Frustration? He had a habit of giving away just enough emotion to let you know he was thinking, but not enough to tell you what exactly.

"And third." My eyes flicked to Barbra. "She got me out of being forced into nightly expeditions into Danatallion's Library. Now I can go there by choice."

That part felt monumental, but I hesitated before adding the next part. I wasn't entirely sure it was true. I glanced at Barbra.

"…Can I create a 'Door' there now?"

She tilted her head, watching me with the expression of a predator humoring its prey. "You mean with that Millennium Halls ability of yours?" she mused. "Yes. You can open a gateway from your Starlight Forest into Danatallion's Library."

A slow nod. "Good. That's good."

There was power in accessibility. If I could enter the Library at will, rather than being forced in, I had control over my own pacing. And that mattered more than any of them seemed to understand.

I turned back toward Barbra, eyes narrowing slightly. "Excuse me, Barbra. I never revealed what my Shells do to you."

Barbra let out a small chuckle, shaking her head. "Kid. You have my Sigil now. Part of that is going to influence your second Shell. Just like how you, as my contracted, are going to influence my next Shell. So obviously, I know what your first Shell does."

What?

The implications hit me immediately. The contract wasn't just one-way. I had known it would bind us in some form, but this—her next evolution, her next Shell, would be influenced by me?

Before I could fully unpack that, Ranah snapped to attention, her eyes darting between the two of us.

"Wait." She took a step forward, brows furrowing. "You gave him one of your Sigils?"

That single question changed the entire atmosphere.

Temptation moved before she could explode, his hand barely grazing her shoulder, as if he could physically stop the storm that was about to come. "Ranah, no. It's not the same in all—"

Too late.

"YOU TWO ARE GETTING MARRIED?!"

Her voice boomed, rattling through the walls with enough force to make my heightened senses scream in protest.

I blinked. Slowly. Checked my Gloss.

V: Not in the dorm right now. Cordelia: Yeah, neither am I. Also, we are calling it a dorm? Really?

Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. Ten: Busy in culinary school. Fractal: Hanging with Sven until departure time!

I sighed. Hard.

It was disturbing that no one had responded to the earthquake of volume Ranah had just unleashed.

Barbra, for her part, merely rolled her eyes. "No, you dimwitted tribalist," she scoffed. "I'm not marrying a mortal. That goes against every standard."

She grimaced.

"That would be beyond disgusting. I'll at least wait for him to ascend to Dominus status first."

***

An hour and a half before the assigned carriage time.

I should have been ready by now—would have been, if I had been allowed to dress myself. Normally, I would have thrown on my Walker's robe with a reasonable choice of pants, shoes, and accessories. Functional, professional, mine.

Instead?

I stood before a mirror, draped in an atrocity masquerading as noble fashion.

The Walker's robe remained—barely recognizable beneath the excess modifications meant to fit the current century's aristocratic trends. And unluckily for me, this century's noble fashion had decided to embrace a war on subtlety.

Fluffy. Poofy. Feathered.

I had mocked both Morres and Vanitas before, calling them peacocks for their over-the-top clothing choices. But now? Now I was the peacock.

Silver and blue. Yellow and green. A vivid landscape of obscene colors, all colliding in a battle of frills, fur, and feathers.

The cuffs of my sleeves? Feathered. The collar of my robe? Lined with fur so plush it could double as a pillow. A cape—because of course there was a cape—draped over one shoulder, an extravagant blend of fur and feathers, as if someone had decided to skin a menagerie and drape it over my back.

I stared at myself.

"I look ridiculous." The words escaped me before I could stop them, spoken in the quietest voice I could manage.

Didn't matter.

The attendant—who had been adjusting some final, unnecessary detail—heard me anyway.

And giggled.

"You look incredible," she said, eyes gleaming with barely concealed amusement. "Besides, the gold really goes well with your horn."

My horn.

Just another notch to add to the growing belt of dismay.

I sighed, staring at my reflection with something between resignation and deep-seated loathing.

"My horn simply makes me look like I'm a pegasus in this situation. I'm not a pegasus. I'm an Almiraj. Half, anyway. Can't we make it any more, I don't know… focused on that?"

"Nope." The attendant answered far too quickly, fastening a silver brooch onto the hideous mixture of feathers at my collar. "This is the current fashion."

I grimaced as she moved on to jewelry, layering my hands and wrists in copper and silver—never gold. The Bastians were particular about their metals. In their culture, only those married to the queen could wear gold. Not even the queen herself.

The more ornate the jewelry, the higher the rank, but gold was a sacred symbol of union—one that couldn't be worn lightly. It was a law.

The attendant clipped one last silver ring onto my left ear, standing back with a bright smile.

"There! You look…" She trailed off, as if searching for the right word.

"Ridiculous." I finished for her.

"Magnificent," she countered.

"Gaudy."

"Regal."

I narrowed my eyes.

She giggled again, stepping back. "Fine, fine. But trust me, you'll fit right in."

I doubted it.

The door opened before I could press the matter further, and Cordelia strode in, looking both impressed and deeply entertained at the same time.

"Oh," she said, tilting her head as she gave me a once-over. "Oh, this is delightful."

I scowled. "You're not helping."

"I'm not trying to." She smirked, stepping closer to inspect my outfit. "You look like an overfed exotic bird. A very, very expensive one."

"Thank you. That's exactly the look I was hoping for."

"You're welcome," she said sweetly. Then, she reached up and flicked one of the silver rings on my ear. "But really, you do clean up nicely. You just hate looking noble, don't you?"

"I don't hate looking noble," I muttered. "I hate looking like this."

Cordelia hummed, stepping back to cross her arms. "Well, good news. No matter how much you hate it, you're stuck with it."

"Fantastic." I resisted the urge to fidget with the cuffs of my sleeves. "Are you here just to laugh at me, or do you actually have something important to say?"

She tilted her head, as if considering. "Mostly the first one, but also…" She leaned against the doorframe. "Our ride is almost here."

I sighed.

"Right," I said, rolling my shoulders. "Let's get this over with."

Cordelia grinned. "Now that's the spirit."

Cordelia led me out of the dressing room, and the moment I stepped into the common area, I was met with disaster.

Fractal took one look at me and—howled.

Not chirped. Not giggled. Not even one of her usual teasing coos.

No.

She gawked at me in outright, uncontrolled laughter. Her shimmering form trembled, wings fluttering erratically as she tumbled through the air, rolling mid-flight as if my suffering was the single most hilarious thing she had ever seen.

I sighed through my nose. Deep breaths, Alexander.

V, ever the composed one, merely smirked and shook his head.

But Ten… Ten studied me.

Not in mockery. Not in humor. Not even in concern.

She looked at me like I was some rare artifact, an enigma wrapped in silk and excessive feathering.

Her head tilted—crooked, contemplative. The way one might regard a mystery novel missing its first half yet demanding an answer to its final act.

"You are dressed way too warmly for such a desert climate like Bast," she finally said, after what felt like a lifetime of scrutiny.

I sighed, tugging lightly at the feathered cuffs. "I agree. However, this is apparently the noble fashion, as dictated by the Moonlight Court's rule over Bast."

I tapped my Gloss, hoping for some additional context. Nothing.

"Anyone know what that means?" I asked, glancing at the others. "My Gloss is giving me nothing."

At that, the attendant—who had been entirely too pleased with my transformation—perked up.

"Ah, my apologies, Kevkebyem Lekvedyem Benyeyr," she said, dipping her head in a formal nod. "I am assigned to answer any of your questions regarding the Queendom."

I blinked. "You could have led with that."

She smiled, undeterred. "The Queendom of Bast is, technically, thirty-three different queendoms, each ruled by a respective king and queen."

That made me pause. "Wait. King and queen? Plural?"

"Yes," she continued. "The hierarchy of power shifts depending on which of the three major courts holds influence over the Seat of Sorrows—which is what you would call the throne."

I exchanged a glance with Cordelia, who merely raised a brow in silent encouragement to keep listening.

"There are three primary courts," the attendant elaborated. "The Sunlight Court – which is not in power at present, as the previous High Queen of Bast hailed from it.The Moonlight Court which currently holds the Seat of Sorrows, meaning their traditions, laws, and customs dictate noble fashion, courtly conduct, and diplomatic affairs. The Court of Blood which will never hold the Seat of Sorrows, but controls all military matters with absolute authority."

That last part made me frown. "So, the Court of Blood never rules, but they control the entire military?"

"Precisely." She smiled. "Since all nobles are required to serve in the military, this means the Court of Blood holds absolute authority in matters of war. The only exception is the High Queen herself."

I absorbed that information, filing it away for later.

"So, in short," I muttered, glancing at my absurdly feathered sleeves. "I'm wearing this because the Moonlight Court currently holds power."

"Exactly." The attendant nodded enthusiastically.

Fractal, still wheezing from laughter, let out a final trill of amusement before landing on Cordelia's shoulder.

Cordelia, for her part, grinned at me. "Well, at least now you know who to blame."

I exhaled slowly, rubbing my temples.

This was going to be a long day.

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