Tzaltheron was still panting beside me; a whiskey barrel of heat and hunger, leaking red light from every crack. The Grandmasters, well, what was left of them… were half gone.

  Then the smoke shifted.

  A darker shape moved inside it, slow and too graceful to belong here.

  At first, I thought it was just the smoke thickening again… another spell, another trick. But then I heard it: the click of a heel against shattered stone, the soft jingle of metal charms, the lazy drawl of breath to howl. “Girly!”

  And then she stepped through.

  Karzi.

  The world shrank. “Girly! You’d better still be alive!”

  The battlefield, the noise, the blood. It all pulled back like a tide fleeing a corpse. She walked through the ruin as if it belonged to her, smoke curling around her armor. The gold trim still gleamed under the ash, with the same sickly warm shine I remembered. Her crew padded behind her, silent as specters, their eyes molten in the half-light.

  Even the grandmasters turned toward her. For a second, they almost looked relieved.

  Karzi’s gaze swept the square, over them, over me, over the still-steaming crater where we fought, and she smiled. That same lazy, world-devouring smile. “Altandai,” she murmured. “Still standing. How disappointing you are, girly.”

  I couldn’t breathe.

  Not because of mana, not exhaustion, but because every nerve in my body remembered her hand on my back, the sound of those cuffs snapping shut, the smell of burning wool and skin. My muscles locked up before my mind did.

  No, no, no. Not her. Not now.

  I took a step back without meaning to. My heel caught on a broken tile, nearly tripping me. Tzaltheron noticed, four eyes flicking my way, confusion lacing through the bond. “Enemy?” he rasped, eager.

  But my voice wouldn’t work. My throat had turned to glass.

  She kept coming.

  Each step was measured, confident, like she had rehearsed this entrance. The crew fanned out behind her, their movements perfectly in sync. Karzi stopped just behind the wounded Grandmasters. The wind tugged at her hair, streaks of silver through black now, pulled into a braid that looked sharp enough to cut. Her eyes found me through the haze.

  And she smiled wider.

  “Girly,” she said.

  Two syllables.

  That was all it took for my heart to plummet straight through my ribs.

  The nickname hit like a knife sliding under old scar tissue. Tzaltheron took a step forward, claws flexing. “Attack? Together?”

  I—I couldn’t even answer him.

  My brain short-circuited, words stacking in nonsense loops. Don’t fight. Don’t look weak. She’ll laugh. She’ll take you again. Gods, she’s here, she’s real.

  I tried to make my mouth work, and something like a laugh crawled out instead; thin, cracked. “Oh… oh great,” I said, voice shaking too much to sound like a joke. “The universe really looked at me and said, You know what this boss fight needs? Trauma DLC. Thanks Cloudy.”

  Karzi chuckled, and the sound hadn’t changed. “You’ve learned humor,” she said, as if she were proud of it. “How… charming.”

  My legs backed me up another step before I realized I was moving. Tzaltheron shifted with me, uncertain now. His claws scraped the ground, his hunger faltering at the taste of my fear.

  She tilted her head, eyes gleaming. “Still trembling,” she hissed. “Good. You remember your place.”

  I wanted to scream at her. To tell her she didn’t own me. That I wasn’t the barefoot slave she’d dragged through fire. But my voice stayed in my chest, trapped somewhere behind my heartbeat. All I managed was a whisper, barely audible over the hiss of cooling stone. “You aren’t supposed to be here! Weren’t you supposed to hunt for more slaves?”

  Karzi’s grin didn’t waver. “Surprise.”

  The crew behind her growled in unison, low and rolling, like distant thunder. I swallowed hard, every muscle coiled, waiting for her to move. For the fire. For the cuffs. For that awful laugh… But she just watched me, amused, patient, the way predators watch trapped prey.

  “Run, girly,” she said finally, voice soft as silk and twice as cruel. “Let’s see if I can catch you.”

  I didn’t move.

  Couldn’t.

  Behind me, Tzaltheron’s growl deepened, the ground shaking under his feet. I felt his confusion giving way to fury, and for once I didn’t know if I should stop him or beg him to act.

  And I…

  I was suddenly small again.

  The crew spread out behind her in a lazy half-circle. Tzaltheron’s breath came harsh beside me, heavy enough to fog the air. “She bleeds like the rest,” he rasped. “Say the word, and I—”

  “Don’t.” My voice cracked, raw and thin. “Just… don’t.” Because what if he attacked? What if she caught me?

  Karzi was watching me like she already knew what I was thinking. Maybe she did. She always had a way of looking through me; like peeling skin off with a smile.

  She took another step forward.

  Her crew followed, silent. The sound of their boots scraping over the fractured cobbles was somehow louder than any roar. “What’s the matter, girly?” she asked softly. “Lost your courage? I thought queens were supposed to rule.”

  My mouth opened, but words didn’t come out. Just the faintest sound; something between a laugh and a sob. My mind raced in tight, choking circles.

  She can’t. She can’t bind me again. The stone’s gone. It’s gone. It’s gone.

  But Karzi tilted her head, smile deepening, and the certainty cracked.

  She would find a way.

  She always did.

  “Demon,” Karzi said without looking at him. “You serve her?”

  He rumbled low, a sound that made the rubble vibrate. “I don’t ask Sovereign questions. She is sovereign. I serve my sovereign.”

  Karzi’s laughter was rich. “How precious. Do you know what happens to queens, demon?” She looked back at me, eyes bright with nostalgia. “They break.”

  My pulse slammed against my throat.

  Every part of me wanted to run, to vanish, to log out. Anything. But the ground held me fast. The fear didn’t feel cinematic; it was quiet, creeping, familiar. Like slipping into an old collar.

  I could taste the metal again.

  Tzaltheron leaned toward me, claws flexing, whispering, “Command me. You’re master of Ul’vath Noerim.”

  I couldn’t.

  Even with the Crown burning on my head, even with demonic fire at my call… when I looked at Karzi, I still saw the woman who’d put me in chains. Who’d called me clever like it was an insult. Who’d taught me how it felt to be owned.

  She didn’t have the Binding Stone anymore. She didn’t need it. The real binding was still right there; under my skin, wrapped around my throat.

  Karzi took another step closer. “Keep trembling,” she breathed. “Keep being mine.”

  My fingers twitched around the ice sword hilt, useless. Every part of me screamed to move, but my legs wouldn’t listen. She smiled as if she could smell the paralysis. “You remember what happens when you try to fight me?”

  She just watched me and raised one hand. Just slightly. Enough to make every nerve in me light up.

  “Don’t,” I whispered, stepping back again. “Please.”

  Her grin softened, like pity. “Oh, girly,” she said. “You make it sound like you still have a choice.”

  My conquest was… crushed.

  —

  Some time before, when Lola got into the capsule…

  “Let’s go back,” Lola whispered.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  The capsule’s interior lights dimmed, sealing her in soft gold. A pulse of text flickered across her visor.

  When Lola’s eyes opened, the first thing she saw was light; too much of it. Golden rays fractured across the shattered cobblestones, refracting from the collapsed glass domes above. The second thing was sound… the deafening thunder of spells and steel colliding on all sides.

  Then the system’s message faded, and the world of Rimelion snapped into focus.

  She stood on the wide marble market road of Altandai, once an elegant promenade of fountains and merchant stalls. Now, it was a warzone. Smoke rolled between archways, flames licked the edges of silken banners, and bodies of NPC guards lined the streets in fragments of armor.

  A line of soldiers moved ahead of her with precision. Shields locked, steps synchronized, their every action a mirrored reflection of the man who commanded them.

  “Shields up! Angle forty-five!”

  Llama’s voice was clear. The tall commander stood a few meters away, his armor plain steel but gleaming. Arrows and spells rained down from above; he didn’t flinch. Each motion he made was exact; every order clipped. His eyes scanned the chaos, catching every formation break before it happened.

  When the noise grew too heavy for words, he switched to signals; simple, efficient gestures that rippled through his troops faster than shouts ever could.

  And ahead of them, like a living blaze, was Katherine. She stood at the tip of their formation, a crimson inferno wrapped in steel.

  Her greatsword, nearly as tall as she was, swung in arcs that left trails of fire through the smoke. Her violet hair whipped wildly in the heat, her grin fierce and reckless.

  Every blow she struck sent waves of flame across the frontline, forcing the enemy back step by step. Arrows shattered against her, spells burned out midair as healers behind her channeled everything they had just to keep her upright.

  Lola took it all in; the chaos, the order within it, the razor balance between control and madness that somehow worked. “Status, Seneschal?” Llama’s voice reached her without looking, perfectly calm despite the destruction.

  Lola straightened, clutching a clipboard instead of a holo. “Reinforcements are… delayed. I’m here to offer help.”

  He nodded once; no wasted motion. Katherine, somewhere ahead, let out a battle cry, “For glory!”

  The flames burst brighter, swallowing the street.

  Lola exhaled, steadying herself, the air vibrating with heat and mana. “Alright,” she murmured under her breath. “Let’s go to work. I was waiting too long to decide.”

  Three skills floated in front of her, each one whispering power. Each whisper cost.

  Her fingers twitched. The middle skill, Rimebreak Sovereign Volley, called to her immediately. It looked cool. It sounded cool. A decree of fire and frost, musket shots like royal proclamations?

  Oh my, yes. Except… she didn’t have a musket, because of course she didn’t. Her mouth curved into a bitter smile. Right, remember that brilliant idea to pick as a class weapon the rare weapon no one on this continent sells? Ten out of ten for foresight, Lola. Absolute genius.

  Charlie had promised she’d “import” one eventually. Which probably meant finding someone insane enough to smuggle it over the ban, while juggling a war and demon invasions.

  Yeah. That would take a while.

  She sighed and swiped the musket option aside. The interface dimmed reluctantly, like it hated to be ignored.

  That left two.

  Oathbound Phantoms of the Rimebreak Knights, the first.

  Regal, beautiful, with the promise of spectral allies. It wasn’t flashy, but it was the kingdom itself breathing through her. And then there was the Oath of Preservation, the third.

  Protective, absolute. The skill that turned a massacre into a stand. Shared pain, shared healing, perfect coordination. It was the Seneschal’s essence; duty over glory, survival over pride.

  Lola stared between the two icons. Her hand hovered, indecisive.

  Phantoms… or Oath?

  The pragmatic part of her knew the third was smarter. It fit her perfectly. The protector, the stabilizer, the one who made sure everyone else got to keep fighting.

  But the other…

  The other felt like her. The administrator who refused to let anything go unfinished. The knights she’d lost, the ones she’d ordered into the impossible. And if Rimebreak eventually has someone like Alma die… Kingdom could see them again.

  Her chest ached, and she hovered over that option.