Olympia — Palace Garden

  Mia was picking flowers like the war had never happened.

  Sunlight filtered through the trees. The garden smelled clean—fresh soil, sweet petals, wet stone. A servant walked behind her with a basket, careful not to step too close.

  Mia smiled, calm for once. “Could you bring more water, please?”

  “Yes, my queen.” The servant bowed and hurried off.

  The moment she was alone, the air changed.

  Mia’s smile faded.

  A scent—wrong. Familiar, but out of place—slid into her nose like smoke.

  Her hand lifted.

  And something invisible yanked forward as if the bushes themselves had been grabbed by the throat.

  A figure crashed out of the greenery and stumbled onto the path.

  Mia’s eyes widened.

  “…What?” Her voice sharpened. “Derek?”

  Derek straightened slowly, brushing dirt from his clothes, trying to look casual even while caught. “Hello, Mia.”

  Mia stared like she couldn’t decide whether to slap him or hug him.

  “What are you doing here?” she hissed. “How did you even get inside the palace?”

  Derek’s mouth curled. “Doesn’t matter.” His eyes traveled over her dress, the jewelry, the crown. “What matters is… you’re royalty now.”

  They held each other’s gaze.

  Then Derek’s voice dropped, quieter. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  Mia’s jaw tightened. “It doesn’t matter, Derek.” She turned back to the flowers, forcing her hands steady. “This isn’t the time. You need to leave.”

  Mia tried to walk away.

  Derek grabbed her wrist.

  “Mia—please.” His grip wasn’t violent, just desperate. “I need your help.”

  Mia stopped, eyes flashing. “Help with what?”

  “Our clan is gone,” Derek said, words spilling fast. “Broken. And now I owe Osvald a debt.”

  Mia’s expression snapped cold. “You got involved with Osvald?”

  Derek swallowed. “I know. I know.” His voice cracked with frustration. “But I was desperate. I thought I could rebuild the clan and pay it back. He’s hunting me now.” He looked at her like she was the last door left open. “Please. Can you help me?”

  Mia’s throat tightened.

  “I can’t,” she said, low. “I can’t drag myself into this.” She gestured at the palace behind them. “It can stain Isaac’s legacy—”

  A sound cut her off.

  A faint click.

  Not a branch.

  Not a bird.

  Mia’s instincts snapped.

  She lunged—throwing herself over Derek—

  BOOM.

  The garden erupted. Dirt and petals blasted into the air. Heat slapped Mia’s back. For a second, everything was smoke.

  Mia coughed, blinking through gray.

  Derek was on the ground, choking, eyes watering.

  Then a laugh floated through the haze.

  “Hello…” a voice purred.

  Mia stood slowly, brushing ash from her sleeve.

  A woman stepped out of the smoke, smiling like she’d walked into a party.

  Moon.

  Mia’s eyes locked onto a symbol hanging from Moon’s belt.

  Her stomach dropped.

  “…Assassin Clan.”

  Moon tilted her head, amused. “Wow,” she said brightly. “She knows us, partner.”

  Mia’s gaze narrowed. “Partner?”

  A silver dagger suddenly slammed into the stone near Mia’s foot.

  Mia stepped back just in time.

  Another figure appeared—silent, cold, eyes like winter.

  Safira.

  Mia’s lips tightened. “You again.”

  Safira’s voice was controlled. “Step aside.” She pointed her blade toward Derek without even looking at him. “We only want your friend. Nothing else.”

  Mia’s smile turned sharp. “How kind of you.”

  Derek’s face went pale. “Osvald sent the Assassin Clan after me…”

  Mia shot him a look that could kill. “Now you realize, idiot?”

  Safira’s patience snapped. “I won’t say it again.” Her blade lifted. “Move. Now.”

  Mia didn’t move.

  She looked at Moon.

  Then she smiled.

  Moon’s eyes widened—too late.

  Something invisible tugged Moon’s body like strings.

  Moon’s arm jerked, twisting on its own.

  “What—?” Moon gasped. “What is this—?”

  Safira’s eyes widened as she saw it. “What are you doing, idiot?!”

  Moon’s hand snapped up and her own blood—spilled from the earlier blast—whipped off the stone in thin, sharp strands, flying like needles toward Safira.

  Safira twisted away, barely dodging, cloak slicing in the air.

  “She’s controlling me!” Moon snarled, fighting her own body.

  Mia’s voice cut through the chaos. “Derek—run. I’ll hold them.”

  Derek didn’t hesitate. He bolted.

  Safira clicked her tongue, annoyed, and flicked something small to the ground.

  A second blast went off at the garden exit—flames and rubble sealing the path.

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  Derek skidded, fell hard, and scrambled back, trapped.

  Mia’s eyes narrowed.

  Safira’s blade rose again.

  Moon’s smile returned—feral this time, even while her body fought itself.

  And the garden—once peaceful—turned into a kill zone.

  Isaac sat beside Lord Oceros on the raised platform, treated like an honored equal.

  Susan and the children were close. Elizabeth sat a little too straight, stealing glances when she thought no one noticed. Yu sat on Isaac’s other side, relaxed, eating like she owned the room. Anabelle sat nearby, polite, quiet, watching everything.

  Below them, the hall was alive—long tables, overflowing cups, laughter, music, and hundreds of Osireon citizens celebrating like this night was sacred.

  Oceros leaned in, pleased with himself. “I hope you’re enjoying it, King Isaac. I prepared all of this especially for you.”

  Isaac laughed softly, eyes tracking the dancers and performers moving across the floor. “It’s incredible, Lord Oceros. Truly.”

  They clapped with the crowd as a group of performers finished and bowed. Elizabeth smiled toward Isaac, then looked away the moment his gaze drifted near her.

  Oceros stood and raised both hands high.

  “My people!” he shouted, voice booming. “Our great guest is pleased with our work!”

  The hall erupted in applause.

  Oceros’s smile widened. “Then let the games begin!”

  Cheers exploded even louder.

  Oceros returned to his seat, still clapping.

  Isaac glanced sideways. “Games?”

  Oceros nodded like it was obvious. “Of course. A live battle.” His eyes gleamed. “Between our best warriors. I hope you enjoy it, King Isaac.”

  Isaac’s expression stayed calm, but something in his eyes sharpened.

  On the floor below, two fighters stepped into the open space. They bowed to each other first—respectful, formal—then turned and bowed toward the thrones.

  Isaac watched them closely.

  Then he looked back at Oceros.

  The lord’s smile was still there, but it felt… practiced. Like a mask that didn’t move with the rest of his face.

  Isaac’s gaze flicked again.

  Elizabeth was watching him.

  The moment she realized he noticed, she turned away fast, cheeks faintly warm, pretending to focus on the battle.

  Isaac exhaled quietly through his nose.

  Then he returned his attention to the fighters—because if Osireon wanted a show… it was usually because they were hiding something behind it.

  Mia slipped between their attacks like she was made of smoke.

  Safira’s silver blade flashed—left, right, throat, ribs—clean kills meant for someone slower.

  Moon’s movements were looser, playful, but just as deadly.

  None of it touched Mia.

  Moon laughed, eyes bright. “Damn… you’re a strong little girl.”

  Safira’s gaze stayed locked on Derek’s last position. “Moon.” Her voice was flat. “Handle her. I’m taking the target.” A beat. “Don’t kill her. Understood?”

  Moon waved a hand like it was easy. “Yeah, yeah.”

  Mia saw Safira peel away.

  Her eyes sharpened.

  She launched after her—

  Moon’s boot caught her midair.

  The kick sent Mia flying across the garden path, sliding through dirt and crushed flowers.

  Moon followed, smiling like she’d been waiting for this part. “Just you and me.”

  Mia’s lips tightened.

  She bit her finger—quick, clean—and a drop of blood welled.

  In the same motion, she shaped it.

  The blood stretched into a thin blade in her hand—dark red, gleaming like glass.

  Moon’s smile faltered for a heartbeat.

  Mia moved.

  The blood dagger sliced across Moon’s shoulder.

  Moon jumped back fast, eyes wide, touching the cut. “What the—”

  Mia didn’t answer. She attacked again—short, sharp strikes, forcing Moon to keep defending.

  Moon clicked her tongue, annoyed, but her grin returned. “Okay… that’s cute.”

  Safira walked calmly through the smoke and broken stone, eyes scanning, listening for breath, for heartbeat.

  Derek stayed crouched behind a shattered hedge, silent, hands shaking. He tried to slow his breathing until it was nothing.

  Safira passed.

  Her steps drifted away.

  Derek’s eyes widened. She didn’t see me…

  He waited one more second, then began to move—slow, careful—slipping toward the far end of the garden.

  Then something tight wrapped around his throat.

  A cord.

  It snapped around his neck like a snake and yanked.

  Derek’s feet left the ground as he was dragged backward, choking, claws scraping at the rope.

  Safira stood behind him, holding the cord with one hand, calm as a priest.

  Derek hit the ground at her feet, gasping.

  Safira raised her silver dagger.

  “May the Mother have mercy on you,” she said quietly.

  Derek lifted both hands, desperate. “Wait—please—”

  A blur struck Safira from the side.

  A heel slammed into her ribs.

  Safira flew across the path and crashed into Moon—both of them stumbling hard.

  Moon’s head snapped around, irritated—then her eyes widened.

  Mia froze mid-swing.

  Derek coughed and rolled away, sucking in air like he’d been underwater.

  And there—stepping out of the smoke—was Freya.

  She was smiling.

  A long, curved scythe rested in her hand like it belonged there.

  “Looks like I made it,” Freya said lightly.

  Mia’s face lit up with relief. “Freya!”

  Derek pushed himself up, still shaking, wiping his mouth. “That was… too close…”

  Freya’s smile didn’t change.

  But her eyes did.

  They hardened.

  “Don’t worry,” she said softly, staring at Safira and Moon. “It’s not over yet.”

  Isaac and Oceros were still laughing as the two warriors below bowed and left the floor, the crowd cheering them out like heroes.

  Then a new voice cut through the celebration.

  “Lord Oceros.”

  Isaac’s smile faded a notch. Oceros turned.

  A young warrior stood at the edge of the open floor—straight posture, clean armor, calm eyes. The kind of man who didn’t need to shout to be heard.

  Elizabeth’s face shifted the moment she saw him. “Guz… what are you doing here?”

  Guz didn’t look away from the thrones. “What I should’ve done from the start.”

  Oceros blinked, surprised—then smiled like he’d been handed entertainment. “Commander Guz… what a surprise.” He gestured proudly. “King Isaac—this is the Commander of the Royal Guard. Guz.”

  Isaac met his gaze. Guz met it back.

  They exchanged a polite, measured smile—two warriors recognizing each other in one breath.

  “It’s a pleasure,” Isaac said. “I’ve heard of you.” His tone stayed light. “The son of General Tomas Guz.”

  Guz dipped his head. “Yes, gracious king. I’m honored you recognize me.”

  Oceros leaned forward, amused. “And what do you want, Commander?”

  Guz’s eyes flashed. “A battle, my lord.”

  A ripple went through the hall. The music didn’t stop, but the room started listening.

  Guz turned to face the people and raised his voice.

  “People of Osireon!” he shouted. “I propose a duel—here and now.” He pointed toward the dais. “And the winner will earn the right to marry Princess Elizabeth!”

  The hall exploded in shock.

  Elizabeth stood instantly. “What?! No!” She looked furious, embarrassed, trapped all at once. “Why would you do this, Commander?”

  Guz’s gaze softened just slightly when it touched her. “Because I want to prove my love for you, Elizabeth.”

  Oceros laughed loudly, delighted. “So the winner takes my daughter’s hand? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Oceros’s grin widened. “Then… accepted.”

  “Father—” Elizabeth started, voice breaking.

  Oceros lifted a hand—sharp, final.

  Elizabeth froze.

  Then sat back down slowly, jaw tight, eyes down.

  Oceros leaned forward again, enjoying the moment. “Very well, Commander. I’ll call my strongest warrior. Guards—bring—”

  “Wait,” Guz interrupted.

  Oceros’s smile thinned. “What is it?”

  Guz didn’t flinch. “I already have a worthy opponent.”

  Oceros’s brows rose. “That’s not how it works—”

  “I guarantee it,” Guz said smoothly. “With this opponent… I’ll win your daughter’s hand.” His eyes lifted to the dais. “If I defeat him.”

  Oceros paused. “Then who is this opponent?”

  Guz turned fully toward Isaac.

  “The King of Olympia,” he said. “Isaac.”

  The hall went silent for half a heartbeat—then erupted in disbelief.

  Isaac blinked. “What?”

  Oceros stood fast, anger flashing. “Commander—how dare you—dismissed.”

  “Please,” Guz said quickly, eyes locked on Isaac now. “King Isaac. Accept.”

  “Enough, Guz,” Oceros snapped.

  Isaac lifted one hand.

  Oceros stopped mid-breath, surprised—because that gesture didn’t ask. It commanded.

  The hall held its breath.

  Isaac looked at Guz, calm. “Why me?”

  Guz’s smile sharpened. “Because there’s no better opponent in this palace than the great king.” His eyes narrowed, confident. “And because I can beat you.”

  Yu, sitting beside the dais, smiled with her eyes closed—still eating like this was the best part of the night.

  Anabelle watched carefully, reading faces.

  Oceros was still simmering.

  Isaac stared at Guz… then something flickered in him—something old.

  He’s confident, Isaac thought, amused. He reminds me of Joe… back when we played games.

  Joe never beat me.

  A small smile spread across Isaac’s face before he could stop it.

  The crowd noticed.

  Yu noticed too—her smile changed, softer for a second. Anabelle’s eyes warmed. It was rare to see him like that.

  Isaac rose.

  “Okay,” he said simply. “I accept.”

  The hall exploded.

  Oceros stared at him—then, slowly, a grin returned to his face. He sat back down like a man who’d just gotten exactly what he wanted.

  “King Isaac,” Oceros said, voice smooth again, “are you certain?”

  Isaac pulled off his cloak and handed it aside like this was nothing. “Sure,” he said. “What’s the harm in a little fun?”

  Oceros laughed.

  Isaac stepped off the dais—fast.

  Not walking.

  One blink and he was already on the floor, standing in front of Guz like a shadow that chose to become solid.

  Guz’s expression tightened—impressed despite himself.

  “You won’t use that big sword of yours?” Guz asked, eyes flicking to Isaac’s back as if expecting Yu to appear.

  “With respect,” Isaac said, calm, “it won’t be necessary.”

  Guz frowned. “You’re going unarmed?”

  Isaac glanced aside.

  A table nearby had food laid out—bread, fruit, knives.

  His eyes landed on one thing.

  A plain bread knife.

  The metal twitched.

  It slid across the table on its own, lifting into the air and snapping into Isaac’s hand.

  He pointed it at Guz like it was a legendary weapon.

  The crowd burst into laughter.

  Oceros was laughing the loudest.

  Elizabeth covered her mouth, smiling despite herself—eyes bright as she watched Isaac like he was a storm pretending to be a man.

  Guz did not laugh.

  He stared at the bread knife like it was an insult.

  Oceros stood again, enjoying every second. “What an intriguing moment!” he roared. “Commander of the Royal Guard—Guz—versus the King of Olympia—Isaac!” He spread his arms wide. “The winner earns the right to Princess Elizabeth’s hand!”

  Isaac’s smile froze for half a beat.

  Damn… he thought, exhaling. I forgot that part.

  His eyes flicked to Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth met his gaze—flustered, nervous… and not looking away.

  Oceros’s voice thundered through the hall.

  “May the best man win!”