Sublevel B-12 — Internal Decision Chamber

  Local Time: 02:17 a.m.

  There were no windows.

  No clocks.

  Only the sterile white glow of recessed lights and the constant hum of filtered ventilation.

  The meeting room resembled more an operating theater than a council chamber. A white stone table —geometric, seamless— sat at the center. Around it, three figures remained seated, cloaked in formal layers. In front of each, a sealed folder with no name. Only a symbol: the Spiral of the Throne.

  —The information has been confirmed by three separate sources —said the woman with braided white hair, voice deep and without emotion. Her name was Elore Stryvann, the Fourth Veil. —A new magical girl manifested in Sector 9 without triggering any of the detection nodes. She was contained tonight. No prior records of her existence.

  —And the genetic stations? —interrupted Lady Daryenne Maelstrid, the Second Veil. Her tone was sharp, like a freshly honed scalpel. —Weren’t they covering that sector entirely?

  —They were —Stryvann replied—. According to the reports, the sensors were active. No physical sabotage was recorded… but the synchronization of the magical pulses shows deviations. Someone might have interfered from within the system.

  —A spy —murmured Daryenne, barely audible. It wasn’t a question. It was a sentence. Her fingers interlaced tensely over the table. —Or worse… a new kind of magic. Something not accounted for by the Heredity Program.

  Sael Vynther, the Third Veil, leaned her elbows on the white surface. She twirled a fountain pen between her fingers, slowly.

  —The containment is already semi-public. There were witnesses. Civilians. Unverified versions are circulating on internal networks. If this spreads, we’ll need to reinforce the narrative. We can frame it as emotional instability. Something that supports the need for state control —not the opposite.

  —Have you drafted the media protocol? —Daryenne asked.

  —In progress. But I need time. If this is a systemic failure, it cannot happen again. We need guarantees… or a larger distraction.

  —The Queen must not yet know we lost control of a bearer —Daryenne growled—. Not until we have a clear technical cause.

  Stryvann nodded.

  —I’ll send a covert inspection to Sector 9. Three mid-level agents with falsified administrative credentials. They’ll review the stations, local health reports, and possible witnesses. It’ll be disguised as an environmental audit.

  —Acceptable —said Sael—. But make sure they don’t interact with anyone with magical history. No religious figures, no former academy students, no civilian personnel with anomalies. We still don’t know how that girl activated.

  —Or who activated her —Daryenne corrected, with a venomous whisper.

  The lights dimmed a level as the session closed.

  A new digital folder was dispatched to tactical units.

  And the Throne, though it never said it aloud, was afraid.

  In Lyss’s apartment

  I woke up before dawn, as always. No alarm, no jolt. As if something inside me measured time more precisely than any clock.

  The apartment was silent. Darkness was slowly unraveling across the impersonal furniture. I sat on the bed, letting my feet touch the cold floor. That first contact with reality was always the harshest.

  I headed straight to the bathroom.

  Hot water hit my skin with enough force to wash away the weight of the previous night… or at least soften it. I didn’t like thinking while I showered. I didn’t like remembering. But that pressure in my chest was still there—mute, constant. As if whispering that the day would bring something more.

  Then came the usual process: drying the body, clothing the skin with neutrality.

  I opened the wardrobe assigned to my persona.

  The outfit was discreet, professional: straight-cut dark trousers, a pearl-gray blouse made of soft fabric, and a fitted jacket with no embellishments. Everything needed to make Lyria Wren look like a competent, invisible, irreproachable assistant.

  I didn’t feel like I was wearing a costume.

  I felt… suspended.

  In front of the mirror, I combed my hair quickly and applied the minimum makeup: a bit of foundation, a thin line of eyeliner, a soft lipstick. Just enough to blend in. To pass.

  Before leaving, I adjusted the fake glasses over the bridge of my nose. Took a deep breath. Once more. And walked out.

  In the hallway, I met them.

  Velka already had her hair pulled into a high bun and wore the expression of someone who could kill without losing her smile. Neyra, on the other hand, looked paler than usual, as if she hadn’t slept. Her eyes scanned the corridor like every shadow could mean something.

  We didn’t say much.

  Just a glance.

  An invisible synapse.

  The three of us already knew something was going to shift today.

  We took the elevator in silence.

  And once we reached the ground floor, the city was waiting with a breath slower than usual.

  The transport dropped me off just a few steps from the complex. At that hour—not quite early, not quite late, with the sun split down the middle of the sky—the air smelled of reheated food and freshly pruned flowers. Seravenn had that strange ability to feel both alive and dead at the same time.

  I rode the elevator up in silence, still carrying the image of Silas fading into the crowd behind my eyes.

  I looked out the window as the city slowly woke, unaware that the game had already begun.

  The ride was brief. Public transport crossed the main districts with mechanical efficiency. Few people spoke at that hour.

  It wasn’t until I stepped off in front of the academy entrance that I noticed I still felt… that.

  A slight pressure in my chest.

  Not pain.

  Not fear.

  I couldn’t name it.

  I shook my head, adjusted my fake glasses, and stepped into the building.

  The early hours of the day passed like a well-oiled sequence of gears.

  Classification, seals, review of tactical campaign files, scanning of new entries, validation of damaged materials.

  I kept my expression neutral, my steps steady, and my mind busy.

  From time to time, I analyzed movement patterns across campus. Who came in, who left, how often.

  Nothing alarming yet, but certain routes were beginning to form. Repetitions.

  My reports for Velka would be precise.

  Lunch came without hunger.

  I walked through one of the side corridors toward the newly restricted section, where the document had been relocated the day before.

  It was no longer where I had hidden it.

  There was no formal alert. No confiscation notice. Just a single note:

  "Transferred to sector B-17 for preservation review."

  They had hidden it where no one would think to look: among tactical manuals and partially declassified records.

  Because what is truly dangerous is not always locked behind bars—it’s buried under bureaucracy.

  I turned down one of the main hallways when I heard voices.

  Three. Male. Young.

  Whispering with unsettling enthusiasm.

  —...yeah, but did you see her? That new assistant. She’s got a body... damn.

  —Totally. Like a goddess organizing shelves.

  —And did you see how she walks? Like she knows everyone’s watching, even if she says nothing.

  I froze.

  They didn’t know I was there.

  My jaw tensed.

  It wasn’t just what they were saying. It was what it meant.

  That the disguise I’d crafted so carefully had become more visible than my silence.

  I counted to five.

  I wouldn’t react. I couldn’t.

  —Could you talk about something useful? —said another voice. Silas.

  Silence.

  —Yes, she’s beautiful —he continued—. But that doesn’t give you the right to reduce her to that. She works harder than most of you. Or didn’t you notice?

  No response. Only the sound of footsteps fading.

  I didn’t move.

  I remained in the shadow of the wall until the hallway was empty.

  My chest was still, but my thoughts… not so much.

  Silas had defended me.

  Not out of obligation.

  Not because he had to.

  He just... did.

  And he didn’t say it for me to hear.

  That’s what unsettled me most.

  I wasn’t sure what surprised me more: that someone had stood up for me… or that I liked it.

  That’s when I noticed it:

  My heart was pounding.

  Not from anger.

  Not from shame.

  That annoying kind of heartbeat that reminds you you’re still feeling things you’d rather not.

  I returned to the library.

  Still too early to close.

  I shelved the new materials, straightened the desks, secured the access points.

  Solitude was welcome.

  Then I saw an envelope sealed, it only had written Classified — For recipient’s eyes only-Wren, someone had brought this here, maybe Silas? he was the archivist messenger after all, I then secured it in mi coat, ready to read for when i get home.

  I saw the document that had me intrigued

  Classification B – Internal History of Seravenn.

  I carried it to the desk farthest from the windows and opened it carefully.

  First page:

  “Record 01: The Lost Eras – Before the Oath of the Thirteen.”

  “The documents in this section were recovered from ruins predating the First Empire. They have been partially translated. The names of the Thirteen remain unclear, but the constant is always the same: thirteen female figures who acted as a bridge between humanity and an unknown force, in exchange for protecting their clans, tribes, or settlements.”

  “They are credited with establishing the first emotional pacts that form the basis of modern structured magic. It is unclear whether they lived at the same time or if their stories were woven together to build a foundational myth.”

  “The Council of the Seven Veils has classified these documents as restricted for cultural, political, and spiritual reasons.”

  I read the text over and over again.

  Each line cracked another fracture in the official versions we’d been fed since childhood.

  I leaned back in the chair.

  For the first time since I infiltrated the academy, I wasn’t thinking like Lyss or like Lyria.

  I was thinking like someone who wanted to know.

  My breathing was slow.

  But no matter how hard I tried...

  My heart still beat too fast.

  And deep down, I knew this file…

  Was only the beginning.

  Not far from There, near Neyra

  Neyra never slept well. She never had. But ever since she set foot in the capital under her new identity, something in the air had started to press against her, like a taut wire straining without rest.

  During her first patrols in the military district—her assigned zone—she had detected an anomaly. Not visual, not audible… magical.

  A trace.

  It wasn’t a common one. There was something off about it, something that clashed with Seravenn’s natural magical flow. It was faint, fragmented… but alive. Like a scar that refused to close. And that was enough for Neyra.

  She had sensed it the morning before, while passing near an old decommissioned hangar on the far southern edge of the Seventh Air Division’s grounds. A location that, according to official records, had been sealed off for months.

  Since then, the thought hadn’t let her go. Her mind kept circling back to that spot, analyzing variables, tracing routes, deciphering possible patterns. Neyra was a born analyst, a natural tracker—but she was also obsessive. And this time… she couldn’t ignore what her instincts were screaming.

  That night, beneath Seravenn’s overcast sky, she returned.

  Dressed in civilian clothes, her pulse carefully restrained, she slipped past the first round of surveillance with ease. The old cameras were inactive. The electric fence had a break she’d discovered two days earlier. The real danger lay within.

  The rusted door gave way with a muffled groan. Inside, the hangar smelled of dust, old oil, and forgotten secrets. But it didn’t take long to find it: a mark on the floor, a half-erased magical seal… but recent.

  And it wasn’t from Seravenn.

  Neyra knelt down to examine it, heart pounding in her throat. The energy still pulsed in the air, like a discordant song only she could hear. As she leaned closer, a sharp stab pierced through her skull. She shut her eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply. This wasn’t normal. It wasn’t hers.

  The vibration didn’t follow the structured patterns of national magic. It was asymmetrical. Broken. As if someone had uttered a forbidden word and forgotten how to silence it.

  She was so focused she didn’t hear the approaching boots.

  A beam of light sliced through the hangar.

  —Is someone there? —a firm male voice called out.

  Neyra froze.

  The guard was closer than she’d thought. She held her breath and slipped under an old metal wing, clinging to silence as her only salvation. The beam passed by… thankfully.

  Fifteen minutes passed before she dared to leave. The mistake had been minimal. But enough.

  Had she been caught, everything would’ve collapsed.

  In the complex’s elevator on the way back, her hands trembled slightly. Not from fear—but from frustration. The throb in her skull was still alive, like an echo she couldn’t silence.

  She couldn’t tell Velka or Lyss. Not yet. Not without proof. But that trace had been real. Someone was playing with odd magic in Seravenn, and Neyra had to find out who.

  The shape of the seal… it looked familiar, though she couldn’t place where she’d seen it before.

  It wasn’t a coincidence.

  And if it was… it didn’t matter.

  She would find the truth—even if it burned her from the inside to get it.

  A few minutes after what Neyra would never mention —

  The afternoon was beginning to fade over Seravenn. The sun sank slowly, casting an amber light that bathed the academy’s gray towers in a solemn glow.

  If I didn’t know what these walls were hiding, if this mask weren’t carved into my skin… I might even call it beautiful.

  I closed the library door carefully, letting the soft echo of the lock drift down the empty hallway. I adjusted the fake glasses over the bridge of my nose. As I descended the stone steps, my mind kept returning to that file.

  “North wing. Archived military history. Column two, classified container…”

  I had hidden it well, but I couldn’t shake the sharp curiosity clawing at my thoughts. Something told me this wasn’t just a historical document.

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  When I stepped outside into the courtyard, I saw him.

  Silas.

  He was standing by the transport stop, the wind tousling his hair effortlessly. He had a backpack slung over one shoulder and a bag in hand. Dinner, maybe. His gaze was distant, calm. Almost peaceful.

  I hadn’t planned to approach him. But my feet moved before I fully decided.

  —Thanks —I said.

  Silas turned, startled.

  —Huh? Thanks for…?

  —What you said. In the hallway. —I looked him straight in the eye, no hesitation—. You defended me.

  He blinked, visibly thrown off.

  —You… heard that? —he immediately grew flustered, like he’d said something inappropriate—. I’m sorry. I didn’t— I didn’t think much. I just said it. I know it came off blunt. But it's just… of course you’re… —he stumbled— beautiful, yes, but I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that… there’s something more about you. I can’t explain it. I’ll shut up now.

  I couldn’t help but smile.

  A light laugh escaped—unexpected—and for some reason… I didn’t want to hold it back.

  —I get what you meant —I replied, softer than I expected—. Thank you.

  Just then, his transport arrived. Silas glanced at it with some reluctance, as if he didn’t want the conversation to end so soon.

  —See you tomorrow, Professor Wren… right?

  I nodded. But this time, I smiled for real.

  He got on the vehicle, but not before giving me one last look from the door. I returned it.

  And in that moment, my heart gave a strange jolt.

  A warm, almost electric sting. Not painful… but unexpected. Unsettling.

  I boarded mine with the echo of his voice still floating in my mind. I settled by the window and, on impulse, reached into the inside of my coat.

  I pulled out the one envelope.

  “Classified — For recipient’s eyes only.”

  My face changed. The smile faded beneath the weight of that message.

  I tucked it away again, carefully, like sealing a secret I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

  A shadow with a borrowed name.

  A role to play.

  But for an instant… someone had looked at me as if I were just myself.

  Apartment complex night

  The elevator stopped with a faint hum. I stepped out as usual, but inside me, something felt... off. Everything was too quiet. Neither of them was in the lobby—no messages, no teasing comments. Something... unusual.

  I went up to Velka’s floor.

  Knock, knock.

  The door opened instantly, like she’d been waiting right behind it. Velka appeared with her usual expression: a lazy half-smile and one eyebrow raised.

  —Well, well… punctuality incarnate —she teased, giving me a slow once-over—. What, did you miss my snarky remarks or something?

  —I just thought you’d be waiting downstairs like always —I replied, still a little confused.

  —Wait for you three hours down there? Not a chance. —She turned on her heels—. Come in.

  I stepped inside. Everything seemed in order. But I noticed Velka was holding a package in her hand. And when she saw me, she pointed at mine.

  —You got one too? —she asked, nodding at the envelope in my hands.

  —Yeah, earlier. I have it here.

  —I haven’t opened it yet. Was waiting for the others. —She crossed her arms—. Let’s go see Neyra. Maybe the little rat already peeked at hers without us.

  We went down together, the elevator humming with its usual buzz. When we arrived, we knocked. A few seconds passed. Then the door opened.

  Neyra.

  Disheveled. Tired-eyed. But not alarmed. Just... distracted.

  —You got one too? —Velka asked straight away.

  —Yeah… —Neyra replied, stepping aside to let us in.

  Her apartment was more sober than Velka’s. Less decorated. More functional.

  Each of us pulled out our envelope. Inside was a small holographic communicator, the size of a credit card. As soon as we touched it, it lit up and confirmed our identities. Then, an image projected in front of us.

  Caelia.

  With her serene gaze and calm voice —the one we knew well. Though… something in her was more rigid.

  —Hi, girls —she said—. I’m okay. I’ve been discharged from recovery. The prosthetic is working... but I can’t return to the field yet. I still need to pass evaluations and adjustments. That’s why I’ll remain at the academy for intelligence support.

  My chest eased at her words. She was safe.

  —I trust you. I know you. And I especially trust you, Lyss. —My name flowed softly from her lips—. Do what needs to be done. With honor.

  Though deep down... part of me wondered how she trusted us so much when we barely knew each other.

  The projection hesitated briefly, then continued:

  —Before I go, one more thing. You've been assigned an inspection mission tomorrow morning. Sector 6-North. The team stationed there has stopped reporting. It might just be a technical glitch, but we need visual confirmation. Keep things discreet. Don’t raise alarm.

  The message faded. For a moment… we just breathed.

  Then Velka’s eyes locked onto mine. Narrowed, gleaming with that spark she only got when she was about to tease me.

  —There's something odd on your face, sweetheart. That smile… what was it again? Ah yes… "clumsy messenger."

  I rolled my eyes. —It’s nothing. And that’s not his name.

  —Oh really? —Neyra jumped in immediately, pointing at me—. So what is it? You secretly in love with Caelia? Or is there something else we don’t know?

  I huffed, crossing my arms.

  —He just defended me. Some idiots were talking about my body. He stepped in.

  —Aha… —Velka drew out the sound, grinning like a cat that had found its mouse—. So it is the clumsy messenger.

  —His name is Silas —I blurted out before thinking.

  Silence.

  The two of them looked at each other. Then burst into laughter.

  —She said it! She said his name! —Velka practically collapsed onto Neyra’s couch in glee—. We have to talk! Girl talk! Come on! What’s he like? What’s got you all flustered? I need details!

  Neyra leaned in too. There was no escape.

  I took a deep breath… and started.

  —He’s… curious. Observant. He looks at things like everything matters... like he sees more than the surface. He talks a lot, but never too much. And when he’s quiet, it feels… sincere. Like he’s really listening. He said my name like it meant something, not like he read it off a list. His hands are steady, but gentle. His voice… it’s warm. Like... like I could fall asleep just listening to it. He’s...

  I stopped.

  Neyra looked at me as if I’d committed blasphemy. Velka clutched her chest dramatically.

  —I’m supposed to be the obsessive one here —Neyra said, pointing at herself—. Me!

  —You have to admit it, Lyss… —Velka laughed—. This is real. You’re in deep.

  I blushed. No way to hide it.

  —I’m not...! It’s just… admiration. Temporary.

  —Sure —Velka sing-songed—. So temporary you described his hands like poetry.

  Neyra, still laughing, raised her hands.

  —Sleepover.

  —What? —I asked.

  —Sleepover. My apartment. Tonight. We’re doing this right. Go get your clothes. Ten minutes.

  —Are you serious? —I tried to protest.

  —Ten minutes. Go, love-struck soldier! —Velka said, pointing at the door.

  I sighed. But I couldn’t help smiling.

  As I stood to grab my things, I felt a gentle warmth in my chest.

  Something that wasn’t duty or magic.

  Something new.

  And for a few minutes, we weren’t undercover operatives or pawns in a network.

  We were just three girls laughing…

  As if we weren’t dangerous at all.

  Seravenn- night time Civil sector C-3

  Penumbra had fallen over Seravenn, and the lights of the magnetic rails flickered with the passing transports.

  Silas Whitmore entered his apartment without hurry. There was something in the air that night, as if everything that had happened during the day—Lyria’s words, her expression, her voice—was still floating over his head, suspended like a fog he couldn’t shake off.

  His apartment was simple, tidy—more out of habit than necessity. The walls bore warm gray tones, and he had barely any decorations save for a withered plant in the kitchen and a few books next to his bed. Everything was clean... except for one room.

  The small studio was flooded with papers, charcoal pencils, dried-out paint tubes, and unsigned sketches hanging from makeshift strings like clothes drying in the sun. It was his most intimate space, his sanctuary. In that place, order didn’t exist, and the soul could breathe.

  He spent some time cooking something simple and sorting through the day’s papers before heading to the bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror, splashed water on his face, and stared back with a hint of doubt.

  —"Hi... would you... like to join me?"

  —"No, no, that sounds like I’m proposing marriage..."

  —"I saw you reading really fast today... maybe you could help me find something at the public library."

  —"...That sounds better."

  He repeated that last line a few times. Memorized it. Then he stepped out of the bathroom, his hair still slightly damp, walked into the studio, and without thinking much, picked up one of the papers from the pile.

  His hand began to move on its own, with soft but confident strokes. At first, he didn’t know what he was drawing, until the shape became inevitable: Lyria’s face. Not completely precise, more of an emotional interpretation—the seriousness in her brow, the stillness of her mouth, but most of all, the eyes. There was something in that gaze he couldn’t put into words, so he drew it.

  He had planned to draw something else. Anything else. But his hand chose for him.

  When he finished, he didn’t sign it. Not with his name. Not with hers.

  He simply left it there, on the desk, staring at what he didn’t dare say aloud.

  Then he turned off the light and dropped into bed.

  Tomorrow, he would try.

  Seravenn-Night time Near the industrial sector

  The night kept stretching over Seravenn, but in a private attic of a repurposed old building—closer to the financial district than any residential zone—three figures had gathered.

  The space was nearly empty. Just a round steel table, three chairs, and a dim lamp hanging over their heads. The light barely touched their faces, keeping them in a chiaroscuro that spoke more of shadows than presence.

  Silke Engel was the last to arrive. Her black dress still carried the scent of expensive perfume—likely Sinclair, that mix of desire and melancholy that left trails in private elevators. She closed the door without a sound and walked with that practiced grace that looked more like floating than walking. She sat without a word, crossing her legs with feline elegance.

  Violeta Raumer was already there, leaning against the wall, her expression as indifferent as ever. Her short hair was styled differently, as if she had changed faces that very day. She probably had. She toyed with a metal needle between her fingers.

  Elainne Voss, as always, remained upright, analytical. Her cane rested within reach, and her gaze swept across the other two with surgical precision.

  —Reports —Elainne ordered without preamble.

  Silke spoke with a hint of amusement in her voice.

  —The banker is... cooperating. He thinks he fell in love with me last night. For now, I’m on the list of people with direct access to the central bank’s internal system. In two days, I’ll be able to clone the financial records and extract the codes we need.

  —Good —Elainne replied, then turned her eyes to Violeta.

  —Industrial zone is clean. I accessed the internal map of the magical resource distribution system. The head of security thinks I’m his niece. —Violeta didn’t smile when she said it, but something in her tone felt mocking—. All that’s left are the detonators in key locations. They’ll be ready in two nights.

  —I completed the emotional mapping of the military command —Elainne said—. There aren’t many registered Magical Girls, but... —she looked at the other two with a glance that, for a moment, seemed to contain emotion— there’s something.

  Silke raised an eyebrow.

  —Something?

  —A presence… —Elainne closed her eyes—. I don’t know if it’s residual magic, something hidden, or deliberately dormant, but we are not alone. And I don’t mean just one more.

  Violeta stopped playing with the needle.

  —That’s problematic.

  —Which is why the schedule doesn’t change —Elainne concluded—. Two days. We’ll meet again when the operation is ready for execution. If there are variables, we adapt. But we don’t lose this opportunity.

  —Understood —Silke replied, with a gleam in her eyes that wasn’t excitement, but hunger.

  —Understood —Violeta echoed.

  Elainne deactivated the interference device on the table.

  —No signal left this place. Go back to your covers. And remember: if there are Magical girls in Seravenn… we are not the only goddesses.

  They looked at each other in silence for a moment. Then, without another word, they stood up, gathered their belongings, and exited through different doors.

  The night, complicit, swallowed their shadows.

  Now a single shadow lurked form somewhere in Seravenn

  The dim lights of the lampposts barely illuminated the edges of the buildings, and the city’s hustle had given way to an uneasy calm.

  Silke Engel walked alone down a secondary avenue, her heels striking the pavement with a measured, almost hypnotic rhythm. She wasn’t in a hurry. Her silhouette—perfect, deliberate—seemed part of the city’s nocturnal decor.

  Upon reaching the threshold of her building—an exclusive complex with a security system and mirrored glass reflecting the city like a mirage—she stopped suddenly.

  Her red-painted lips curved into a faint smirk.

  There was something.

  Not an alarm, not a certainty… but an impression.

  A couple of days earlier—she recalled it with clinical clarity—she had walked past a young woman waiting at a public transport stop.

  Dark hair. Glasses. Subtle, elegant beauty. Nothing too flashy.

  But she had felt it.

  An echo.

  Like an imperceptible vibration in the air around her. Something that didn’t match the facade that girl projected. A spark, minimal, buried under layers of control.

  Magic.

  Silke narrowed her eyes, placing a finger on her lips as she pressed the entry sensor.

  —Interesting...

  She couldn’t remember the girl’s face precisely—her gift didn’t work that way—but she remembered the exact place. And that was enough.

  If time allowed, she would return. Not to look for the girl.

  But to find what she herself had felt when passing by her.

  Because Silke Engel didn’t believe in coincidences.

  And even less in secrets that didn’t belong to her.

  The elevator closed behind her. Her reflection blurred on the polished metal as she rose to her private refuge.

  But the image—hazy, vague—of that figure at the bus stop… would not leave her mind.

  Away from the shadow that had just set root, Three distinct girls tried to celebrate in something that resemble normalcy

  Laughter still echoed through the halls when Velka and I returned to Neyra’s apartment. She was already waiting with the door half-open, still in semi-formal clothes but holding a bag with her pajamas in the other hand.

  —Come in, come in... —Neyra murmured as she closed the door behind us—. Did you bring pajamas, or are you planning to sleep like those goddesses from the old ages?

  —Goddesses, yes, but with dignity —Velka replied with a shameless grin, dropping her bag on the floor.

  I placed mine in a corner of the living room, still not having taken off my jacket. We had barely started to settle in when Velka threw herself onto the couch with that mischievous smile of hers—the one that always came right before some kind of trouble.

  —So... has he held your hand yet? Kissed your cheek? Or was he lucky enough to see what’s underneath those towels you always wear after a shower? —she teased, raising an eyebrow and putting on her most theatrical voice—. Kidding, kidding… mostly.

  I rolled my eyes. I’d barely had a few seconds of peace.

  —Here we go again —I muttered, sitting up straighter, unsure whether to take it as a joke or brace for interrogation.

  —Don’t pressure her so soon! —Neyra laughed, though she flashed me the same mischievous smile as Velka—. But seriously… how’s it going?

  —Nothing —I replied, trying to keep my tone neutral—. He just defended me. That’s all.

  —Oh, the brave messenger Silas, right? —Velka said with playful sarcasm—. He already has a name and everything. I knew it.

  To ease the tension, Neyra crossed her legs on the carpet and began telling one of her stories. A memory from long ago, when she got emotionally involved with someone during a mission. She didn’t tell it with sadness, but with that quiet of someone who had made peace with her past.

  —He was part of the civilian staff on a base. Nothing special. But he looked at me like I didn’t have a hidden pistol strapped to my ankle —she smiled, almost fondly—. For a few weeks, I got to be someone else. And that version of me deserved to exist. Even if… it almost ruined the operation. I got sanctioned, earned a scar, and lost a few nights of sleep. Still… I don’t regret it.

  Velka, more relaxed, lay on her stomach on the bed, hugging a pillow under her arms.

  —I had a few stories before all this. People who made me laugh, made me feel alive... —She shrugged—. None ended well, but not all were disasters.

  She paused, then smiled with dry irony.

  —Though there was one —or maybe it was a her, hard to say with my luck— who dumped me for someone with tattooed eyebrows who spoke in grunts. Literally. Grunted. Like it was a language.

  —What? —Neyra laughed.

  —You heard me. I was heartbroken, and he’d say she was a “wild soul in a perfect body.” All I saw was someone who collected serial killer figurines named after cats.

  We laughed, but then Velka dropped her gaze a little, her voice softer.

  —I don’t regret having lived… but I do regret not having loved better. Sometimes I wonder if the parts of me that wanted something real… I left them behind too soon.

  —And you, Lyss? —Neyra asked me suddenly, with unexpected gentleness.

  But Velka didn’t let me answer right away. She picked up her phone with mock solemnity.

  —Perfect time for a dinner worthy of goddesses. What do you say to flame-seared golden salmok, black plum crisps, crystal-seed bread, and a couple of sweet air spheres?

  —Don’t you think that’s a bit… excessive for keeping our cover? —I raised an eyebrow.

  —Excessive? —Velka scoffed—. We’re pretending to be normal civilians. And what do normal civilians do? Eat expensive food when emotionally unstable!

  It made sense. Absurdly… but logically.

  While Velka placed the order, she suggested we do our hair, try on makeup, and do “normal” things. Neyra agreed without hesitation. I, though hesitant, eventually gave in. I don’t know when it happened, but I started laughing, trying lipsticks and shadows, letting them do my hair as if there were no responsibilities waiting. For a moment, we were just that —girls.

  When the food arrived, it was even better than I’d imagined. The salmok glistened with its golden crust, the black plum crisp sparkled with each bite, the bread cracked like candy beneath our teeth. The sky-blue liqueur from Nytha tingled sweetly on the tongue, and the chilled air sphere was so light, it felt like it might vanish between your fingers.

  It wasn’t a dinner. It was a made-up celebration to make it feel like the world wasn’t falling apart.

  Between bites, Velka went in again:

  —Lyss… are you really sure you don’t want something real with Silas?

  —I don’t know —I said, surprised by the question—. I haven’t thought about it.

  —It would be risky —Neyra murmured, stabbing her fork into her crisp—. Being a “goddess” doesn’t leave room for ordinary romance.

  —Don’t think about that right now —Velka cut in with a smile—. If it happens, it happens. Who says you can’t live something beautiful, even for a moment?

  —I’m just… curious. It’s not love —I said, more to convince myself than them.

  —The more you deny it, the more it sounds true —Neyra teased.

  —Have you ever been with anyone? —Velka asked, her voice gentler this time.

  I swallowed. My eyes stayed fixed on the plate for a few seconds.

  —No. Before this… I don’t think I ever received genuine affection. Not even once.

  Silence.

  Neyra stood up and hugged me from behind, resting her forehead against my head.

  —Velka, you idiot. Your stupid questions —she said, though her tone was soft.

  —Hey! —Velka protested, but she was already coming over to hug me too.

  —It’s okay… —I murmured, wrapped in their arms—. You both opened up to me. I can try to do the same.

  After that, we went to change. We brushed our teeth, put on comfortable clothes. We agreed on a time to wake up, shower, and get ready properly. Thankfully, Neyra’s bed was wide and soft. No sleeping improvisations this time.

  We lay down, sharing warmth under the covers. Velka was in the middle, me on one side, Neyra on the other. For the first time… everything felt warm.

  —Good night, goddesses —Velka murmured.

  —Good night —Neyra and I replied at the same time, almost laughing.

  I closed my eyes. For the first time in a long while, the world felt far away. And in that little bubble, I wasn’t Lyss the warrior.

  I was Lyria. Just for one night.

  The quiet wrapped around me in a strange warmth. That mattress was more comfortable than I expected, and for a moment, I believed I’d sleep peacefully until morning.

  —I don’t know how long this will last… —Velka whispered, barely audible—. But if it were up to me… I’d let this night last forever.

  And for the first time, I truly wanted that too.

  The silence of the night wrapped around me with an unfamiliar warmth. That mattress was more comfortable than I had imagined, and for a moment, I thought I’d sleep soundly until dawn. But something woke me up. Not a noise… more like an absence.

  The warmth beside me had vanished, leaving a cold trace on the sheets.

  Velka was no longer in bed.

  I sat up slowly, expecting to see her silhouette in the bathroom, but the door was slightly ajar and the light was off. Neyra, still beside me, slept deeply—curled up with a peace I almost envied. I got up carefully, silently, following the faint whisper of the breeze coming through the living room.

  There she was. Leaning against the window, her forehead nearly pressed to the glass, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her fingers gripped her elbows like they were holding something in. Her shoulders, usually relaxed, were tense. The silhouette that normally filled the space with laughter and teasing now looked… restrained.

  —What's wrong? —I asked softly.

  She turned, startled. For a second she seemed to search for a quick joke, a playful response to defuse the moment… but she didn’t. Her eyes, though still veiled in shadows, reflected something deeper.

  —Sometimes… when I use my power… something gets trapped with me —she said, bluntly—. A memory. A regret. It doesn’t always manifest, but when it does… it comes in dreams.

  I didn’t know what to say at first. I just took another step, closer, but not too close. Velka… showing vulnerability without hiding behind sarcasm. That wasn’t common.

  —Do you want to talk about it?

  —Not yet —she shook her head with a faint smile, though her eyes remained serious—. But I’m getting there. I’m sorry. Don’t worry, I’m fine.

  I nodded, though I wasn’t entirely convinced.

  —I’ll come back in a few minutes —she added, turning back to the window—. I can’t leave the goddess of love unprotected just because of a silly nightmare, right?

  I smiled, unable to help it. Velka, even in her most fragile moments, always knew how to say just enough to ease the tension.

  —You better not —I replied before heading back toward the bedroom.

  I returned to the bed on quiet feet. Neyra hadn’t moved an inch. I lay down carefully, closing my eyes, but my mind wouldn’t let go of Velka’s image, standing there at the window. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen a crack in her armor… but it was the clearest.

  The mattress was still warm. Neyra breathed in a steady rhythm. And even if the city outside was still Seravenn… for a while, inside here, it wasn’t.

  And still, I drifted into sleep.

  Not from exhaustion, but from trust.