The morning began with a strange silence. I opened my eyes with the impression that someone had been standing beside the bed all night. The air was cold, unmoving, as if the clock in the hall had stopped marking the seconds. I sat up suddenly, pulse racing, but all I found was the pristine white ceiling and Velka’s steady breathing at my side.

  She was already dressing calmly, buttoning her jacket with her usual precision. She noticed my stare and smiled, though her eyes carried a weariness she never showed to anyone else. She came closer, tucked a loose strand of my hair behind my ear, and offered me a cup of coffee.

  —Today we’ll be perfect again, my dear Caroline —she whispered, her light tone an attempt to cover the pressure closing in on us.

  I smiled, though inside I felt as if the walls of the house had shrunk a little more overnight. For a fleeting moment, the mirror in the hallway gave me back a strange image: my reflection tilted its head in another direction, wearing a smile I didn’t remember making. I blinked, and the illusion vanished.

  We left shortly before noon, arms linked like the impeccable wives we were meant to play. The city’s air was icy, but not as cold as the straight, measured gazes of the people we passed. Everyone seemed to move like cogs in the same machine: firm steps, brief smiles, precise greetings. Some recognized us as Caroline and Susanne, bowing their heads respectfully. A child stared longer than he should have, his eyes wide, as if he saw something the adults couldn’t perceive.

  The walk to the library lasted barely ten minutes, yet it felt endless. The gray buildings, with their wrought-iron facades, seemed to close in on us with every step. Velka glanced sideways at me now and then, calculating how much longer I could endure before breaking.

  —Remember, love —she murmured, adjusting my sleeve as if it were an intimate gesture rather than a military reminder—. Inside, we can be ourselves. Outside… we are them.

  I nodded without answering.

  The library rose before us with dark marble columns and stained-glass windows. In one of them, the figure of a saint I didn’t recognize seemed to watch me. Her face was serene, her hands outstretched, and from her eyes fell tears of light. A shiver ran down my spine: I could swear I had seen her before, though I couldn’t recall where.

  Inside, the silence was reverent. Velka drifted away toward a counter where an academic seemed to recognize her —or rather, Susanne. I stayed alone by a shelf, pretending to examine an old book on magical containment. My hands trembled.

  A young researcher approached me, wearing a nervous smile.

  —Excuse me, Dr. Schulz. I’m a great admirer of your last article. Could you… sign this for me?

  For a second, I froze. Then I remembered who I was supposed to be and signed with the handwriting I had practiced the night before, each stroke heavy as lead.

  —Thank you, Doctor. Your work has been… inspiring —he murmured, and hurried away as quickly as he had appeared.

  Velka returned to my side with a satisfied smile.

  —Look at that, you already have admirers.

  —I’d rather not —I whispered.

  —I know. But for now… smile.

  It wasn’t long before Caelia and Neyra arrived. Their faces were perfect masks of intellectual curiosity, but as soon as our eyes met, I knew we were all thinking the same thing. We walked together toward a secluded cubicle. The sliding door closed with a hush, and for an instant, the air felt lighter.

  —Are you both alright? —asked Caelia, her calm tempering the tension pressing on my chest.

  —Yes —I replied, trying not to sound too relieved.

  We sat, and the distant murmur of the library faded behind the walls. Caelia spoke first.

  —I have things to share, but I want to hear what you’ve discovered.

  —The containment module —I said at once—. There’s a door we can’t access. I’m sure it’s tied to the project’s core.

  —The one marked “authorized personnel only”? —Neyra interjected.

  I nodded.

  —Yes. I feel like that’s where they’re keeping what we’re looking for.

  Neyra opened a small notebook.

  —I reviewed the financial records. They’re diverting large sums toward something called “Resonance Vaults.” Designed to contain magic on a massive scale.

  Velka murmured, almost to herself:

  —Then Project Aurora is further along than we thought.

  —It is —confirmed Caelia—. From what I intercepted, it will be ready in four days. We have no margin for error.

  Silence fell over us. None of us wanted to say it aloud, but we all felt it: the city, the facilities, even this elegant library… everything breathed with a single purpose. And something in the shadows was watching, waiting for the right moment to come into the light.

  happened within those silent walls. Velka slipped her arm through mine, guiding me toward one of the elegant cafés lining the main avenue. The wrought-iron sign glimmered faintly under the gray daylight, and the interior—warm, perfumed with freshly ground coffee—welcomed us like a stage far too perfect.

  We sat by a window. Outside, people walked past in dark coats and rigid strides, while inside everything seemed suspended in false serenity. Velka ordered two coffees with the ease of someone who had done this a thousand times, and I mirrored her composure, though my hands trembled faintly beneath the table.

  That was when a man in a dark suit, with a neatly trimmed mustache, stopped upon seeing us. His eyes lit up as they fell on Velka.

  —Doctor Susanne! —he said with enthusiasm—. What an honor to see you here.

  My heart raced. Velka, not losing a second, rose with that flawless grace only she could fake and shook the man’s hand.

  —The honor is mine —she replied with measured sweetness—. It has been an intense few weeks, but there’s always a moment for a good coffee.

  The man greeted her with the warmth of someone who truly knew her, and before leaving, turned to me.

  —And you must be Caroline. A pleasure at last to put a face to such a brilliant collaborator.

  I had no choice. I leaned toward him with a rehearsed smile.

  —The pleasure is mine. I hope our efforts will bear the expected results.

  When he finally left, Velka sat back down and, before I could exhale, slid her hand over mine on the table. She squeezed it firmly, forcing me to keep smiling.

  —You look beautiful when you smile like that —she whispered, just before leaning in and brushing my lips with a brief kiss, public yet convincing enough to smother any doubt.

  Heat rushed to my cheeks, and at the same time, the sting of knowing that every gesture could be observed. Velka knew it. She held my gaze and squeezed my hand again, like an anchor amid the cold.

  —Remember, darling —she murmured, with Susanne’s calm smile—: we’re not acting. We’re living.

  I swallowed hard, taking a sip of coffee that tasted as bitter as the truth itself. And I smiled again, because there was no other choice.

  The walk back was slow, as if the cold itself wanted to hold us in those immaculate streets. Velka walked with her arm looped through mine, Susanne’s flawless smile still on her lips. I mirrored her, but inside my body was nothing but tremors and knives. Every step echoed in my ears as though the entire city were watching us.

  When we reached the house, we closed the door behind us with a shared sigh. Everything was just as suffocating: the perfectly aligned paintings, the spotless table, the carpet brushed in the same direction. Too precise. Too observed.

  We didn’t speak. We couldn’t. We climbed the stairs in silence, hearts lodged in our throats. Only when Velka closed the door to our bedroom—where we knew there were no microphones—did I finally dare to breathe for real.

  —You look like a statue, Lyss —Velka said softly, letting herself fall onto the bed.

  —I’m just… thinking —I replied, pressing a hand to my face.

  She stood, crossed the room slowly, and wrapped her arms around my waist. Her forehead rested against mine.

  —Don’t think so much. What matters is that we’re still here. Together.

  I wanted to believe her. I clung to her warmth, to the way her fingers traced circles across my back. But then, in an instant, something flashed through my mind: a different corridor, an open door, voices I had never truly heard. I remembered—or thought I remembered—Caroline Schulz speaking to me sternly, as if she had been there, alive, guiding me. Her face was so vivid it stole the air from my lungs.

  I blinked, and it was gone. We were in the bedroom. Just Velka and me.

  I pulled back slightly, unsettled.

  —I just… saw something strange —I murmured.

  —What kind of strange? —Velka asked gently.

  —I don’t know. Like I was in another place. Like someone was speaking to me… but it wasn’t real.

  Velka brushed my cheek with the back of her hand.

  —It’s exhaustion, darling. You’ve carried too much today.

  I nodded, though the knot in my chest didn’t unravel. Because part of me knew it wasn’t only exhaustion. It was something else—something that had followed me from that locked door in the facility’s halls.

  Velka drew me back against her and kissed my forehead.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  —Rest. As long as you have me, nothing can touch you.

  But deep down, as I closed my eyes, I felt the opposite: that whatever had brushed against my memory was already here inside, and no locked door would ever keep it out.

  That night, while Velka and I finally allowed ourselves a few hours of uneasy rest, the city outside kept breathing in its strict rhythm

  Yet elsewhere, in a quiet apartment not far from the central district, another mind struggled with a different kind of unrest.

  Klara Weisshaupt lay awake beside her husband, the silence of their home broken only by the faint hum of the heaters and his steady breathing. She stared at the ceiling, her thoughts scattered like fragments of broken glass.

  —You’re awake again —murmured her husband, turning slightly to look at her.

  —I can’t sleep —Klara admitted, her voice low, almost reluctant. She pressed a hand against her temple. —It feels… strange. Like something followed me home from the facility.

  He frowned, sitting up halfway. —Strange how?

  —Like a weight in the air. And when I think about the new researchers, Caroline and Susanne… I don’t know why, but they feel wrong. Familiar and foreign at the same time. It makes no sense.

  Her husband gave her a teasing smile, trying to soften the tension. —So… should I be jealous? Are you secretly attracted to your new colleagues?

  Klara let out a short, dry laugh. —Don’t be ridiculous. But there is… something. A pull. It unsettles me.

  —Well, if that’s the worst of it, I can live with sharing you with two brilliant women —he replied, half-serious, half in jest.

  She rolled her eyes, though the corners of her lips curved faintly. But the unease didn’t leave her. The sensation clung to her skin, an echo that whispered of something deeper.

  Klara closed her eyes, but instead of darkness she saw a brief flash: light bleeding from cracks in stone, a figure half-buried beneath rubble, symbols that shifted like prayers twisted into knots. She gasped softly and pressed closer to her husband.

  —Klara? —he asked, concerned now.

  —I just… saw something. A ruin. A corpse dressed in sanctity… I don’t know. Maybe I’m just exhausted.

  He kissed her forehead, pulling her gently into his arms. —You need rest. Tomorrow will make more sense.

  But Klara knew this wasn’t just fatigue. Something was stirring in the shadows of the project, something old and bleeding through the cracks. And though she didn’t yet have words for it, she knew one thing for certain: Caroline and Susanne would be at the heart of it.

  But then. The discreet hum of the communicator broke the silence of the room. Klara opened her eyes abruptly, as if she had not been asleep at all. Her husband, still half-drowsy, turned toward her but said nothing. She sat up with the iron calm that defined her and picked up the device.

  —Commander Weisshaupt —Ilsa’s voice came firm from the other end, carrying that professional tone that never softened—. We just wanted to inform you that tomorrow, first thing in the morning, a live test of Project Aurora will take place.

  Klara straightened her back. Though her features remained impassive, a faint spark lit in her eyes.

  —What kind of test? —she asked evenly.

  —It will be a controlled demonstration of the new containment modules —added Mareike—. They are almost ready, and your direct supervision is essential.

  For an instant, Klara allowed her lips to curve, a smile so restrained that only someone very close would notice it.

  —Understood. I’ll be there. Make sure everything is prepared down to the smallest detail. I will not tolerate imprecision.

  —Yes, Commander —they replied in unison. The line cut off with a faint click.

  Klara remained silent for a moment, the communicator still in her hand. Her husband watched her from the bed with a tired smile.

  —It always amazes me how much you shine when you talk about your projects —he said in a low, almost teasing voice—. I’m starting to get jealous.

  Klara glanced at him sideways, the severity of her military mask softening just slightly.

  —Jealous… —she repeated, letting out a sigh that sounded more intimate than any laugh—. You have nothing to be jealous of.

  He sat up and drew her back to the bed with ease, as if gravity itself were reclaiming her. She, so strict and commanding in the outside world, let herself be pulled in, passive, her tense muscles slowly yielding to the warmth of his closeness.

  —Stay with me tonight, Klara. Tomorrow you’ll have your tests, your soldiers, your machines… But right now, I want my wife —he murmured, kissing her softly on the temple.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself that pause. But even in the midst of his embrace, a strange pang crawled across her nape. It was as if an unseen presence still lingered in the room, dark and expectant.

  She said nothing. She only squeezed her husband’s hand briefly, anchoring herself to the human, to what was real.

  That same Day hours early...

  Deep beneath the palace of Seravenn, far below the gilded halls and the corridors everyone knew, there was a chamber few had ever seen. The walls were made of dark marble, covered in ancient inscriptions that seemed to merge science and faith into a single language. The air was cold, heavy with incense and the faint metallic scent of iron.

  The hidden chamber opened with a dull, metallic sound, as if the very walls resisted revealing what lay inside. Queen Seraphina Vaeloria stepped forward with measured grace, though a faint tremor lingered in her hands. The room was built of polished stone and black marble, lit only by crystal lamps burning with pale blue fire. At its center stood a low throne of iron and silver, surrounded by slender pipes that curved toward a sealed vessel etched with runes.

  A maiden in white robes greeted her with a deep bow. She spoke no words; none were needed. In silence, she prepared the instruments—crystal needles, silver tubes—and connected them to the vessel. Inside, the liquid glowed with a carmine radiance, pulsing faintly as though it still carried life.

  Seraphina lowered herself into the seat, exhaling slowly. This ritual was not for her daughters’ eyes, nor for any councilor’s ears. Only a handful of sworn attendants knew the truth: the substance preserved her strength, sharpened her mind, and held back the shadows that threatened to consume her. She told herself, again and again, it was not only for her. It was for them. For her daughters.

  When the needle slid into her arm, a shiver coursed through her. The liquid flowed into her veins, warm and electric, like fire turned to blood. She closed her eyes and released a restrained sigh. Her heart quickened, her thoughts grew clear, and for a fleeting moment the weight of years seemed to dissolve. Vitality returned—but at a price that no one must ever know.

  The maiden turned her gaze aside while the process continued. The silence of the chamber was broken only by the gentle drip of the glowing fluid. Seraphina opened her eyes, lifting them to the vaulted ceiling where ancient sigils seemed to watch from the stone.

  —All for them, —she whispered under her breath. —For my daughters.

  Hours later, the queen strode through the golden halls of the palace. Her bearing was flawless, her steps elegant, and to any observer she was the most unshakable woman in the continent. Yet beneath her skin the burn of secrecy lingered, like an ember that refused to die.

  Altheara Vaeloria awaited her in the solar chamber, standing tall beside an open window. At sixteen, the princess was slender, her dark hair reflecting her mother’s regal line, her eyes sharp with a gaze that always seemed to see more than she said. Her posture was perfect, trained, upright like a soldier’s blade. When Seraphina entered, Altheara inclined her head with practiced grace, though her voice carried both restraint and hunger for approval.

  —Mother.

  —Altheara, —Seraphina replied, her tone warm but measured. —Have you finished the reports for the guard?

  —I have. And I reviewed the genealogy you assigned me. The names, the symbols, the alliances. —She lifted her chin with quiet pride. —I can recite them without a single error.

  For a long moment, Seraphina regarded her daughter in silence. She had forged Altheara with discipline, sharpened her with duty. The girl knew that weakness had no place in her future. And yet, with the sun catching her youthful face, the queen felt an ache deep in her chest.

  —Very well, child. You have done as you must, —she said at last, her voice solemn.

  At that moment, light footsteps echoed into the room. Lirael Vaeloria, the youngest, no more than nine, entered with a rush of laughter. Her dress was pale, a ribbon in her hair, and she carried a worn doll in her arms.

  —Mama! —she cried, running into Seraphina’s embrace.

  The queen opened her arms, gathering her daughter close with a softness she rarely revealed. She lifted the girl lightly from the ground, letting her settle on her lap.

  —Lirael, my darling, why are you running through the palace halls? —she asked with the faintest smile, a smile that only her daughters ever saw.

  —I was playing I was a heroine! Like the statues in the garden! And I defeated a dragon this big! —the girl exclaimed, stretching her arms wide.

  Altheara rolled her eyes, her poise never breaking, but Seraphina stilled her with a gentle glance.

  —Every queen needs imagination as much as discipline, —she said, brushing Lirael’s hair. —Remember that, Altheara.

  —Yes, mother, —the elder replied, her voice restrained.

  The evening passed in deceptive calm. Seraphina sat with her daughters in their private dining chamber, where only the three of them shared bread and wine. Outside, the palace buzzed with councilors and servants, but within those walls the queen allowed herself to be mother before monarch.

  Altheara spoke of her lessons in diplomacy, of how she had been taught the value of appearing firm even in doubt. Seraphina listened with care, correcting details, reshaping thoughts, molding her as if she were clay destined for the throne.

  Lirael, meanwhile, filled the silence with stories of birds, fountains, and imaginary games. Her innocence lit the chamber, a counterpoint to the darkness Seraphina carried.

  And yet, as they spoke, the queen’s mind whispered a dagger of thought: they must never know. Not the chamber, not the crimson substance, not the rituals that bound her to life. Not while she alone could bear the weight.

  —Mother, —Altheara said suddenly, her voice breaking the quiet. —Why do we never speak of my father?

  The silence struck like a stone. Lirael blinked in confusion. Seraphina tightened her grip on her crystal cup, careful not to shatter it.

  —You have no need of him, —she answered at last, her voice low but firm. —Everything you require is here, within this realm. Within me.

  Altheara’s eyes flickered with defiance and resignation in equal measure. She nodded slowly, though Seraphina knew the question had not been silenced—merely postponed.

  That night, after bidding her daughters goodnight with a kiss to their foreheads, the queen lingered alone in her chamber. Her reflection stared back from the mirror: a woman regal, perfect, unyielding. But beneath her skin flowed a secret fire that made her mortal and fragile.

  She sat in silence, Altheara’s question still echoing. The future was approaching too quickly—Eiswacht, the Aurora Project, whispers of unrest. And now, her daughter’s rising doubt.

  Her fists tightened. She could still feel the heat of the crimson fluid burning through her veins, unnatural and strong.

  —All for you, —she whispered again, a vow etched in her voice. —For you… my daughters.

  Beyond the balcony, the moon rose bright and high over Seravenn. And in that moment, with both tenderness and ruthless resolve, Seraphina swore that no secret, no war, not even the march of time, would strip her daughters of the throne she was shaping for them.

  Yet deep inside, she knew the price of that vow would be greater than any could imagine.

  That same night beneth a fake sky...

  That night, the silence of the room wrapped around me like a suffocating shroud. Velka slept by my side, her breathing steady, her face serene even in the midst of the tension that strangled us. I, instead, fell into a dream I never asked for.

  Darkness. A plain covered in ash. I felt an unbearable weight in my womb. I looked down… and saw it: a black blade pushing out of my body, as if it had been sleeping inside me all along.

  The sword grew slowly, tearing through unseen flesh, piercing me as if I myself were its sheath. The pain was sharp, unbearable, yet at the same time… intoxicating. Every pulse of that metal was a heartbeat echoing inside my chest.

  My trembling hands gripped the hilt. Rage erupted within me like a volcano. It wasn’t ordinary anger; it was an ancient fire, claiming what belonged to it. Voices whispered in chorus, hissing my name, urging me to pull.

  And I pulled.

  The blade slid fully out of my womb with a wet, brutal snap. In my hands, the sword burned as if it breathed, feeding on me, on everything I was. Around me, the ash turned into fire. I saw cities burning, bodies falling, and my own silhouette raising the sword with a fury I did not recognize as mine… but that was still a part of me.

  I woke up suddenly, drenched in cold sweat. My heart hammered violently, as if it were still being ripped open. Velka slept peacefully beside me, oblivious to the inferno that had consumed my dreams.

  I covered my mouth with my hand, choking back a sob that could not be heard. The icy wind of Eiswacht battered the windows, but the real cold was lodged deep in my chest.

  I knew, without knowing how, that the sword was not just a dream. It was inside me, waiting for the moment to come out again.