The neon haze of Virelia dimmed as stormclouds gathered above
its steel towers. From the highest floor of the Dravien Syndicate’s
obsidian skyscraper, the city looked like a pulsing circuit of blood
and light.
Inside the council chamber, the Dravien family gathered. A hall of
glass and black stone, its walls etched with mafia sigils that
shimmered under dim crimson light. At the center—resting in a
crystalline case—was the Serpent’s Crown. Even sealed, its
green-silver aura bled across the floor like spilled venom.
Kael Dravien stood at the head of the table, silent, brooding. His
blade leaned against his chair, faint storm-aura licking along its
edge. His presence alone kept the council in check—though
whispers spread like smoke.
Elaris sat at his side, circuits glowing faintly beneath her skin, her
mechanical wings folded tight. She had not spoken since they left
the serpent’s cavern. The runes that had appeared there—the
murals of prophecy—were now etched faintly across her arm,
pulsing in sync with the Crown.
“Kael,” one of the elders muttered, voice heavy with warning.
“Artifacts carry their own curse. You bring danger to our bloodline.”
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Kael’s reply was a storm in a single word.
“Silence.”
But Xyren wasn’t silent. His gaze swept across the glass walls, his
neon-green eyes burning like a fractured star. “Someone’s coming.
The prophecy wasn’t just about the Crown… it spoke of a flower
that blooms from ash.”
The heavy double doors creaked open.
And she walked in.
Lysira Nyte. Codename: BLOOMFALL.
Every step dripped with elegance sharpened into menace. A
velvet-black gown trailed behind her, woven with threads of shifting
holographic petals. Her wings—crystalline, edged with obsidian
thorns—glimmered as though made to slice rather than fly. She
was beauty honed into a weapon.
“Kael…” she purred, her voice smooth and venomous, “…still
chasing crowns instead of thrones?”
The entire council froze. Some looked at Kael, some at her. But his
silence was louder than all their murmurs. His eyes lingered on
hers—too long, too familiar.
Elaris rose from her seat, sparks running through her circuits. “You
must be Bloomfall.”
Bloomfall’s lips curved into a smile too sharp to be kind. “And you…
must be the machine who pretends to be a fairy.”
The insult slid like a knife under Elaris’s skin, but she didn’t flinch.
Her metallic feathers lifted, faint light flaring at her core. “Better a
machine who can feel… than a fairy who knows only how to betray.”
A ripple of tension surged through the room. Elders shifted, some
glancing nervously toward Bloomfall. Then one of Kael’s uncles 41
moved forward, his robe sweeping the floor, and—shockingly—
bowed not to Kael, but to Bloomfall.
Whispers exploded. Betrayal had found its roots.
“You’ll never hold the throne without me,” Bloomfall declared,
spreading her wings wide, each obsidian shard catching the neon
glow. “The prophecy doesn’t belong to her… it belongs to us.”
At that moment, the Serpent’s Crown flared violently. The
crystalline case cracked, spectral serpents swirling out, hissing and
coiling across the ceiling. They projected a new vision across the
glass walls—
A mirror, fractured into infinite shards. In every reflection, a
different future: cities burning, flowers blooming from blood,
shadows devouring neon light. And in each, a faint silhouette of
Xyren, distorted, fractured… splintering into something darker.
Elaris staggered, clutching her arm as the runes seared into her
skin. Kael drew his blade instantly, the storm aura crackling like
thunder.
Xyren’s voice was low, trembling with something deeper than fear.
“The next relic…” His eyes burned emerald, reflections splitting
behind him. “…the Mirror Engine.”
Bloomfall smirked knowingly. She had been waiting for this.
And in the fractured glass, one reflection of her lips moved out of
sync, whispering a promise no one else heard:
“Blood must bloom… before the crown can rule.”
