Dove instinctively squeezed her eyes shut the instant Liam flicked his finger. A surge of heat roared past her face—blisteringly fast, terrifyingly close. It didn't hit her, but it brushed so near that every nerve in her skin jolted awake, goosebumps rising in its wake.
Several seconds passed in tense silence.
Cautiously, she cracked one eye open. Then the other. She was… still here. Still whole. Blinking, she slowly raised both hands to her face, patting her cheeks. Warm, yes—but untouched. No burns. No blisters. Just skin.
Her brows drew together as she turned and looked over her shoulder.
Behind her, the wall now sported a perfect, smoking hole—circular and clean. And beyond it, through the next wall, was another smaller hole, flawlessly aligned. The blast had sliced through both with surgical precision, as if they were paper.
"…What the hell," Dove murmured, staring at the destruction left in its path.
Mystica let out a long, low whistle. "Well. Looks like you're already getting the hang of your new self."
Even Lucy's eyes widened, her expression visibly shaken. "That kind of precision and heat… in a construct that small? That's no joke."
Dove turned back to Liam slowly, fixing him with a glare so sharp it could cut glass. "You absolute brat. You could've incinerated me!"
Liam calmly dusted his hands, completely unbothered—as if he hadn't just hurled a tiny sun past her face.
"I didn't," he said flatly.
"You almost did!" she snapped.
"But I didn't," he repeated, voice even.
Mystica laughed. "He's not wrong. If he meant to hit you, Dove, you wouldn't be standing. That was control—tight, exact, and way more advanced than before."
Liam leaned back in his seat. "Didn't mean to startle anyone. I just needed to test something. The heat felt different. You just happened to be the nearest… obstacle."
Dove growled under her breath. "Try testing on a damn rock next time!"
Lucy gave a faint smile. "She's not wrong, Liam. Throwing a miniature sun at someone, even for science, is... risky. Please be more careful," she added, her tone gentle but firm.
"Yeah, tell him, Your Majesty. Scold him," Dove said, gesturing at Liam with exaggerated flair.
"Enough with the whining, Dove," Lucy said, her voice suddenly cold.
"Whining? Me?" Dove blinked. "I'm not the one flinging high-temperature plasma bombs at people!"
"I was careful," Liam said calmly. "That's why it missed."
Dove's eye twitched while Mystica tried not to laugh.
"You've changed, Liam," she said, watching him. "And I don't just mean your core. There's a calmness in you now. Focused. Like something inside finally clicked."
Liam stared at his hand again—the one that had held the miniature sun.
"Nope," he said softly. "I think you're just imagining things. I've always been calm. Always steady."
Mystica raised an eyebrow, then smiled. "Yeah. Maybe you have."
A beat of silence followed before Dove jabbed her thumb toward the wall behind her.
"Okay, but seriously… who's patching that up?"
After instructing the servants to repair the damage Liam had caused, Lucy directed him to one of the palace's underground training halls—an isolated space where he could push his new strength to its limits without risking further destruction. She wasn't about to let him wreck more of the palace.
Once Liam was left alone to test himself, Lucy summoned Mabel again to keep a discreet eye on him. Knowing Liam would refuse if approached directly, Lucy told Mabel to be subtle in her watchfulness. Though still annoyed by Liam's earlier remark, Mabel had no choice but to obey her queen's orders.
With that settled, Lucy, Mystica, and Dove made their way to Dungeon 7, where Ember was being held.
At the dungeon entrance, the guards swung the heavy gates open, allowing the three women inside. There, pinned against the walls by heavy chained locks on both wrists, stood Ember.
Her head hung low as she stood, but at the sound of their arrival, Ember lifted her gaze just enough to meet the eyes of all three.
The dungeon was dimly lit, with it's only illumination being the unsteady flame of torches clinging to the stone walls.
"You look weary already," Mystica observed, stepping forward. Her hand rose, fingers aglow with a quiet amethyst shimmer. A sigil sparked into being, hovering in the air between her palms.
"Let this veil of stillness sever thy flow," she intoned, voice low. "Myst Suppression: Null Requiem."
A chill swept through Ember like a blade through silk. Her body jolted as the spell gripped her core. For a heartbeat, her veins shimmered like faint stars trapped beneath her skin—then all light vanished. And with it, the whisper of Sylvathar's voice faded from her thoughts, vanishing like a dream at dawn. Her mind fell into eerie stillness.
Ember's breath caught. A surge of freedom and quiet relief washed over her… but she gave no sign.
As the sensation settled, Mystica stepped aside, and Dove approached with measured steps.
A faint smile curled Dove's lips. "Now let's find out if the little freak of nature speaks truth."
She lifted her hand, pressing a single finger to the center of Ember's brow—gentle, mocking. Threads of blue myst unfurled, slipping through flesh and bone, sinking into the recesses of Ember's mind. The torches flickered, their flames reacting to the sudden flare of unnatural blue in Dove's eyes.
"Hm. Interesting structure. Highly reactive," Dove murmured. "Might be prettier in here than out there."
Then came a quiet, cruel laugh. "This Regulus fellow—he must be dim-witted. Who would choose a thing like you? Perhaps you ensnared him, twisted his mind. Or maybe he's just as grotesque and finally found comfort in something equally repulsive."
Ember's eyes snapped open, blazing with fury. Her chains clinked sharply as her wrists tensed, breath drawn in ragged and sharp.
"Say that again," she growled.
"Oh? That struck a nerve?" Dove leaned in, just near enough to tempt violence.
But before Ember could move, a voice sliced through the air—cool and steady.
"Dove," said Lucy, her tone quiet but edged like a blade, "shut up and do your job."
Dove blinked, then offered an exaggerated bow. "As the queen commands."
She returned to her task, eyes once again aglow. Ember held still, shaking from suppressed rage as myst wound deeper into her mind. Dove's presence slithered through her thoughts, tugging, turning, pulling at memory like fingers rifling through pages.
Nearly ten minutes passed before the light in Dove's eyes faded. She sighed, visibly disappointed.
"Unfortunately… she's clean," she said, brushing off her sleeves. "Just as she claimed. No hidden bindings. Nothing worth beheading her over."
She glanced toward Lucy, smirking. "And not a trace of influence from her precious Relugus."
The name was said wrong on purpose.
Then she shrugged. "Still don't trust it. Everything's too tidy. If you ask me, better to let me keep her. I've been needing a new subject. Gordon's all used up."
She didn't even look Ember's way. Her name held no weight for Dove. She saw no person—only a thing. A specimen. Something waiting to be opened and studied.
Lucy turned her gaze toward Dove—calm, cold, and cutting.
"You ought to learn when to jest… and when to hold your tongue," she said, her voice like ice.
The words silenced Dove more thoroughly than any shout ever could.
With measured steps, Lucy approached Ember, her heels tapping softly against the stone floor. She halted a short distance away, her silver eyes locking onto Ember's with unwavering intensity.
"Your magic is suppressed. Your mind has been scoured," she said, voice low and deliberate. "I imagine you now understand how exposed you truly are. So if there is anything we ought to know… speak now. Before I lose interest and hand you to the lunatic behind me."
Ember's eyes shifted briefly to Dove, who still wore that wicked little grin. Then back to Lucy.
"Am I permitted to speak freely?" she asked.
"You are," Lucy replied.
Ember's gaze moved to Mystica next. "No offense to your power, but… how strong is this suppression spell you've place on me?"
Mystica's eyes narrowed slightly. "The spell wasn't cast on you," she answered. "It was woven into the dungeon itself. A complete seal. You cannot access myst in any form, no matter how faint."
A calm, almost pleasant smile tugged at Ember's lips. "How useful," she murmured.
Dove looked ready to speak—lips twitching, fingers restless—but remained silent under Lucy's watchful presence.
At last, Ember spoke again.
"I was sent by Sylvathar."