The room was colossal, a space designed not so much to be occupied as to impress the individual entering. Its ceiling towered far above, arched like cathedral vertebrae, painted in ivory and rich red that caught the light of the chandelier proudly hung at the room’s center. That chandelier was not just any fixture—a work of art, a cascade of crystalline drops and leaping flames. Every prism broke up the candlelight into channels of color that poured across velvet drapes and polished marble floors, sending rainbows into all parts of the room.
Red and white ruled the chamber like battling monarchs. Scarlet drapery, heavy as blood, hung in folds down upon pale walls of white, every color deepening the other. In the middle of the room stood the bed, a ghastly monstrosity so large that it could swallow a carriage whole. Its wine-colored satin covers were smooth and glistening, its whitewood carved frame softly aglow in shifting light. Golden strand glimmered along the headboard, flaring with every movement of the chandelier.
In front of the side, a dressing table gleamed in restrained loveliness. Its polished face held silver brushes and crystal containers, each filled with perfumes whose sweet fragrance still lingered in the air. The fine mist seemed to dance in the candle glow, giving the impression that the room itself was alive, rich with the sensuousness and loveliness.
But no ornament in that chamber approached what was on the bed.
Seven women assembled, their presence greater even than the brilliance of the chandelier. Their laughter curled through the atmosphere like a spell, their quietly spoken syllables interwoven strands of heat through the tawdry cold of the room.
Rias sat with eyes that taunted as easily as they burned, her reddish hair falling like a burning ember that would not be drowned. She was preceded by Lira, her silver-blonde hair glittering with the pale light of moonlight, her presence distant yet compelling. Nova’s green eyes, the warm and shadowed color of cool spring morning, watched the room with peaceful intensity that gave her loveliness an undertone of power.
Syra moved forward, her impish smile, her green tangles gleaming in the lights, mischief energy radiating from her like sparks. Kyra was standing near but aloof, her posture neat, her expression set—severity carved into restraint. Cynthia was the very image of quiet power, dressed in black silk, gliding with the poise of a queen whose throne bore no crown. Aria lagged behind her, each movement of her head majestic, purple hair glistening as if spun from twilight itself.
And Tsubaki, the knight, who was so controlled even when at rest. Her black hair was neatly tied back, posture a paradigm of control, though her immobility suggested the barely there presence of something softer in her.
All in all, they weren’t merely beautiful—these women were blinding. There was a color of charm for each one of them, as if fate herself had summoned them to the same magnificent salon. They flooded the golden furniture and inlaid walls; the room belonged to them, not the other way around.
For once, the air wasn’t heavy with mystery or rivalry. They sat in quiet voice, soft smiles tracing over lips, the kind that never quite went too far. Beneath that quiet exterior, however, was a weight that none of them could deny. They sat not just together—no, they emanated, every movement of head, every shift of hair, every glint of their eyes meshing into a living fabric more alive than any decoration resting beside them.
Tsubaki’s serenity broke first. Her sharp eyes cut through the warmth, and when she spoke, her tone cut like tempered steel. ".Yes. I know. I’ve always felt it. That man—he walks with hidden purposes. Each step he makes stinks of calculation."
A low murmur ran through the assembly, a ripple of assent none dared to record.
Nova settled back in her chair, scrunching up her lips as she flipped her dark hair over one shoulder. Her voice cracked with revulsion. "Ugh. I hate that kind of man. Chasing power for some thin dog without pride. And tch—he’s not even better than that. Chasing women like some dog in heat. Bastard doesn’t even have enough sense to leave well enough alone. He gets my skin crawling."
The sharpness of her statements hung in the air, and for a moment, no one challenged them.
Lira’s tones followed, softer but with steel of their own. Her pale hair slid like liquid silver down her shoulder as she set her chin. "I don’t feel good about him either. Even before Mia warned us about him. there’s something about the way he stands that’s rotten. My instincts kept yelling at me—something in him is off."
Their eyes locked—silent moments filled with more agreement than words. Whatever there had been before had cooled to something far darker.
Then Nova’s face changed. A malicious smile brushed her lips, careless but sharp, her green eyes sparkling. "But let go. The best for us is when our enemies hurt each other. Saves us trouble. Saves us effort. And honestly? From what I can see, we didn’t really like him anyway."
Her words cut through the tension, a fine edge of humor appearing. Soft, understanding smiles flickered around the others, each with its own dangerous edge.
The temporary levity dissolved when Kyra finally spoke. Her calm, controlled voice brought the air back down again, each sentence weighed with meaning. "But tell me—do you actually believe Mia is untouched by all of this? By her father’s actions?"
The bomb fell into the room like a knife, heavy and slicing. There was silence. Even the chandelier above them seemed to freeze in mid-glimmer, its light trembling but silent, as if the air itself were holding its breath.
No one breathed. The weight of those words fell on each heart within the room, each woman caught in the pull of a truth too bitter to deny.
Rias spoke first. Her lips parted in a sigh, red in the waning light, her eyes shimmering with a mixture of pain and contempt. "Ever since she learned the truth about the burning of Starlight Duchy, she’s never been the same. She was sorrowful, yes—but beyond that, furious. To behold her own father set fire to his nation, betray his king, his people. it broke something inside her.".
Her look, cutting and sharp, flashed towards Nova for the briefest instant before falling. Her tone softened, easier now, but edged with intimacy. "It’s only Darling" had already ordered Natasha to go get her mother in time. Nevertheless—Mia can’t forget. She’s with her mother now, though the pitiful woman is in a coma. That pain doesn’t go away just because we stand beside her.
The words hung in the air, denser than air. The women alternated exhalations, gentle sighs leavening like phantoms. All of them shared the same unspoken belief—Mia’s hurt was a pain that none of them could heal.
Outside the castle walls, Edric Starlight’s treason had shaken the kingdom to its core. His treason spread like fire in dry fields, embers of gossip and lament pounding the terrain before the feet of soldiers. The king himself grieved over the loss of yet another Grandmaster, even as he grappled with mobilizing defenses against abominations pouring into the eastern borders. The kingdom wept, both internally and externally.
But here, in this shadows-draped velvet-hung room, the silence crept back. Their thoughts were tangled up with one another—loss, betrayal, the fragile girl who was carrying it all.
It was not carried on air. It pulsed within Nova’s mind, warm and lit, cutting through the blackness like sun piercing black clouds. It was not a dream. It was alive.