The palace stayed dark.

  Not because the lamps were broken.

  Because Sinister Derpy had decided the room didn’t deserve light.

  Vaeloria’s sitting room had become a war room by force of circumstance: chairs pulled closer, weapons left within reach, voices kept low like the walls might report them.

  Lenora stood at the head of the table, posture straight, jaw set.

  Amy sat with her elbows on the wood like she was daring the world to argue back.

  Lyn watched the door and the corners and the ceiling—every place a rune could hide.

  Ace leaned against the far wall, calm in the way only something ancient could be calm, her hand resting near her weapon like it was a habit older than kingdoms.

  Lewd sat closest to Derpy.

  Not because she wanted to.

  Because she refused to let him be alone with the wrong version of himself.

  Sinister Derpy lounged in Derpy’s body like he belonged there.

  Bracelets warm.

  Wrong smile.

  Eyes bright with the kind of patience that wasn’t patience at all.

  Vaeloria spoke first.

  “The War Council will not accept denial,” she said. “They will frame it as treason, or as weakness, or as proof that I can’t contain what I claim to protect.”

  Lyn’s voice was quiet.

  “They’ll do all three,” she said.

  Amy’s jaw tightened.

  “And the War Office will use it as an excuse to bring collars and null-runes,” she added. “Not paper.”

  Lenora’s tail went rigid.

  “So we move first,” she said.

  Sinister Derpy hummed.

  “You mean you panic first,” he corrected pleasantly.

  Lewd’s fingers curled around the edge of the chair.

  “Stop,” she snapped.

  Sinister Derpy turned his head toward her like she’d offered entertainment.

  “I’m being helpful,” he said.

  Ace’s voice cut through the dark, low and flat.

  “You’re being difficult,” she corrected.

  Sinister Derpy’s wrong smile widened.

  “I promised not to hurt you,” he said.

  He let the sentence hang, like a bell.

  Then he added, softer:

  “I didn’t promise to make this easy.”

  Vaeloria’s gaze sharpened.

  “We need a plan,” she said. “A public plan. Something that keeps the War Council from painting you as a weapon I’m hiding.”

  Sinister Derpy leaned forward.

  “Oh,” he murmured. “You want a story.”

  Lenora didn’t blink.

  “We want survival,” she said.

  Sinister Derpy’s bracelets warmed.

  “Same thing,” he replied.

  Amy pushed back from the table.

  “Here’s the problem,” she said. “If we comply, they take him to Site Black. If we refuse, they bring the city down on us. If we fight, we become the monster story.”

  Lyn’s eyes narrowed.

  “And if we run,” she said, “we confirm guilt.”

  Silence.

  The kind that meant the options were all knives.

  Lewd’s voice came out rough.

  “Derpy wouldn’t want—”

  Sinister Derpy interrupted, gentle as a hand on a throat.

  “Derpy isn’t driving,” he said.

  Lewd flinched.

  Lenora’s hand tightened on the back of her chair.

  “Where is he?” she asked again.

  Sinister Derpy’s gaze softened in that awful way.

  “Watching,” he said.

  Ace’s eyes narrowed.

  “From where?”

  Sinister Derpy’s wrong smile didn’t move.

  “Inside,” he replied. “Quiet. Safe. Useless.”

  Lewd’s breath hitched.

  Vaeloria’s voice went colder.

  “You will not call him useless,” she said.

  Sinister Derpy tilted his head.

  “I didn’t,” he replied. “I called his position useless.”

  Lenora felt the fuse burn hotter.

  Because he wasn’t lying.

  Because he was enjoying it.

  She took a step closer.

  “Then tell us what you want,” Lenora said.

  Sinister Derpy’s bracelets warmed like a hearth.

  “I want them to come,” he said.

  Amy’s eyes widened.

  “You want the War Office here?”

  Sinister Derpy nodded.

  “I want them close enough to learn,” he said.

  Vaeloria’s gaze narrowed.

  “And what lesson is that?”

  Sinister Derpy smiled.

  Wrong.

  “That monsters are made,” he said. “And I’m done being their raw material.”

  Lewd swallowed.

  Lenora held his gaze.

  “Fine,” she said. “Then we plan for escalation.”

  Sinister Derpy’s eyes gleamed.

  “Good,” he murmured.

  And somewhere behind his eyes, someone else heard every word.

  Derpy stood in a place that wasn’t a place.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  A shoreline made of ash.

  A sky stitched with thread.

  A sea that didn’t move unless he looked at it.

  He could see the room through a veil—shadows and shapes, mouths moving, weapons shifting.

  He could hear them like sound through water.

  He could feel his own body like a distant ache.

  But he couldn’t reach it.

  Couldn’t lift a hand.

  Couldn’t speak.

  Couldn’t help.

  The worst part wasn’t the helplessness.

  It was the fact that Sinister Derpy was wearing his face while he watched.

  A warmth pulsed at his wrists—ghost-echo of the bracelets.

  Two presences answered it.

  Blight.

  Celica.

  He turned.

  And the calamity books were there.

  Not as books.

  As girls.

  Dragon girls—because his mind needed a shape for power that had always felt too big to be paper.

  Blight stood first.

  Dark hair like smoke.

  Eyes like embers buried under ash.

  A smile that looked like it had never learned how to be kind.

  Celica stood beside her.

  Brighter.

  Sharper.

  A presence that felt like a blade wrapped in silk.

  Her gaze found him immediately.

  Derpy’s throat tightened.

  “I can see everything,” he said.

  His voice worked here.

  It didn’t matter.

  “I can’t do anything.”

  Blight’s expression didn’t soften.

  “That’s the point,” she said.

  Celica stepped closer.

  “You’re not being punished,” she said. “You’re being protected.”

  Derpy’s laugh came out bitter.

  “Protected from my own body?”

  Celica’s eyes didn’t flinch.

  “Protected from what you would do if you could reach the wheel,” she replied.

  Derpy froze.

  Blight’s smile sharpened.

  “She’s right,” Blight said. “You’d throw yourself into the fire to keep them warm.”

  Derpy swallowed.

  “And you wouldn’t?” he asked.

  Blight’s eyes glittered.

  “I would burn the whole city to keep you from being caged again,” she said.

  Derpy’s stomach turned.

  “That’s not—”

  Celica cut in.

  “It’s honest,” she said.

  Derpy looked between them.

  “Why now?” he asked. “Why did the Sister-Series activate now of all times?”

  Celica’s gaze went distant.

  Then she said it.

  “Because she came back into this world.”

  Derpy’s breath caught.

  “She?”

  Celica nodded.

  “You felt it,” she said. “The seam. The pull. The thread snapping into a new shape.”

  Derpy’s hands clenched at his sides.

  “Riven,” he whispered.

  Blight’s smile flickered.

  “Prototype,” she said, like the word tasted like iron.

  Celica’s voice softened—just a fraction.

  “She’s not just a person,” Celica said. “She’s an anchor. A permission. A key that was missing.”

  Derpy stared at the stitched sky.

  “So the Sister-Series woke up because she returned,” he said.

  Celica nodded.

  “And because you survived long enough to matter,” she added.

  Derpy’s throat tightened.

  Celica stepped closer.

  Her hand lifted.

  She touched his cheek like she was checking he was real.

  “I’m proud of you,” she said.

  Derpy’s eyes burned.

  “For what?”

  “For how far you’ve come,” Celica replied.

  Blight’s gaze stayed sharp.

  “And for not breaking,” she added. “Even when you should have.”

  Derpy swallowed hard.

  Celica’s eyes gleamed.

  “Now listen,” she said.

  Derpy’s breath caught.

  Her tone had changed.

  Not comfort.

  Command.

  “You’re in me now,” Celica said.

  Derpy blinked.

  “What?”

  Celica’s smile was small.

  “Not like that,” she said, impatient. “You’re inside my space. Inside my rules. That’s why you can see and not act.”

  Blight’s eyes narrowed.

  “And I’m here too,” she said. “Because you’re still connected.”

  Derpy’s stomach twisted.

  “So I’m trapped,” he said.

  “You’re contained,” Celica corrected.

  Derpy’s voice cracked.

  “While they point weapons at my face.”

  Celica’s eyes flashed.

  “They’ll live,” she said.

  Then she leaned in.

  “And so will you.”

  Derpy shook his head.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  Celica’s smile returned.

  “Training,” she said.

  Derpy froze.

  “Training who?”

  Celica’s eyes gleamed.

  “You,” she said.

  Blight’s smile sharpened.

  “And Lewd,” Blight added.

  Derpy’s breath hitched.

  “What?”

  Celica’s voice was calm.

  “Blight and I,” she said, “and you—will train Lewd under us.”

  Derpy’s stomach dropped.

  “She didn’t agree to—”

  “She already did,” Celica said.

  Derpy stared.

  Blight’s eyes glittered.

  “She asked for you,” Blight said. “She asked for strength. She asked for a way to keep you.”

  Derpy’s voice went low.

  “And you’re going to use her.”

  Celica’s smile was sharp.

  “We’re going to make her dangerous,” she corrected.

  Derpy’s hands clenched.

  “Don’t,” he said.

  Celica’s eyes narrowed.

  “You don’t get to refuse from inside my cage,” she replied.

  Derpy flinched.

  Because she’d called it what it was.

  A cage.

  Just a prettier one.

  And then—

  Derpy felt it.

  A tug.

  A thread pulling through Lewd.

  A channel opening.

  Celica’s gaze lifted.

  “Oh,” she murmured.

  Blight smiled.

  “She’s going,” Blight said.

  Lewd’s eyes rolled back.

  White.

  Gone.

  Her body went rigid in the chair like a puppet whose strings had snapped tight.

  Lenora moved first.

  “Lewd!”

  Amy’s chair scraped.

  Lyn’s hand flew to her weapon.

  Vaeloria’s voice cut sharp.

  “What did you do?”

  Sinister Derpy’s head tilted.

  His wrong smile returned.

  “Oh,” he said softly.

  He looked almost pleased.

  “She’s going.”

  The words hit like a slap.

  Ace’s weapon came up.

  Lenora’s weapon came up.

  At the same time.

  Two points of death aimed at Derpy’s face.

  The air tore.

  A seam opened in the dark like cloth ripping.

  Thread-light spilled across the floor.

  Riven stepped through.

  Mk1.

  Mk2.

  Mk3.

  Mk4.

  They came with her like a storm with a spine.

  All of them raised weapons.

  All of them aimed at Sinister Derpy.

  Mk1 spoke.

  Magic circles appeared from her mouth as she formed the words, each syllable stamped with a rune like a brand.

  “Real Derpy.”

  Mk2’s voice was sharp, furious.

  “What did you do with him?”

  Mk3 stepped in, eyes hard.

  “You’re not the right one,” she said. “I know that from when we spared Derpy. Where is he?”

  Vaeloria lifted a hand.

  “Stop,” she ordered. “Now is not the time.”

  Riven didn’t look at her.

  Riven’s doll-hand shifted.

  Wood and seam and joint turned into a blade.

  It skimmed the side of Sinister Derpy’s cheek.

  A thin line.

  A warning.

  Riven’s voice was low.

  “Give Derpy back. Now.”

  Sinister Derpy didn’t flinch.

  He reached up—two fingers, almost gentle—toward the blade.

  The air around his hand went cold.

  The blade froze.

  Not metaphor.

  Ice crawled along it in a breath.

  Then it shattered.

  Riven jerked back.

  Her eyes went wide.

  Not fear.

  Recognition.

  “Friend… not right,” she whispered.

  “Monster.”

  She backed up until she hit the wall.

  Then, slowly, she sat down.

  Worried.

  And she stayed by Sinister Derpy’s side like her body had decided where safety lived.

  Sinister Derpy walked over.

  He crouched.

  And he petted Riven’s head.

  A soft gesture that made Lenora’s stomach twist.

  Sinister Derpy leaned close, whispering.

  “Normal Derpy has a task for you and the Mks.”

  The room held its breath.

  Then the world slipped.

  Riven blinked.

  And she was standing on ash-shore beneath a stitched sky.

  Derpy was there.

  Not in his body.

  In his mind.

  Riven bounded forward.

  “Friend!” she said, relief breaking through her voice. “Are you hurt?”

  Derpy swallowed.

  “I’m… gonna be,” he admitted.

  Then he forced himself to look at her.

  “I need you to do something for me.”

  Lewd appeared like a breath becoming a person.

  She ran to him and hugged him hard, arms shaking.

  Derpy’s hands hovered—then held her back.

  For a second it felt like home.

  Then it broke.

  Lewd pulled away, eyes wet and furious.

  “Why did you let him out?” she demanded. “We made a fail-safe for that!”

  The mindscape answered her with memory.

  A flash: everyone gathered around the book, hands touching it together, a promise layered into paper and soul.

  Derpy’s voice went low.

  “That was to stop me and him from going too far,” he said.

  Lewd’s jaw clenched.

  “And you broke it.”

  Derpy shook his head.

  “He hasn’t done anything wrong,” he said. “Yet.”

  Lewd stared at him like she didn’t recognize him.

  Derpy’s eyes dropped.

  “I made a bargain,” he admitted. “That’s why he’s out. He can’t hurt anyone physically.”

  Lewd’s breath hitched.

  “And you think that makes it okay?”

  Derpy turned to Riven.

  He stepped close, voice dropping to a whisper.

  He stroked her hair like he was trying to anchor himself to something real.

  “I want you to take out the War Council and the War Office,” he said.

  Riven froze.

  Derpy’s voice stayed steady.

  “By any means necessary,” he continued. “Things won’t settle unless you take out the factions. Do not harm Vaeloria—the Queen. But anyone tied to the War Office or Council factions… remove them.”

  Lewd lunged forward.

  “No!”

  The air snapped.

  Sinister Derpy stepped into the mindscape like a knife sliding into a seam.

  He shoved Lewd back.

  Hard.

  She stumbled, then vanished—thrown out of the dream.

  Sinister Derpy clicked his tongue.

  “You’ve got to stop letting people in,” he said.

  Derpy’s eyes narrowed.

  “You’ve got to stop acting like this is your kingdom,” Derpy shot back.

  Blight and Celica watched from the shoreline.

  Blight’s smile was sharp.

  Celica’s gaze was unreadable.

  Derpy exhaled.

  Then, quieter—almost impressed:

  “You came up with a scheme,” he said to Sinister Derpy. “It lets you be out as the villain… and it lets everyone think I’m hurt. That I’m becoming a monster.”

  Sinister Derpy’s wrong smile returned.

  “Exactly,” he said.

  Lewd jolted awake in the dark room.

  Her eyes rolled back again—then snapped forward.

  She gasped like she’d surfaced from deep water.

  Lenora surged toward her.

  “Lewd—”

  Lewd grabbed her wrist.

  “Derpy’s okay,” she said fast.

  Everyone froze.

  Lewd’s voice shook.

  “But something else is wrong,” she added. “Normal Derpy is… calculating. Like he’s playing chess seven moves ahead.”

  Lenora’s gaze drifted to Sinister Derpy.

  To the wrong smile.

  To the body she loved being worn like armor.

  Her throat tightened.

  “Derpy,” she said out loud, voice breaking on the name. “Please come back to us.”

  It hurt to say it.

  It hurt more that she didn’t know who heard.

  Riven’s eyes snapped open.

  She stood so fast her chair scraped.

  Then she shot out of Vaeloria’s room.

  The Mks followed.

  Vaeloria’s posture stiffened.

  She turned sharply.

  “Guards,” she called.

  Footsteps answered.

  Vaeloria watched the dolls vanish into the palace corridors.

  Her voice was quiet.

  “I fear they may be up to something.”

  Riven ran.

  Not fleeing.

  Executing.

  She relayed what normal Derpy told them in the dream.

  At a junction she stopped.

  She grabbed Mk1’s shoulders.

  “Return to the Queen,” she ordered. “But don’t say anything to anyone in the chamber.”

  Mk1 nodded in a childlike way.

  “Okay,” she whispered.

  And she went.

  Riven turned to Mk2 and Mk3.

  “Go to the War Office,” she said. “Stay there.”

  Mk2’s jaw tightened.

  Mk3 nodded once.

  Mk4 hesitated.

  Her eyes searched Riven’s face.

  “Sister,” Mk4 asked, voice small. “Why follow Derpy? How do you know it’s not a trap?”

  Riven didn’t slow.

  She shook her head.

  “Friend,” she said. “Real.”

  They ran again.

  And then they didn’t.

  They reached the War Council wing.

  They reached the War Office doors.

  And they sat.

  Right outside.

  Not attacking.

  Not speaking.

  Just waiting.

  Guards gathered.

  Whispers ran.

  Reports flew back to Vaeloria.

  “They’re sitting outside the War Office and War Council doors,” a guard said.

  Vaeloria’s brows knit.

  Puzzled.

  Worried.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing, Derpy,” she murmured.

  Elsewhere, the air was warmer.

  Too warm.

  Vemi stood near the doorway like she was deciding whether to enter or flee.

  Vambasta sat in her human form.

  Spiked cuffs at her wrists.

  Magic suppressed.

  Instincts forced quiet.

  Across from them, Seraphine flipped her fan.

  In.

  Out.

  In.

  Out.

  A metronome for patience that wasn’t patience.

  Her eyes glittered.

  Negotiations.

  Terms.

  A smile that meant she already knew where the knife would go.

  The fan snapped shut.

  And the room leaned toward heat.