Olympia — Palace Garden

  Safira went first.

  A straight strike for Moon’s throat—clean, no warning.

  Moon slipped aside like she’d already seen it coming, letting the blade cut air. Safira followed with a second slash, then a third, trying to trap her.

  Moon didn’t retreat.

  She glided.

  Freya came in from the side, swinging her sickle low, trying to hook Moon’s leg. Moon hopped back, then snapped forward and kicked Freya’s wrist—hard enough to numb her fingers. The sickle clanged against stone.

  Mia moved behind Moon, silent, fast—dagger aimed for the spine.

  Moon twisted at the last second and caught Mia’s arm. She yanked Mia in and slammed her shoulder into a pillar. Mia grunted, stumbling.

  Safira lunged again—Moon ducked, grabbed Safira’s sleeve, and flung her over her hip. Safira hit the ground and rolled, already getting up.

  Freya swung again—Moon leaned back, the blade barely missing her chin, then drove her elbow into Freya’s ribs.

  Freya gasped.

  Mia dashed in from the right—Moon punched her stomach, then slapped her face sideways with the back of her hand like Mia was nothing.

  Mia staggered, eyes burning.

  Three against one.

  And Moon was still smiling.

  Mia spat blood and glared. “Why do you want to destroy Isaac?”

  Moon’s smile cracked—then turned into something wet and ugly. She laughed once, and tears filled her eyes.

  “Because it’s obvious,” Moon said, voice shaking. “He destroyed my great love.” She pressed a hand to her chest like it hurt. “I still feel her touch…” Her smile returned through tears. “And the king is going to pay for it.”

  Safira attacked again.

  Freya attacked again.

  Mia attacked again.

  Moon moved like a storm.

  A knee to Safira’s stomach—Safira folded.

  A heel to Freya’s jaw—Freya stumbled back, seeing stars.

  A punch to Mia’s ribs—Mia’s breath vanished.

  Then Moon swept Mia’s legs and drove her into the ground.

  Mia didn’t get up.

  Moon grabbed her by the collar and lifted her like a doll.

  Mia’s head lolled, barely conscious.

  Moon leaned close, whispering like a friend. “Where is your little king?”

  Mia forced her eyes open, staring straight back. Even half-dead, she smirked.

  “I’ll never tell you,” Mia rasped.

  Freya, bruised and shaking, pushed herself up. “Let her go, Mona…” she breathed.

  Moon’s eyes snapped to Freya.

  She raised a silver dagger and pressed it against Mia’s throat.

  Mia shivered.

  Freya froze.

  “No,” Freya said, voice breaking. “Stop. He’s not here.”

  Moon’s face twisted in rage. “Not here?” Her grip tightened. “Where is he, then? Speak—before I cut her.”

  Freya swallowed hard.

  “…Osireon,” she said. “Probably.”

  Inside, her stomach turned.

  Sorry, my love… but I’m not letting her take Mia.

  Osireon is far. She won’t reach you in time.

  Moon’s expression softened into a cold smile. “I see.”

  Safira exploded up from the ground and kicked Moon in the ribs.

  Moon flew sideways and hit stone, coughing, blood on her lip—yet she still smiled.

  Safira stood over her, breathing hard, silver dagger ready.

  “I’m not done with you,” Safira hissed. “You traitor bitch.”

  Moon laughed, low and tired. “But I am.”

  She reached into her own arm with a blade.

  And cut.

  Blood poured down her forearm.

  Mia, on her knees now, stared, confused. “What is she doing…?”

  Freya’s eyes widened. She recognized the shape of it—something older than assassins.

  Moon’s blood hit the ground, and she dragged her foot through it—slow, deliberate—drawing a circle.

  A ritual.

  Moon lifted her arms, blood dripping from her fingers. Her laugh echoed too loud for a garden.

  “Time to meet my destiny.”

  Freya’s voice came out thin. “No…”

  The circle flared.

  Wind slammed into them—violent, swirling, ripping petals and dirt off the ground like a storm had been summoned inside the palace walls.

  Mia covered her face. “What is this?!”

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  Freya shielded her eyes. “Ancient magic!”

  Safira tried to push forward. The wind shoved her back. She dug her boots in, forcing one step, then another—teeth clenched.

  Moon’s body began to glow.

  She started chanting—words that didn’t sound like any language in Mundus.

  Safira lunged through the wind.

  She grabbed Moon at the last second.

  Moon turned her head and smiled right into Safira’s face.

  Then—

  A sharp sound.

  A flash.

  An explosion that swallowed the garden.

  Freya threw herself over Mia as the blast hit. Stone shattered. Trees snapped. Smoke rolled across everything.

  Silence followed—heavy and ringing.

  Coughing.

  Ash drifting.

  Freya pushed herself up, searching through the wreckage.

  “Mia,” Freya rasped. “Are you—”

  “I’m here,” Mia coughed, staggering to her feet. Her eyes widened as she looked around. “Where did they go?”

  Freya stared at the ground.

  The circle’s light was fading.

  “…Osireon,” Freya said, voice tight.

  Mia’s face went pale. “What? How?”

  Freya knelt and touched the scorched line where the blood had been. The last warmth died under her fingers.

  “Astral circle,” she said. “A teleport ritual.”

  Mia shook her head, stunned. “Teleport? That exists?”

  Freya stood slowly. “Yes.” Her eyes hardened. “But it always has a cost.”

  She looked toward the palace—toward the horizon beyond it.

  She’s really going to try to kill him.

  Freya grabbed Mia’s wrist. “Come on.”

  Mia swallowed. “Where?”

  Freya’s voice turned sharp. “We warn Isaac—before it’s too late.”

  Osireon — Palace Guest Wing

  Isaac lay awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying the day like it wouldn’t let him breathe. Yu slept beside him, calm and warm, her breathing slow and steady. Anabelle was in the next room. The palace felt quiet now—too quiet.

  He moved carefully, easing himself out of bed so he wouldn’t wake Yu. He grabbed his canteen, slipped into the dark hallway, and followed it until he found an open balcony. Cold night air brushed his face. He leaned against the stone rail, took a small drink, and looked up at the stars.

  A soft voice reached him from behind.

  “Hello, great king.”

  Isaac turned fast—then paused.

  Elizabeth stood there.

  He hadn’t expected her. She wore a thin, light sleep gown, hair loose around her shoulders, eyes bright in the moonlight. She looked… gentle. And too brave for someone who’d been rejected in public.

  “May I join you?” she asked.

  Isaac coughed once, caught off guard. “Y-yeah. Of course.”

  Elizabeth stepped to his side and rested her hands on the rail, staring up at the sky like she belonged in quiet places. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Just the distant sound of waves and palace torches popping in the wind.

  “You can’t sleep either?” she asked.

  Isaac gave a small, tired smile. “Not really. Even when I’m exhausted.”

  Elizabeth glanced at him. Isaac noticed and looked away, pretending the stars were suddenly important.

  “And you?” he asked, trying to keep it normal. “How are things?”

  She didn’t answer right away. Her gaze stayed on him—steady, direct, not angry… just honest.

  Isaac swallowed. “Is something wrong?”

  Elizabeth’s voice softened. “Why did you refuse my hand?”

  Isaac exhaled and rubbed his thumb along the canteen. “Elizabeth… it’s not simple.” His eyes lifted to the sky again. “I’m sorry. But it’s how it should be.”

  “How it should be?” she repeated quietly. “Then tell me.” She leaned in a little, searching his face. “Is it because I’m a centaur?” Her expression tightened just a bit. “Because my human form doesn’t attract you?”

  Isaac turned to her immediately. “No. It’s not that.”

  He hesitated, then spoke slower—choosing each word.

  “I’m not the best person for you,” he said. “And I don’t mean status. Or power.” His voice stayed calm, but firm. “That shouldn’t decide who gets to stand beside you.”

  Elizabeth watched him closely, then stepped closer anyway—close enough that Isaac felt the heat of her breath in the cool air. Their faces were near. Too near. The kind of near that makes you remember you’re alive.

  “I understand,” she said softly. “So… why don’t we get to know each other?” A small smile. “And maybe… I can prove I’m the right person for you.”

  Isaac’s mouth twitched into a reluctant smile. “Yeah…” He nodded once. “That’s… a start.”

  They stood together again, looking at the sky like nothing had happened—except everything had.

  After a moment, Elizabeth straightened, hands folding in front of her.

  “I should go,” she said. “I’m glad I talked to you, Isaac.”

  “I am too,” he replied, quiet.

  Elizabeth smiled, then leaned in and kissed him—light, quick, almost shy. The kind of kiss that felt more like a question than an answer.

  She pulled back, embarrassed, and walked off fast before she could regret it.

  Isaac stayed there for a second, watching her disappear into the hall.

  Then he exhaled, shook his head once like he was clearing smoke, and went back to his room.

  Osireon — Palace Corridor - Deep Night

  A light bloomed in the hallway—wrong color, wrong heat.

  Then two bodies slammed onto the floor like they’d been thrown out of a different world.

  Safira hit first, rolling across the stone, gasping. Moon landed on the other side.

  And she wasn’t the same.

  Her hair had thinned. Strands clung to her scalp like dead grass. Her face looked older—sharper, drained. Her hands shook as she stared at them, horrified, like time had chewed her up and spit her back out.

  Safira pushed herself up, breathing hard, eyes darting, trying to understand where they’d ended up.

  Moon lifted her head slowly.

  Now she looked worse—older, almost decayed at the edges, eyes wild with rage and panic. She forced herself up with a snarl, clutching a dagger.

  In one sudden movement, she was behind Safira—blade hooked near her throat.

  Safira froze.

  “What—Moon?” Safira wheezed. “Moon…?”

  Moon’s voice came out rough, like it hurt to speak. “You bitch…” she hissed. “You almost ruined the ritual.”

  Safira swallowed. “What ritual?”

  Moon’s smile was cracked. “Doesn’t matter.” She pressed the dagger closer. “I’ll fulfill my purpose.” A low laugh. “But first, I’ll kill you.”

  Safira tried to twist—

  Moon yanked her back.

  Safira’s breath hitched, panic flashing—

  And a scream tore out of her.

  Isaac had just reached his door when he heard it.

  A sharp, raw sound in the palace—too real to be a servant, too desperate to be a drunk noble.

  He stopped.

  Yu stirred behind him, hair a mess, blinking like she’d been dragged out of a dream. “Where were you—”

  Isaac didn’t answer. “Did you hear that?”

  Yu yawned, squinting. “I don’t hear anything.”

  Isaac’s eyes narrowed. “Yu…”

  Yu groaned. “Seriously, Isaac… now?”

  She flickered into a smaller sword form with a lazy metallic snap.

  Isaac blinked. “What—Yu?”

  ~Sorry, Isaac… I’m sooo sleepy…~

  He sighed once, tight and controlled, then gripped the smaller blade and moved.

  No guards. No footsteps. Just shadows and a distant echo.

  He followed the sound, silent, fast.

  And then he saw them.

  Safira struggling.

  Moon above her, driving the dagger down.

  Isaac’s eyes widened.

  “Amanda?”

  His laser fired.

  A clean beam from his eyes—sharp and instant—clipping the dagger and blasting it away into the wall.

  Moon recoiled, shocked.

  Safira didn’t waste the opening. She kicked Moon hard, sending her skidding across the floor. Moon crawled backward, coughing, furious.

  Safira scrambled up and moved to Isaac’s side, still shaking.

  Isaac stared at her. “Amanda… what are you doing here?”

  Safira’s breath was ragged. “Isaac—watch out. She’s trying to kill you.”

  Isaac’s jaw tightened. “Kill me? Why?”

  “She’s a servant of Lyra,” Safira snapped.

  Isaac’s gaze slid to Moon.

  Moon was digging through her bag with trembling hands, desperate, muttering to herself like she’d lost her mind.

  Safira reached for Isaac’s sleeve. “Isaac, careful—”

  Moon’s fingers found something.

  Her face lit up.

  “Here…,” she whispered. “Here.”

  She подняла the amulet, eyes wet, smiling like she was praying. “It’s for you, my lady…” Her voice cracked. “My love…”

  She aimed it at Isaac.

  Safira’s voice turned sharp. “Isaac—don’t—! That amulet—”

  Moon activated it.

  The air bent.

  A wave of strange magic surged toward Isaac—fast, hungry, unnatural.

  Isaac raised Yu without thinking.

  The smaller sword caught the magic—

  And reflected it.

  The spell snapped back into the amulet like a rebound.

  The amulet flared violently, shaking in Moon’s hand. She stared at it, confused, terrified, like it had betrayed her.

  Isaac’s eyes went cold.

  A single laser flashed.

  Moon was cut cleanly in half.

  No speech. No final curse. Just a sudden silence as her body hit the floor in two heavy pieces.

  The amulet slipped from her fingers and rolled across the stone—glowing, trembling—until it stopped at Isaac’s boot.

  Isaac looked down at it.

  Safira exhaled, relieved, barely able to stand. “It’s over…”

  Then she saw Isaac’s hand move.

  Her relief turned into pure fear.

  “No—Isaac!” she shouted, lunging. “Don’t touch that!”

  Isaac ignored her.

  He picked up the amulet.

  For a heartbeat it pulsed in his grip like it was alive.

  Then Isaac crushed it.

  His fingers tightened.

  The metal cracked—

  A burst of blinding light exploded through the corridor.

  Safira threw an arm over her face.

  Yu’s smaller blade vibrated hard in Isaac’s hand.

  The palace hallway filled with white.

  Then—

  Silence.

  The light vanished.

  The corridor was dark again.

  Empty.

  No blood.

  No bodies.

  No amulet.

  No Moon.

  No Safira.

  Nothing.

  Just cold stone, quiet torches, and the faint smell of burned air—like reality had been scrubbed clean.