The illusions faded.

  All the grand theatrics the oceanic visions, the stars, the false sky had vanished. What remained was silence.

  Darkness. And the two pillars. One bathed in a low golden radiance, the other wrapped in deep obsidian shimmer. Still glowing. Still waiting.

  Lucien stood between them.

  As if summoned by thought, Diego’s voice echoed through the room once again booming, mocking, unmistakably proud of itself.

  “Hah! You’re thinking about it, aren’t you? Wondering if you can take both.”

  He laughed loudly, theatrical, sharp like glass breaking.

  “You fool. Do you take me for an idiot? You absolute moron.”

  His voice dropped, stern now, as if delivering a commandment.

  “Let me make it perfectly clear: once you choose, once you absorb one, the other will never react to you again. Choose the Delta Core, and the Astral Plates will disintegrate, turned to ash on the spot. Choose the Plates, and the Delta Core may remain… but it will never respond to you, and it will be sealed.”

  A brief pause.

  “Got it, idiot? So make your choice very carefully, idiot”

  Temptation. Clarity. Doubt.

  Lucien’s eyes drifted between the pillars again.

  He stared at the Delta Core and then at the Astral Plates. He exhaled.

  “I suppose I’ll have to return after the meeting,” he said calmly. “Making a decision after proper assessment is more logical, considering I am not likely to need it anytime soon”

  Diego’s voice snapped through the silence like a slap.

  “No, boy. No. Don’t even think about it. You’re not leaving this room until you make a decision.”

  There was heat in his voice now, cutting past sarcasm into something harsher.

  Lucien:"Strange. For a recording, it’s unusually interactive?"

  “Stop being a coward and make a decision, you numbskull. You loser.”

  Lucien didn’t flinch. “Then I should make my way.”

  Diego’s tone dipped again, playful, biting.

  “And don’t even think about destroying the place. You wouldn’t ruin your mother’s favorite room, would you, Lucien? Or would you?”

  Lucien scratched his head and sighed, resigned.

  “Fine. If I have to make a choice anyway... very well.”

  He stepped forward, slowly moving toward the Delta Core, the obsidian light reflecting in his eyes.

  But then he stopped.

  Just a breath away from touching it, his hand halted midair.

  A sound, a soft, mournful note whispered through the room like rain on dry earth.

  A violin.

  Delicate and haunting, the melody seeped into him. Even in his lowest moments, even half-asleep, he could recognize it. It was her song, the one she had insisted all Sinclair children learn. A gentle hymn once played at bedtime, now reborn as an echo across time.

  Memories surged forward. Hilda’s voice. Her hands tending the garden. Her relentless love for the estate and those within it. The very reason Lucien desired to protect what they build, what they loved and what they left behind. Their legacy, their mark of existence,

  He stepped back.

  His mind cleared. His choice was no longer tangled in confusion, fear or temptation. He turned toward the golden glow.

  “I choose the Astral Plates.”

  He raised his hand to the pillar.

  At once, the remaining shadows receded. The room lit up in clean, uniform white, nothing left but the pillar now opening before him.

  All twenty-six plates lifted into the air, separating by type.

  Eighteen were circular discs, elegant, radiant, orbiting him like golden moons.

  Eight were smaller, flat slabs, humming like power sealed within ancient scripture.

  Lucien watched them, steady.

  “If those abilities were truly mine and I have what it takes to control it,” he said, “then I should be able to master them this way, too. The other path was just a shortcut. A risky one. And this one offers a few more advantages.”

  Diego’s voice returned.

  “Pick the bronze key from your box. Place it on the eagle sigil carved into either pillar. That will begin the absorption.”

  Lucien followed.

  The key clicked into the sigil. The light changed.

  The plates reacted immediately.

  They surged around him, encircling him from all directions. Then, in a single, synchronized movement, they struck not violently, but precisely piercing into him from all sides.

  His body remained untouched. No blood, no wound. But inside, everything shifted.

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  A surge of raw energy erupted. He felt it flooding him, then destabilizing. Then rebalancing. Then draining him entirely. The sequence hit like a series of controlled detonations.

  His head screamed with pressure. A migraine burst behind his eyes. His veins throbbed, suddenly filled with unfamiliar force. His vision collapsed to white, then black.

  For a moment, he lost all sense of self.

  Then, after nearly twenty minutes, the power settled.

  Lucien stood still, barely.

  His thoughts returned first. Then his breath. Then sensation.

  The world steadied around him, but his body betrayed him. He felt hollow. Like every cell had burned and was now cooling into ash. Moving a finger felt like pushing against a stone.

  He swayed once.

  But did not fall.

  He stood. Weak. Drained.

  But awake.

  And with the plates now within him.

  His path was chosen.

  Lucien reappeared in his study, standing in the exact place he had occupied before the teleportation. It was the middle of the night now. The room was still, silent, and dimly lit.

  His body trembled slightly. Sweat clung to his skin, his breath short and uneven, This was a sensation and state he has almost never experienced.

  He sighed, exhausted.

  “Bring me a jar of water,” he commanded.

  The nearby golem, silent and obedient, moved at once.

  Lucien downed the entire jar in a single breath. The moment it emptied, he muttered, “Another. Three or four.”

  The golem returned with more. He drank each one in full.

  Still, he felt no strength return to his limbs. His will, usually ironclad, was nowhere to be found.

  He collapsed into the chair behind his desk not from weakness of character, but pure physiological depletion. Lucien Sinclair, a man capable of going months without rest, now succumbed to a dizziness he could neither suppress nor explain.

  Sleep came not peaceful, not deep, but restless and disjointed.

  It was the kind of sleep that dulls thought without refreshing it.

  He might have remained there longer, had a knock not stirred the air.

  The golem opened the door.

  Pelta entered quietly. The first light of morning had not yet touched the sky. Four, perhaps five in the morning. The hour of clarity or collapse.

  She paused, immediately recognizing that she had interrupted, his sleep.

  “Oh,” she said softly. “Apologies, Brother. I didn’t mean to wake you. If you’d prefer, I can return later.”

  Lucien opened his eyes.

  “No. Work needs to be done. It’s not your fault.”

  Pelta nodded, reluctant but respectful. She placed the file she carried on the desk and took a nearby chair.

  “I’ve prepared everything according to your instructions,” she said, composed. “All points listed in your report have been addressed. The Details and reports of the incident has been sent to all relevant members. The meeting will proceed as ordered.”

  Lucien’s gaze did not move from the documents before him.

  “Who will be physically present? What reactions have we received so far?”

  Pelta answered without hesitation.

  “The First Sister and First Brother have already arrived. The Second Sister intended to come, but is too far to arrive on such short notice. She will join by voice transmission.”

  Lucien’s expression remained unreadable.

  Pelta continued, quieter now.

  “Daisy was... severely affected by the news. Ava is with her, helping her process it. Ava herself appeared deeply saddened, Max has been placed in containment for the time being. Finn and ultimare have said too little to make any assessment.”

  Lucien closed the file, eyes sharp once more.

  “Very well. We begin preparations for today’s meeting. Be ready.”

  Pelta nodded, rising wordlessly.

  There was no warmth in the room. Only duty.

  Finn entered the grand hall in measured steps, each one precise, composed. The tailored cut of his suit a deep, untamed emerald caught the light as he moved, casting faint shadows like leaves trembling in a stormless wood.

  It was the kind of suit that spoke louder than words, chosen not for comfort but for the message it carried.

  His shoulders were set, his posture straight. The lapels of his coat caught sharply against the dark silk of his shirt. Obsidian eyes, cold and brilliant, scanned the space ahead. In his hand, a leather-bound file thick with reports from Pelta, Max, Lucien, and his own assessments.

  He stopped before the study door and knocked once.

  “It’s me. Finn.”

  A moment passed. The door opened smoothly, revealing Pelta already inside.

  “Morning, Brother Finn,” she said softly.

  “I told you,” he replied, stepping in, “you can drop the honorary. Speak casually when it’s just family.”

  “My apologies,” she said. “I’ll remember from now on.”

  It had been some time, perhaps too long, since he last entered Lucien’s study. He could not recall the last occasion, which in itself was telling.

  The room, despite belonging to the head of the Sinclair family, was stark. Minimalist. Unadorned. A deliberate contrast to the grandeur the estate was capable of producing.

  His gaze fell on Lucien, who sat slumped on the sofa, eyes closed. He looked not tired, but recently returned from a heavy engagement. The kind of posture held by someone who hadn’t rested, only paused for a moment.

  Finn didn’t waste time.

  “So. What’s the situation? You called me here.”

  Lucien spoke without opening his eyes.

  “Go to the village. Get answers.”

  Finn raised a brow. “You mean interrogate them, I assume. I read the report. It’s not a bad move. What methods am I permitted to use?”

  Lucien opened his eyes then, cold and still.

  “Any. Use what you must. Cross the line only if no other option presents itself.”

  Finn nodded slowly, considering. “Should I entertain their pleas? Their Attempt tot further negotiation?”

  “I’m giving you full authority over the matter,” Lucien replied. “Do as you see fit. Just make certain they don’t mistake us for what we are not. If they become arrogant, if they test our patience or act against us, then forget negotiation. Apply force.”

  Finn gave the faintest hint of amusement. “Understood. Should I consider attempting an alliance, if the opportunity arises?”

  Lucien’s voice held no warmth. “That depends entirely on what they offer and what we want. As they stand now, they’re not worthy of alliance. But I’ll leave that judgment to you.”

  “Very well,” Finn said. “I’ll bring back something useful. In the meantime, here my observations, notes, and what I was able to piece together from the current reports. Hope it proves worthwhile.”

  He tossed the file forward. Lucien caught it with ease, one hand lifting without effort.

  Finn turned without ceremony, heading back toward the hall he came from.

  Lucien didn’t look up. His eyes were already on the pages, sifting through the details, reading only what mattered. The file made no sound as it opened, just the quiet rhythm of a man turning the world back into order.

  Pelta glanced toward him, her eyes narrowing slightly as she noticed the sheen of sweat along his brow, the subtle tremble in his breath.

  “I think we should take a short break, Brother,” she said, voice calm but purposeful. “How about we visit the dining hall, just for a moment?”

  Lucien exhaled faintly. “If you insist.”

  They rose together, leaving the study behind as they stepped into the corridor. The hallway stretched wide and polished, cast in the pale blue of early dawn.

  The mountain air pressed cool against the windows, and outside, the peaks stood still and dignified—guardians of silence, untouched by the unrest brewing beneath their gaze.

  Lucien’s gaze drifted toward the nearest balcony window. The view slowed his pace. Something in the serenity made his steps feel further away from the war he carried inside him.

  Then—his voice snapped the air like a blade drawn.

  “Pelta. Get down.”

  Pelta froze, confused. “What—”

  But before the sentence could take shape, it struck.

  In a single blink, Lucien’s own shadow lunged from beneath his feet, a monstrous silhouette turned traitor. Its blow landed like a hammer, slamming into his chest with unnatural force. The window behind him shattered as he was hurled through it, glass spiraling in all directions.

  The air roared past his ears as he fell, limbs twisting to regain control midair. His balance wavered. Then, just as he began to stabilize.

  Another presence caught him.

  A hand not human in its grace or grip, seized his wrist in mid-fall. And then, without pause, flung him even farther, sending him crashing through the courtyard and into the stone fountain below.

  Water burst outward in all directions. The impact shattered the marble basin.

  Lucien remained still for a moment, half-submerged, ribs aching, breath stolen. Pain flared across his body, sharp and immediate. He had fought through worse. But not like this. Not after the drain he was feeling. Not when his limbs barely listened.

  He stood.

  Unsteady. Eyes burning.

  His vision swam as he looked toward the source of the attack, though he’d already recognized her the moment he was hit by his own shadow.

  Long black hair. Eyes the color of crushed ruby, cold and merciless. Skin pale as sculpted ivory.

  She stood beneath the sun in a midnight blue flowing dress, a surgical knife held delicately between her fingers, for reasons unknown.

  The surrounding air was still. The world had paused to let her speak.

  Selena.

  The goddess of calamity had descended to deliver a message with blood, if necessary.

  And she had unknowingly chosen today when his body was still rebelling from rebirth.

  Her smile was hollow. Her voice carried the weight of mockery.

  “Greetings, Lucien,” she said, stepping forward with unnatural calm. “It’s been ages since I had the opportunity to see your face, you sure have not changed. ”

  Lucien stood still, his spine straight despite the tremble running beneath his skin. His body urged collapse, but his will refused to yield. Pain surged quietly through his limbs, but no sign of it touched his face.

  His voice was calm. Detached.

  “Greetings to you too, Sister. You didn’t inform me you were coming to see me.”

  Selena’s red eyes sparkled with amusement, but her expression remained cold.

  “Oh, come now. I don’t need to inform anyone when I wish to visit my younger sibling, do I?”

  Lucien didn’t blink.

  “Perhaps not. But what is the occasion for this meeting? We were scheduled to convene at today’s gathering—”

  He didn’t finish.

  A sudden, sharp pressure shifted in the air, his senses flared. He felt it before he saw it.

  A horizontal slash of force, an aura-laced attack launched from her knife, invisible but violently real, aimed straight at him.

  He dashed left, barely dodging it.

  The blade of energy sliced through the air with a deafening roar, its lethal edge ripping past him. It obliterated the remnants of the fountain, cutting deep into its base with a screech of fractured marble. Water sprayed into the air again, splashing against his legs.

  He straightened, expression unchanged.

  Selena approached, her steps unhurried. The knife still rested in her hand, glinting under morning light.

  “Oh come on, just quit this Gratuitous formality family head” she said, voice even, “I simply desired to speak with my incompetent brother. Isn't it a good enough reason.”

  Lucien:” definitely, if you had come from front door or have just called me instead”

  Selena:” is it an issue, Why, dear brother, I merely thought we could... refresh some old memories. Like how we used to play.“

  Lucien:” I would not describe it as an issue, but the timing is inappropriate. Neither you nor I can afford to loiter around at the time like this, If you have business, state it clearly”

  In a flash, her knife was already at his cheek.

  Selena had closed the distance in an instant, her expression carrying a terrifying emotional smile faint, sharp, detached from empathy.

  “You’ve gotten quite disrespectful, haven’t you, Lucien?” she said, the blade’s edge circling the surface of his skin like a whisper of death.

  She continued, “Just explain to me how someone like you could allow such a blunder to happen in your presence.”

  Now she was close. Far too close.

  Lucien’s pulse held steady, but his thoughts sharpened.