Kael leaned against the wall near the entrance, arms crossed, gaze distant. Irelia's word still echoed in the air—classic—because that's exactly what it was. Ancient. Repeated. A pattern as old as the empires themselves.
"Too classic," he finally replied. "Someone with too much power, too much pain… and zero willingness to take responsibility."
Elizabeth remained seated, her body rigid, as if she were still ready to flee at any second. The mansion was safe, she felt it—the discreet runes, the dense aura of protection—but safety was too recent a concept to relax.
Amelia turned from the window and approached her with measured steps. There was no condescension, no threat. Just careful curiosity.
"You were raised by Queen Liza," Amelia said. It wasn't a question.
Elizabeth nodded. "Since I was little. She… didn't care what I was. Only what I could become."
Irelia crossed her arms. "And now they've decided you're a mistake."
