[Mirabel Anstalionah.]
Preparations were underway, and the sound of training echoed through every courtyard. Recruits pushed themselves until breath became pain and pain became purpose.
New members arrived daily from the guilds, pledging loyalty to the cause.
Delegations were already on their way to Dangu, bearing gifts and words of peace, in hopes that Stella might grant them an audience.
I prayed she would listen.
When I had spoken to Stella before, she had expressed regret for her absence in the fight against the Golden Authority.
Even then, she had been torn between loyalty and caution.
She, too, wielded star magic, her mastery luminous and precise, perhaps greater than my own.
Yet in other forms of sorcery, I had long surpassed her.
Still, I could feel something creeping into me, a dangerous calm that came with too much strength.
It was as though my growth had dulled into habit, as though my hunger for more had settled into silence.
Perhaps it was because Miraculum and Cassio were here, their presence grounding me.
They were living proof that all my struggle had not been for nothing.
Every scar, every betrayal, had shaped something sacred in them.
Yet when I sent Miraculum to his father, a tremor of doubt pierced through that calm. I knew, deep down, I was still not strong enough.
Even in full embrace of my sin, Griffin had treated me lightly. To him, I had been nothing more than an echo of what once was.
The mark on my skin pulsed with a force that made the air tremble. I looked up from the bench, and the world felt deceptively peaceful.
The light blue sky stretched without end. Birds sang as though the world was still innocent.
The sun blazed warm and patient, and the scent of bread from the nearby kitchens mingled with the clash of sparring recruits.
Peace and war coexisted in a fragile rhythm.
Then I saw her. Lancerial.
Her long white hair fell around her in gentle waves, each strand carrying a shimmer of color that reminded me of distant constellations.
Her eyes contained every hue and yet none at all, a prism of life that saw through illusion.
Her skin glowed softly, untouched by dust or sin, and her simple white dress clung to her with the effortless grace of the divine.
She carried the quiet of sanctity and the poise of command.
Tutor to the twins, though her focus now lingered almost entirely on Miraculum.
Lancerial was a creature of restraint, her power vast yet veiled. She chose to remain hidden in the treasury beside Ouroboros, guarding the endless hoard and its secrets.
Many mythical beings had been shaped by the old order, but Lancerial was something apart.
The last of her kind. A unicorn, yet far beyond what that word could hold.
She was an Ultimate Unicorn, the final perfection of her lineage.
The horn she concealed held more than strength.
Within it lay a world, a self-contained creation that pulsed with the memory of forgotten gods.
I never truly understood it, but I knew its depth could rival the sum of existence.
"It's strange, Mirabel," she said softly, her voice like a distant echo of dawn.
"Sometimes I think you may be pushing Miraculum too hard. He's already more skilled than most adults in this realm."
I met her gaze without hesitation. "Miraculum can destroy this world as he is now. If they cannot master what they have inherited, then no one can."
Her eyes softened, the concern fading into quiet understanding.
She knew what Griffin had done, how close he had brought ruin to both Earth and the worlds beyond.
I had sealed those realms myself, tethering them to my command so that destruction could come only through me.
Yet the power my children carried was not merely strength; it was a living storm that demanded control.
Drandafal, the Dragon Queen, and those who once ruled the skies without fear, all of them had prepared for what was to come.
My predecessors became legend not through birthright, but through the brutal will to be ready.
They forged themselves until despair itself turned away. I am not yet them. I am not yet enough. But I must become so.
When the day comes and I stand before Drandafal, before the Queen of Dragons, before those who shaped the order of creation, there can be no hesitation.
If they could define their existence in full, then I too must define mine.
My Regalia cannot simply be my weapon or my crown. It must be the essence of what I am. My declaration to the void, my answer to meaninglessness.
Lancerial exhaled softly, her expression serene. "I see. Then I should return. Ouroboros will complain if I linger too long."
I smiled faintly. "He is greedy. Shall I force him to crawl out of his hole?"
Her laughter chimed, light and clear. "You could try. But I am the only thing he ever leaves his hoard for."
And she was right. Ouroboros, the Greed of Anstalionah, slumbered beneath mountains of gold and relics from dead civilizations.
A demon of avarice, a being whose strength could level nations, even challenge saints and the ancient orders that guarded the dragon lands.
Yet he would never act on his own. All that monstrous strength, all that wealth, meant nothing without her.
To him, every treasure in creation was a reflection of her, yet she herself existed beyond all measure.
She was both priceless and unreachable, the one thing he could neither own nor destroy.
Lancerial's form began to dissolve, turning to white mist that rippled the air as she vanished. I clasped my hands and looked toward the endless sky.
"Root of the Beginning: Yoru-Barvasatha."
The world split open.
Reality unfurled like torn silk, and I saw it all, every universe, every plane of being above, below, and beyond.
When I lifted my hand, I could feel existence tremble.
The threads of creation quivered beneath my touch, and the blades of reality themselves bowed, though they did not recognize me.
To them, I was still less than nothing, a fleeting ripple in an infinite sea.
My Regalia spilled forth like a silent storm. It was not merely a crown or a weapon, but the embodiment of all that I was.
It was my reflection made manifest, my defiance given form. It was the one truth I had carved into the indifferent silence of the cosmos.
Miraculum's birth, Cassio's awakening, Nicholas's return, the war's end, every act, every sacrifice, had led to this singular point.
This was not chaos. It was creation.
It was the future I would forge with my own hands.
I hated the necessity of what came next, but I knew it must be done. The old must be destroyed so that the new might rise.
Heaven and Hell turned their gaze toward me. Angels and higher beings regarded this realm with hollow eyes, feeling nothing.
To them, we were less than sparks, and yet to us, they were everything.
I rose, releasing my Regalia fully.
It flooded over me in waves of primordial nothingness, the silence that existed before the first dawn.
I laughed, and I wept, breaking myself in the act of remaking.
When the time came, I would consume it all.
The world grew sharp and clear, crystalline in its precision, and I felt myself reach the edge of the twelfth wall. I touched the brink of transcendence and wiped the tears from my face.
Reality pushed back, but I stood firm. My hair darkened, the red deepening into shades of twilight, the ends shimmering in silver.
It was a choice that existed both outside time and within it, a decision both eternal and immediate.
I could no longer endure losing.
I was afraid, yet I would not yield to that fear. Perhaps it was rage that kept me steady, or perhaps something far colder.
Loss was the end of all things, and I would not permit it.
The only end I would ever accept was Nicholas.
No one else would claim my life. No one else would end me.
Yes. It will be no one but him.